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Chapter Text

Faralda helped Ariana down from the carriage, struggling a bit, as the young Imperial bore a little too much weight on the Altmer’s slender arm. Faralda was, by no means, delicate, but Ariana’s compact form, and nervous, trembling descent caught the elf off guard.

“You could have helped me a bit,” She told Ariana.

“Sorry—” Ariana began.

“It’s high, I know,” Faralda sighed, shaking her head slightly.

Ariana couldn’t help but pause, however, gazing up at the stone city embedded in the steep mountain. 

“So this is Markarth, huh?” Ariana admired the architecture. She tried to help Faralda collect her knapsack from the carriage, stretching and straining up on her toes. “Not as big as I imagined.”

“Yes,” Chuckling softly, Faralda snatched her knapsack up and over Ariana’s head, tired of seeing her petite friend struggle, “Despite the Dwemer design, it isn’t much to look at on the inside.” 

Smoothing their robes, and stretching, weary from their days-long carriage ride, the pair made their way into the city.

Ariana briefly glanced at the main square, which was indeed, not much to look at, before burying her face in a small, worn map.

“Hold on, let me find Understone Keep,” she muttered, tugging on Faralda's arm to stop walking. The elf bent, gently swatting the map downward from in front of Ariana’s face. 

“It’s literally right there,” Faralda laughed, pointing past a small stream and stone bridge, up at the great structure carved out of a rock face. “Hard to miss.” 

Ariana followed, not wanting to admit she didn’t quite see what her friend was talking about. All of the buildings and staircases and other structures were the same shade of gray stone, the monochrome sparsely broken by small hints of worn Dwarven metal. Faralda led Ariana up a final set of stone stairs, around a deafening waterfall, past the guards, and into the Keep. 

Ariana stopped suddenly, gazing up at the cavernous chamber. The Keep was obviously ancient, having partially collapsed at some point in its history. She noted large rocky protrusions on either side, as well as smaller ones, almost fossilized into the uneven floor, as well as a massive, angular Dwarven chandelier that hung from the middle of the ceiling. Before them was a large, squared hallway, and Ariana thought she might make out the beginning of a staircase on the other side. She also noted several smaller staircases to the sides, as well as several tunnels, one of which appeared to be unfinished. 

It would be easy to get lost in here.

Faralda tugged on the shoulder of Ariana’s robes, reminding her of their purpose there.

“C'mon,” she said, “Let’s hurry up and find Calcelmo.”

This wasn’t the first time Faralda had visited the old Mer wizard, and she knew just where to find them. Ariana couldn’t help but be surprised by just how much water ran through the keep when they entered. The chamber was largely unfurnished—apart from enchanting and alchemy tables, two chairs, and a table to store a messy array of books and parchment—and seemed to Ariana to just serve as an transitional area between more stairs and doors. She couldn’t help but spy an unusually large Dwarven door at the far end of the area.

Faralda exchanged pleasantries with Calcelmo, who allowed her to browse stacks of books he had on the nearby table. Ariana wandered from her partner and out of the chamber. She wanted to explore, and Faralda clearly could handle this on her own. 

Ariana found herself passing through the middle hallway and climbing another massive set of stone stairs, which ended up leading to a long stone platform. What appeared to be a Jarl’s throne room greeted her in the middle, though it was currently empty. She suddenly heard Faralda huff and curse behind her.

“ This is the last time I have you carry the gold. ” She gasped, bent and winded, holding her knees.

But Ariana was hardly startled, nor listening for that matter. Faralda noticed her staring down one end of the platform at a severe-looking , black and gold clad High Elf, who stood rigidly, arms crossed, beside two armored soldiers. His tall collar rose halfway up the side of his hood, which came to a sharp point over his brow. His tell-tale sneer was apparent even from their distance.

“Huh, the Thalmor are everywhere nowadays,” Faralda muttered, before poking Ariana in the shoulder and hissing, “ Give me the gold. I have to pay the old man for the books, remember ?” 

Ariana didn’t respond nor move.

“Hey, are you even listening?” Faralda straightened, eyeing her friend, who appeared to be elsewhere.

Ariana absent-mindedly retrieved a drawstring coin purse from her side satchel and handed it lazily to Faralda. 

“ Why are you staring? I’d figure after our own experiences as of late, you’d be wary of that sort.” Faralda recognized the look on Ariana’s face and did not approve.

“ I want to climb him like a tree.” Ariana breathed, the blush now evident in her cheeks.

“ ARI! ” Faralda stifled a shout, followed by a single, sharp laugh. One of the Thalmor soldiers briefly glanced in their direction. Faralda bent once more and thought it better to whisper.

“ Goodness , Ari, you were the same way with Ancano in the beginning, and you saw how that turned out . ”

It was true. Ariana cringed slightly as she recalled her behavior shortly after arriving at the college. Her interest in him had been purely… physical , and it faded quickly as she was eventually put off by his attitude and scheming. It also didn’t help that he absolutely refused to give her the time of day. Oh well, he's dead now .

“ And what makes you think that one, ” Faralda tried to point at the Thalmor as discreetly as possible, “Is any different ?”

Ariana broke her gaze and looked up to her fellow mage, laughing softly.

“Oh, I don’t think he’s the least bit different ,” She said flatly, before whispering, “ I just really like how he looks .”

Faralda shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing deeply. She simply couldn’t see it. To her, the Mer looked nothing more than a typical Thalmor Wizard, overtly stern and aloof. 

“Is it the uniform or something? Because if you’re considering flattering robes and armor, I’ve seen much better.” 

“Pfft, no,” Ariana whispered, eyeing the Thalmor’s shoulders. He appeared to be much broader than Ancano in his robes, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like underneath them.

It’s certainly not the uniform, Ariana forgot to say aloud. If she were completely honest with herself, she couldn’t quite decide why she was attracted to the sight. The Thalmor always carried with them an atmosphere of self-superiority and something akin to—dare she describe as—evil. Ariana found the whole idea oddly alluring, and wanted to run her fingers through it. She never could quite tolerate the thought of anyone looking down on her, (figuratively, at least, it was kind of unavoidable physically), and wanted to test their boundaries.

Without a word, Ariana pushed past Faralda, and began to approach them.

“Don’t,” Faralda softly said, but was too tired from their long carriage ride and sprint up the stone stairs to try and stop her.

Her libido is going to get her killed one of these days, she thought, amusing herself for a moment with an image of Ariana trying to court a troll, should she find one attractive. 

The two soldiers turned to look at the Imperial as she strolled towards them, but said nothing. She stopped in front of the towering Mer.

“H-hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but,” Ariana had failed to prepare an excuse to talk to him and her voice trailed. She just looked up at him, inspecting the angles of his face. He had a large, angled nose, narrowed, almost-green eyes, (which were a stark contrast from Faralda's golden ones), sharp cheekbones, and a relatively strong jaw, (from what she could see of it). He had a small, white-blond, neatly-groomed beard close to his chin, and sported the faintest hint of shadow elsewhere on his face. 

He offered her no more than a glance, and a slight roll of his eyes. Ariana straightened and cleared her throat.

“ Sorry, I mean , my name is Ariana, I’m from the College of Winterhold, and I was wondering… who you were.” She smiled up at him.

“You have the honor of addressing a member of the Thalmor.” He turned to face her, shifting his weight from one foot to another, never unfolding his arms. She was surprised to see the slightest hint of a smirk stretching the corner of his lips, “ Bask in it.” 

The smirk was not friendly, however, Ariana knew that much. 

“Well I know that ,” She scoffed, gesturing at his apparel. “I mean, what do I call you?”

His face fell, once more serious and stern, and he walked away from her, muttering something along the lines of, “ I don’t have time for this ”.

The taller, softer looking of the two soldiers faced Ariana and said properly, “Ondolemar is head of the Justiciars in Skyrim. He is charged with advancing Thalmor interests in this region, and we,” she gestured to her shorter, broader partner, “Are charged with guarding him… and providing assistance, should he need it.” 

Ondolemar had already retreated around the corner and out of view. Ariana was tempted to follow him. She wanted to talk to him more, get a feel for him. He was already less standoffish than Ancano, though that wasn’t saying a lot. At least he acknowledged her when she addressed him. She glanced over her shoulder at Faralda, noting the impatience on her face.

“Ah, thank you for answering my question.” Ariana told the armored Altmer. “I have… more , but I don’t get the feeling he wants to entertain them at the moment.” 

“Save yourself the headache and just leave him be.” The shorter soldier replied gruffly, folding her arms, her gauntlets clinking softly against one another. Her tone made Ariana suspect this soldier didn’t like him very much. 

“Ah, yes, that’s probably for the best,” Ariana glanced back at Faralda, that was now aggressively gesturing for her to return, “I have business to attend to anyway. So long for now.”

She waved at the somewhat cold Altmer soldiers, and returned to Faralda, who huffed, grabbing Ariana by the elbow and dragging her down the stairs.

“We should really hurry,” Faralda told her, “Urag is going to murder us if we’re late again.”

Ariana reluctantly agreed. They had been late departing the college in the first place, and they really didn’t have time for sight-seeing. 

Chapter Text

Ariana arrived at the Markarth gates. The carriage driver from Falkreath had luckily not been much in the mood for chatting, and she was able to be alone with herself. She worried about finding her intended mark, since Nazir had not given her much to go off of: A Reachman, middle-aged and poor, a drunk, dark hair. Presumably loud and combative. He might be found in the Warrens, which was described as a dismal, cave-like slum in the city's underbelly. Nazir had also warned her to not try to contact the initiator of the contract, regardless of further information she may need. Someone with the name "Silver-Blood", she remembered him saying, they did not wish to be involved with it further. 

Ariana slipped through the gates and into the main square, the guards paying her no mind. It was midday, and she figured her best bet at finding her target would be very late at night, if not early morning, should he be sleeping down in the Warrens. She first scouted the Warrens, to better plan. Taking extreme care to be unnoticed, she slipped between shadows. The tunnel was sparsely populated by dirty, downtrodden faces, and something told her they would definitely note a stranger. This was the part that always made her heart race... sneaking . The actually killing was the easy part, most of the time, if she were properly prepared. 

She didn't spy a single person who remotely matched the description of her mark, and decided returning sometime early in the morning, before the sun rose, would be her best bet. If that didn't work, she would have to start asking the townspeople questions , and she shuddered at the thought of being so conspicuous.

Finally exiting the Warrens, seemingly unnoticed, Ariana found a jutting, secluded crag to stand behind. She swiftly removed her cowl, hiding it in her side satchel, then retrieved from it a thin, maroon shawl and draped it over her shoulders. She would have to wait in the city for at least half a day, and decided it best to look as unassuming as she possibly could, considering what little she had on her. She untied her bun, letting her dark curls fall over her back, down to her waist.

She thought she might browse the local general store, in case they might have some clothes that fit her that she could change into while she waited. They did not.

That's as well, she thought, I don't need to be wasting gold anyway. What I'm wearing is fine. There are a lot of people out and about in their leathers and steel. 

Ariana stood outside the store, trying to plan how she would keep herself occupied for the day. She remembered the last time she had been in Markarth. It was a book collecting errand given to her and Faralda by Urag gro-Shub back when she studied at the College of Winterhold. This had only been a little over a year ago, and she couldn't help but smile remembering the fun she and Faralda used to have on such trips. She was then struck by how much her life had changed since then. 

***

Not long after Ariana and Faralda's trip to and from Markarth, Urag requested a book that the court wizard of Windhelm might have in his possession. This would be just a day trip, considering how close Windhelm was to Winterhold, and Ariana and Faralda didn't bother to pack many provisions. 

Getting the court wizard to part with his books proved difficult for Faralda, however, and eventually Ariana softened the old man. 

The pair exited the Palace of Kings. Ariana paused atop the stone steps, frowning.

"I wonder why he was so cold with you. And warmed up with me . I'm never good at negotiating these things."

Faralda took Ariana’s hand gently, leading her along and down the stairs, ready to find shelter from the icy breeze. 

"Mer of any sort aren't terribly welcome here, and I don't know why I thought the court wizard would be any different." Faralda's frown matched Ariana's, though her tone indicated little to no indignation, just quiet acceptance.

Ariana remembered how, while trying to find their way back to the tavern, they must have made a wrong turn and ended up taking a long way round. They came across two women gossiping loudly about a young, unsupervised orphan living in a nearby house. This tugged at Ariana’s heartstrings, having been an orphan herself, and she felt compelled to check on the boy.

Faralda, of course, insisted she mind her own business. Ariana persisted, and Faralda eventually threatened to leave for Winterhold without her. The two bickered about it for a bit longer before Faralda finally threw up her hands and stalked away purposefully. 

"Just meet me back at the College!" Ariana called after her, "I can walk, it's not far and I have my furs!" But the Altmer was already gone.

Ariana waited for the area to clear before she tried the alleged boy's door. It was locked. Determined to investigate this child, Ariana made her hands glow briefly amber, mustering her magicka into finger tips to perform one of the few Alteration spells she wasn't terrible at. After a few attempts, she heard the lock finally click.

The details of the house's interior were now a blur, but one thing still vividly stood out in her memory: the sight of a slim, possibly malnourished boy, no older than 12. He was huddled inside a ring of candles, over what appeared to be a human skeleton, some purple flowers that resembled belladonna, and two darkened and stinking pieces of red meat. One of the pieces, she recalled, turned out to be a human heart. 

More intrigued than horrified, Ariana quickly sifted through the hundreds of questions that flooded her mind. The first one to come out of her mouth was, "Are you alright?"

The boy, (Ariana remembered him being named Aventus), flinched and whirled, apparently unaware anyone had entered the room. His eyes instantly grew wide with excitement.

"It worked!" He gasped. "I knew you'd come, I just knew it!" 

Ariana raised her eyebrows, subtly pointing at her chest, her eyes darting from left to right. She was otherwise frozen in place. Her visible confusion was clearly lost on the child.

"I did the Black Sacrament over and over. With the body and the… the things," Aventus spewed fervently gesturing behind him at the skeleton and old flesh, "And then you came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood!" 

Ariana cupped her hand over her mouth, unable to resist a nervous smile. She found his passion endearing.

"I'm sorry, boy," she said as seriously as possible over her stifled giggling, "But I'm not who you think I am."

"Of course you are!" Aventus's face twisted in frustration and he adamantly stomped one of his feet, his fists held down by sides. "I prayed, and you came, and now you'll accept my contract." 

" Contract? " Ariana was beginning to become irritated with the child's persistence, but wanted to know his story nonetheless. 

"My mother, she… she died. I… I am alone now." Aventus averted his eyes briefly and his voice shook. Tears threatened to escape his eyes, but he quickly hardened himself, not wanting to appear weak in front of the supposed assassin.

Ariana let her arms fall and her face softened. She had figured that much, from the rumors she overheard with Faralda outside. She hadn't been quite ready to hear it from his own lips yet, however.

"So they sent me to that terrible orphanage in Riften. Honorhall--" The mere mention of that place made Ariana’s jaw tighten and an eye twitch.

"The headmistress is a cruel, evil woman," The boy continued grimly, "They call her Grelod the Kind. But she is not kind. She's terrible to all of us."

Ariana found herself gritting her teeth, a sharp rage rising in her chest, filling her upper body, pooling at her ears and temples, making them hot. Her vision began to blur, and the room spun. She could smell the moldy floorboards she was forced to scrub, she felt the sting of a belt across her face, the blunt force of a broom handle against her shins, the blistering cold water splashing on her face should she sleep in. She heard that wretched woman's laugh and her cursing. She heard the faint whispers of the other children, knowing they were gossiping about her. Her bitter loneliness slowly ate her away...

Aventus continued on, mentioning something about running away, and Ariana finally remembered where she was when he ended with, "And you can kill Grelod the Kind!" 

Ariana’s face cooled and vision cleared, her face now stone. She couldn't help but notice the faintest hint of a bruise across the boy's cheek. She briefly felt as if she were him, as if she were looking down at her younger self. Forcing deep, even breaths, she nodded silently and left the child.

"Please don't kill Constance Michel!" He called after her as she descended the wooden stairs to his front door. "She really is kind." The name was unfamiliar to her. Perhaps it was someone Grelod hired for help after Ariana left.

Ariana stalked out of the main gate, across the icy stone bridge, and towards the stables where a carriage driver happened to wait. She counted the remainder of her gold, and thrust it up toward the driver, demanding transport to Riften. Luckily, it was just enough.

Ariana’s thoughts on the ride were churning and difficult to grasp: all emotion and very little planning. Of course she didn't intend to kill her old caretaker, (though she absolutely would if she thought she could get away with it). Fear tried to rise in her gut at the thought of confronting Grelod, but she quickly buried it. After all, she was older now, and much, much stronger. 

She could hardly recall her entrance into Riften, nor her brisk twilight walk straight to the orphanage. The city of her childhood hardly looked any different than six years ago, when she finally had the courage to leave. The door wasn't locked (it rarely was), and she let herself inside. It was her home, after all.

She was greeted by a young Imperial woman--Constance, she figured--who regretted to inform her that adoption applications weren't currently being accepted. Ariana waved her hand dismissively.

"Where's Grelod?" She asked in a low, almost mechanical voice.

"The headmistress has settled down for the night--"

Ariana needed to hear no more and she pushed by her, stalking through the children's quarters, ignoring the many young eyes that followed her. She found Grelod's door right where she remembered it. She beat on the door many times in quick succession, ignoring Constance, who had followed her and was asking questions Ariana currently could not hear.

She heard familiar cursing from the otherside of the door, the squeak of a bed, the popping of ankle bones. Ariana’s stomach churned and twisted, her knees grew weak, and her mind screamed at her to get out of there. A childlike voice in the back of her head told her to hide, to run, to quake, but she remained before the door like a statue.

Why am I here? She thought, trying to will her dizziness to become still. I never wanted to see her face ever again. But Ariana was reminded of Aventus, and all the other children. One of the older ones behind her looked rather familiar, like they might have been there six years ago…

The door finally swung open,  revealing a haggard, cursing, old Nordic woman. She abruptly stopped before Ariana. A cruel smile twisted the corners of her mouth.

" Ariana , my dear, fancy seeing you back." Grelod folded her arms, leaning most of her weight on one leg, scanning Ariana up and down. 

A stone was lodged in Ariana’s throat. She felt her skin grow hot with rage, her breath uncontrollably beginning to quicken.

" Headmistress, " she greeted Grelod through a stiff jaw.

Grelod let out a soft chuckle, gesturing towards Ariana's now healthily plump figure, "I see you've gotten fat ."

Not entirely aware of what she was doing, Ariana found her knuckles striking the old woman across the mouth, a hint of flame emanating between her fingers. The punch made Grelod stumble backwards slightly, the smile wiped from her face. There was a collective gasp behind Ariana, from both the children and Constance. 

"I wasted I don't know how many years of my life," Grelod growled through her teeth, "Caring for you, feeding you, providing a bed and a roof over your head, all the while having to care for half a dozen others? And this is how you repay me?"

Ariana was hardly listening; her mind was twisting and churning. She spied blood on the old woman's lip, where her fist apparently made contact. There was something sickening and satisfying about the sight. She found her fingers wandering by her belt, under a fold of her robes, and wrapping around the handle of her steel dagger. 

Grelod took a step closer and bent slightly, putting her face uncomfortably close to Ariana’s.

" You've always been an ungrateful whore--" The old woman spit, before suddenly grunting in pain, eyes wide in shock. She looked down to see a blade stuck in her belly. Ariana maintained eye contact with Grelod, her face rigid and still in silent fury.

Ariana vaguely noted the children and Constance shriek and scramble behind her. But in that moment, she and her old caretaker were the only two people to exist in the world. Grelod's warm, sticky blood began to soak Ariana’s hand that still gripped the dagger. In one swift movement, Ariana ripped the blade out of the old woman's gut. Grelod stumbled back further into her small quarters, leaning against her bed. She held her belly in horror, gasping and groaning. 

Slow tears began to stream out of Ariana’s eyes, but not from sadness or regret. This felt good . In fact, it may have been the best thing she had ever felt in her life, watching Grelod bleed and stutter helplessly. She had spent her entire childhood subjected to the cruelty of this woman, and now she finally had all the power; she had all the control. Still, she craved more .

Ariana glanced behind her--noticing Constance nowhere to be found--just five or six silent children of varying ages, staring in disbelief. This did not deter her, however, and she approached Grelod again, flipping the bloodied dagger around in her hand. Ariana slammed the blade down into a soft, wrinkly area near her collar bone. Before Grelod had a chance to cry out, Ariana had already yanked the blade back out and was driving it into her chest. 

Grelod's breath was stolen then, preventing her screams. The only sounds that came from the old woman now were raspy spluttering and weak, desperate gasping. 

Again and again, Ariana ripped and tore, stabbed and slashed, white hot tears now flowing from her eyes and down across her tight lips. Eventually Grelod lay still, her eyes now frozen wide in the horror of her last moments. Ariana found herself kneeling over her, after they had somehow ended up on the floor next to the bed. A slow, deep, wretched laugh began to twist and bounce out of Ariana’s throat, as she gazed at the pathetic, maimed form.

The world slowly began to return around her, and she was suddenly reminded of her audience. She shot her eyes upwards, to the children, all standing silent near the open doorway with mouths agape. 

All the good feelings quickly fell away and regret finally began to creep in. What did I just expose them to? That's when one of the younger children started to laugh.

"She’s dead! " He cheered, followed by excited whispering amongst the others. "You better go," the boy told Ariana, "I think Constance went to go get the guards."

They're already broken like me, Ariana thought, before remembering to panic. She was a proper murderer now. There was no self-defense she could claim. She quickly rummaged through Grelod's bedside table, trying to actually make a plan, though she didn't really have time for one. From the drawer, she retrieved a coin purse and a small leather journal, bearing the letters "HM" on the front cover. Ariana knew it to be hers, it having been confiscated from her when she was small. She might as well take it with the gold.

She scrambled past the children, rushing to the door. Constance had luckily not yet returned. 

There's always a lot of crime going on this time of night, Ariana thought, Hopefully the guard will be busy. 

She couldn't help but run, which of course drew attention to herself. She rushed past The Bee and Barb, nearly crashing into Marcurio as he was trying to enter his usual tavern.

"Ari!" He caught her by her shoulders. "What are you doing here? What's wrong?" 

Ariana shot him a brief, anguished look before wiggling free and darting for the city gates. Marcurio then stumbled back as several armored guards ran past him and after her. He heard a woman somewhere shout, " THAT'S HER!"

He blinked, realizing Ariana had been covered in blood.

Marcurio was compelled to chase the guards, and Ariana, out of Riften and down the road, where he was met with a flurry of fire and arrows. Luckily for him, Ariana currently held the guards' rapt attention.

What in Oblivion did she DO ? He thought, deciding he could yell at her about it later… if there were a later.

Marcurio, panicking slightly, ducked behind a rocky outcrop, and began to summon his own fire. If he timed it just right, the guards would assume Ariana’s own fireballs had merely grown larger and more precise. He, for one, was not about to be arrested that night. 

His plan seemed to work, and two more guards fell beside the ones Ariana already managed to incinerate. The last guard retreated to the gates, screaming for reinforcements. Marcurio took this chance to run after Ariana, who was now bolting for the nearby stables. After threatening the stablehand with her flames, and him retreating quickly back into his wooden shack, she began to wrench and pull at one of the horse's bindings. 

Ariana stifled a scream as Marcurio snatched the leather straps from her trembling hands. 

"What did you DO?!" He whispered violently, making short work of the straps.

" I killed Grelod. "

" WHAT?"

"I KILLED GRELOD!" Ariana all but wailed, as if just now realizing what she had done all over again.

Marcurio shushed her in fear of her spooking the horses. "Damn it, I heard you."

He quickly mounted the horse, who snorted and stomped softly. He heard more guards shouting as they approached. He reached down, grabbing Ariana’s shaky forearm, hoisting her up atop the saddle, steadying her behind him. An iron arrow suddenly struck a nearby post.

Macurio kicked the sides of the horse, steering it up the road and to the north. He was no experienced rider, by any means, but he knew he was better at it than Ariana, who was now clinging to his waist, praying she wouldn't fall off. The guards managed to pursue them halfway to Shor's Stone, before losing them in the woods once Marcurio decided it would be better to get off the road. 

Ariana's grip on him had weakened, and he felt her slump against his back. He reached backward around her waist and noticed her arms limp by her sides. When he was sure they were alone and the guards were nowhere to be seen, he whispered over his shoulder, " Ari!"  

Marcurio heard her groan softly.

" Ari, are you alright? " 

" Mar… Marcurio ," she gasped, " I can't move my arms ."

He twisted in his saddle, maintaining his arm around her waist awkwardly, and saw something long and thin sticking out from behind her neck. 

Panic filled him once more, and he nearly fell off the horse trying to dismount with her. He propped her sideways against a moss-covered boulder. Keeping her upright, he summoned a dim light to inspect the arrow. It had struck her in the base of her neck, perfectly in the middle, and was most likely piercing her spine. Another arrow loosely dangled out of her right shoulder blade. It hadn't made it in quite as deep. 

Marcurio, supporting her sitting weight with his arm, began a vicious scramble to obtain the right potion from his own, small, enchanted satchel. He held the bottle up to his small ball of magical light, making sure it was the right one. He tore out the cork with his teeth and placed the opening to Ariana’s mouth, which now hung open weakly, her lips slowly turning blue. 

" C'mon, " he urged her, knowing that she was most likely struggling to breathe, if she were breathing at all. He managed to pour the healing potion down her throat without her choking on it much, and massaged her throat in case her esophagus was also paralyzed. 

Slowly but surely, strength returned to Ariana’s limbs and core, as did the pain. She was unaware of what kind of healing potion it was, but it was clearly very strong, judging by how both arrows seem to be pushed out of her skin, the two wounds knitting together into thick, red scars. 

Once he was satisfied that Ariana would be okay, Marcurio sat back on the ground, resting an arm on his knee, letting out one, big, long exasperated breath. 

" Why? " was all he managed to utter.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Ariana breathed, before adding, somewhat indignantly, "I wasn't trying to involve you. You did that yourself. Stupid. "

" I was stupid? You're only alive now because of me. What made you do such a thing?" He spat, leaning forward, shoving her softly in her sore shoulder. She winced.

Ariana hung her head, unable to come up with a suitable excuse. Marcurio was right. The entire thing had been incredibly foolish. Recklessly idiotic. She couldn't muster any regret for killing Grelod, however, only for her lack of preparation and sense.

" We have to get out of The Rift. " Marcurio bitterly grumbled. "Every guard from here to Eastmarch is probably looking for you." 

The stolen horse, surprisingly , had not abandoned them just yet, and they found it patiently waiting by a nearby tree, grazing on some tall, coarse grass. 

"That's a good horse," Ariana mumbled, apprehensive about mounting it once more. After her spinal cord had been repaired, she was now acutely aware of the persistent itchiness that had begun on her legs. 

"Hopefully we can rest in Windhelm, before getting you back to Winterhold. I know you don't plan on walking all that way. I certainly don't. We'll stay off the road until we reach Eastmarch." Marcurio still could not hide his irritation. It continued to rise and boil, and he resisted asking questions whose answers might make him explode. He knew he had to concentrate on getting to safety, and if he were to be found with her now, he would surely be arrested as an accomplice. Those questions would have to wait for when they could finally rest somewhere safe.

Ariana was embarrassed by the whole thing, but still had a deep current of satisfaction running through her. She had murdered her life-long tormenter. She had savored Grelod's horror and helplessness. She knew the world was now rid of her. Ariana had never felt more powerful in the moments she watched Grelod die. These were things she knew she couldn't really tell Marcurio. They may be very close friends, and he may be morally ambiguous when it came to thievery and other petty crimes, but she knew he would have to draw a line somewhere.

The two were mostly silent on their ride up to, and through Eastmarch, past the simmering, sulfur emitting hot springs, up finally to where it snowed nearly year-round. The ride may have taken twelve or so hours, but Ariana wasn't sure. She managed to nap on Marcurio's back for most of the trip, despite the persistent itchiness in her legs from the horse and her hayfever.

Marcurio and Ariana abandoned the stolen horse outside the Windhelm stables, quickly rushed across the icy bridge, past the attending guards, who luckily paid them no mind. 

***

Ariana didn't like to dwell on the events of the evening she and Marcurio spent at Candlehearth Hall. It was a lot of passionate screaming that led to numerous regrettable behaviors, and they had both agreed to act like that the night in question never happened. Neither of them wanted their sibling-like closeness to be tainted but such a thing.

Ariana had found a stone bench to continue to wait, and to enjoy an apple she had purchased from a food vendor in Markarth's main plaza. She reminisced about the courier suddenly approaching her and Marcurio in Winterhold the following day, and how bizarrely silent and serious she had been while thrusting Ariana a small, crisp piece of folded parchment, before hurrying away. Ariana had been shocked and disturbed to find the note was nothing more than a black hand print, with two words scrawled underneath: "We know". She managed to hide the note from Marcurio, successfully telling him it was just a note from Faralda, wondering where she had been. 

She chuckled softly to herself, between bites of her apple. Astrid's mid-sleep abduction of her had been so raw and terrifying at the time. But in that abandoned shack, she found herself greeted with someone who acknowledged her potential. She acknowledged her ferocity and power. She made Ariana feel as if she could, and should , be feared. And due to Ariana's unfortunate upbringing, she always conflated fear with respect. She found it to be a very fond memory indeed.

It was barely past two in the afternoon now, and she still had so much longer to wait for her mark to retreat back to the Warrens, needing to sleep off his drink. She didn't have much gold for shopping, not that there were many good establishments to browse in this dreary stone city. 

Ariana finally decided to go visit Understone Keep again. She had been rushed out of there so quickly the one time she had visited before, and felt like she was now free to explore it properly. 

As she entered the Keep, she couldn't help but feel disappointed. The main entryway was cavernous indeed, but the Keep as a whole seemed much smaller than she remembered. A rocky incline led up through a tunnel to her left. That was where she and Faralda found Calcelmo and his nephew/assistant, Aicantar. For a second, Ariana was tempted to go visit the pair, but decided not to, not knowing how to go about starting a conversation with them. She strode through the squared hallway that led to the multiple sets of stairs, this time really absorbing her surroundings. Inert, unwound, Dwarven Spheres stood like statues atop large stone stands on either side. They looked like silent sentries with their attached mechanical blades and shields held aloft. Ariana looked up to see the high ceiling snaked with large, Dwemer steam pipes, that bore many rivets and complicated turbines and valves. That's when she spied a familiar form strolling across the upper floor atop the staircase. 

Ondolemar ; she was surprised she could remember his name. Then again, she found herself repeating it on the long carriage ride back to Winterhold, much to Faralda's dismay.

Dear Sithis, he's still here.

Ariana scaled the stairs, and approached the Thalmor from behind, stretching her arm upwards to tap him on the shoulder. The towering Mer whirled, and placed his hands on his hips.

"May I help you?" Ariana knew he wasn't offering anything really, it was merely his own ill form of manners.

"Ondolemar, right?" 

He eyed her suspiciously, folding his arms.

"Yes?" he answered slowly, eyes narrowing.

"We've met once before, though I don't expect you to remember me. I was studying at the College of Winterhold at the time." 

This intrigued him, though only slightly. His mind began to reel with possibilities, both good and bad. Had they had a confrontation before? Was she here to seek revenge on something he had done to her or hers? Was she an old acquaintance? One of the many people he had used to gather information? No, she had just mentioned the College of Winterhold, and that ended up jogging his memory.

"Are you--" he began, glaring, pointing at her from his still-folded arms, shifting his stance so as to be slightly angled away from her, "That meek little annoyance that interrupted my work that one day, I want to say… a year or so ago?"

Meek , Ari frowned, I am far from meek . But she resigned for the sake of courtesy.

"Ha, yes, that was me. I'm surprised you remembered! Sorry about that? I had no clue you were busy, since you just seemed to be standing around."

" You would be so bold as to assume the nature of my work? "

Oh, he was much easier to antagonize than Ancano ever was. This would be fun.

"No, not at all, please enlighten me." Her sass was not lost on Ondolemar and he scoffed.

" Well ," he said, "I was sent here to lead the Thalmor's interests in this corner of Skyrim. It's my mission to root out all Talos worship in this city."

Ariana couldn't help but chuckle. This whole civil war thing just seemed so stupid to her from the start. Who cares if Talos worship is outlawed? It's just a technicality, really. Just worship him at home in private? I doubt anyone would care if I decided to worship a dinner plate in the comfort of my own home. THAT clearly wouldn't be a "real" god. It was just all so utterly absurd.

"Why are you after Talos worshippers?" Ariana folded her own arms to match his, smirking up at him. He took a deep breath and resisted violence.

"It’s a religious matter," he began, before deciding he didn't have the patience to continue. "I truly don't have time for your inane questions right now, I have many reports that need attention." 

" Fine, fine," Ariana said, unfolding her arms and placing them on her hips, "Go tend to your reports . I have my own business to attend to anyway. I'll most likely come bug you tomorrow."

"I'd really rather you didn't ."

"Nope! Sorry, I still have more questions for you about the whole Talos thing. Whether you like it or not, you will see me again." She grinned up at him as she left, waving a little too enthusiastically. Ondolemar was left pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing deeply.

Chapter Text

Ariana quickly made her way to the Silver-Blood Inn, wiping her bloodied dagger in a cloth before stashing it in her satchel. It had been an exceptionally clean kill. The Reachman, whose name she had already forgotten, was now dead and bled in his dank hovel, deep in the Warrens. He had smelled like ale and old sweat, and his greasy brown hair lay limply across his dirty face. He had been out cold, and had no time to fully wake, or make any noise for that matter, as Ariana drew the poisoned blade across his throat. She didn't even get any blood on her: a very pleasant and easy contract, indeed.

Certain no one witnessed her, and positive the body would not be found until much later in the day, she decided to unwind at the local tavern. Loosening her cowl down and around her neck like a scarf, she straightened her low bun, and pushed through the door. It was very early in the morning, perhaps nearing six, and the establishment was quiet and empty, save for one or two quiet, sleepy patrons and a yawning innkeeper.

The innkeeper asked Ariana what she would like the drink as she climbed up on a stool at the squared, U-shaped bar. She was disappointed when informed they had no tea. The man started listing off various ales, meads, and wines, and Ariana, her stomach churning a bit at the thought, interrupted him and asked for water. She sat there for a bit, debating whether or not to rent a bed.

Sleep was, however, far from her at the moment. The exceedingly smooth hit had energized her and renewed her confidence. No matter how many assassinations she performed, she met each new one with a gnawing sense of incompetence, as if she shouldn't be the one trusted to complete such a task. But with every success, there came a great burst of self-efficacy and esteem… at least for a time.

Ariana finished her water, still disappointed by the lack of tea, since she still had plenty of water left in her hide canteen. She considered her options: Sure, she could return immediately to Falkreath by carriage, which would be the responsible, boring thing to do. She could walk back, which would take only a day or two, searching for alchemical ingredients along the way, but her legs ached at the very thought. Then the idea came back to her…

I wonder if he's up yet.

Ariana exited the inn, observing the faintest hint of sunlight glow from behind mountains. Taking her time, she made her way up to Understone Keep. Inside was quiet and empty, the only people who were to be seen in the entrance being two guards stationed on either side of the hallway. As she passed them, she wondered if they were managing to sleep while standing, since neither of them uttered a word nor even turned their heads as she passed. 

Atop the stairs, at the left end of the stone walkway, Ariana noted two, sleeping wolfhounds. She thought better than to try and approach them, lest they be protective. She saw no Jarl, nor any of his companions residing in the throne room directly ahead. Even the candles and braziers were yet to be lit.

All still asleep, then.

To the right of the platform, she strolled over and investigated a large open doorway; a smithy , she concluded. She thought she might have spied a sleeping orc on a small bed in the corner. To her left from there was a short hallway, ending in a few Dwemer doors and stone stairs. On the left side of the hallway, however, Ariana recognized two Altmer soldiers in matching quicksilver and moonstone armor. They each stood at attention on either side of an open door. She approached them and couldn't help but notice their commander standing inside the room, facing away from the door, bent over a stone table. He paused for a moment to drink something that still simmered from a pewter mug.

The two soldiers eyed Ariana as she entered the room, shifting their weight awkwardly, but ultimately saying nothing. 

"On- do -lemarrrr," Ariana greeted him with a smirk and a sing-song voice. The Mer flinched and twisted his head over his shoulder to see who was disturbing him so early in the morning.

"What do you want?" He muttered, returning his attention to his parchment. 

"I have come for," she paused, trying to find an acceptable word, " Education. "

This almost made Ondolemar laugh, but fearing inadvertently giving the short Imperial any positive reinforcement, he took another gulp of his drink.

"Is that not what your college is for?" He finally said.

"I haven't been there in well over a year now." Ariana chuckled, before taking another step closer to him, eyeing him from around the corner of his desk. The aroma of his drink finally found her nose.

"Hey, is that tea?" She asked abruptly, pointing at his pewter mug.

"Yes," he curtly replied.

"What kind?"

"Aldmeri-- are you quite done? " Ondolemar took his seat and began organizing his many papers and leather-bound logs. 

"I've never tried elven tea." Ariana said dreamily, before noticing Ondolemar’s affront expression.

"Hurry and ask your questions," he hissed, wanting her to hurry up and leave already.

"Oh, right," Ariana folded her arms and leaned against the adjacent stone table, "You mentioned the whole 'rooting out Talos-worshippers' as a 'religious matter' yesterday."

"It is a religious matter."

"See, that's where I'm confused. I always saw religion as a deeply personal, even private matter. Why would anyone really care what people did in the privacy of their own homes?"

"The Dominion, and by extension, the Thalmor, do not recognize Talos as a god. He was only a man, and does not deserve a place in our pantheon. The Empire has agreed to accept our beliefs, and its citizens have a responsibility to cease their heretical worship." Ondolemar's words were mechanical and almost seemed rehearsed.

"What's to stop people from worshipping him in secret?" 

Ondolemar, having taken another sip of his tea, ended up slamming the mug a little too hard on the stone table, sending a few droplets of hot liquid raining softly on top of his many documents.

"You're very inquisitive," he said, staring at Ariana for a moment from over his shoulder, " Normally I like that in a person, but at this current hour it's becoming quite a nuisance."

Ondolemar’s admission of annoyance only encouraged Ariana. She couldn't help but crack a mischievous grin.

"You know there's still a giant Talos shrine here in the city, right?" Ariana shifted her weight and stifled a soft giggle. She had noted it during her exploration the day before.

"You don't think I know every inch of this wretched city I've been assigned to, in side and out? " He spat, eyes wide in insult.

Ariana laughed, which made him even angrier. She was now asking him questions no citizen had ever dared ask him, and it was getting uncomfortably close to things he was not a liberty to disclose.

" Why didn’t you tear it down?" Ariana forced seriousness into her voice. "If you really want to root out all Talos worship, I mean."

"Don't you think our strategies may be a little bit beyond your comprehension?" Ondolemar gritted his teeth, his hands balled into fists in his lap. He quickly finished the last of his tea, willing it to calm his temper.

" Certainly ," Ariana replied, a small smile once more forming, "If it isn't explained to me."

"And I have absolutely no desire to do such a thing," Ondolemar stood once more, towering over her, gesturing to the door.

"Leave now." He sternly uttered. 

Ariana sighed, unfolding her arms and straightening herself. She started for the doorway as he returned to his chair. After a moment, she was over Ondolemar's shoulder, pointing to his now empty cup.

"Hey, do you know where I can get any of that tea?" She loudly whispered.

" NO ." Ondolemar slammed a gloved fist on the table, the slightest hint of frost forming on the stone underneath his hand.

Ariana giggled a bit before rushing out of the room. She poked her head back in to cheerfully say, "Until next time!"

Ondolemar whirled around in his seat, roaring, "LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Ariana hissed and cackled as she rushed out of the Keep. This one was much more fun than Ancano.

Chapter Text

A little over a month had passed since Ariana’s last visit to Markarth, and early morning frost was becoming a normal occurrence on the stone. The streams and waterfalls that streaked through the city were not yet frozen--it was only Heartfire--but spewed icy droplets much to the dismay of anyone who passed. 

Ondolemar sat in the Imperial strategy room of Understone Keep, which he had long since taken over to be his office, reviewing his soldier's field notes.

Caris's handwriting is atrocious , he thought, squinting at a particular line, trying his best to make out the hasty scrawl. He had managed to decipher most of the note, but was ultimately at a loss concerning the second-to-the-last row.

"CARIS," Ondolemar called. He startled slightly when he realized she was right beside him. 

"Yes, sir?' The armored Mer grumbled, unable to fully conceal her irritation. Ondolemar flicked the page in his hand and pointed to the particular scribble.

"What in Oblivion is this supposed to say?" 

The shorter, broader of his two soldiers bent and inspected her work. After a moment of trying to make out her own handwriting she sighed.

"It says, 'the Nord exits his home at precisely 6:40 in the evening'." 

" The same as every day, it seems ," Ondolemar murmured to himself, dipping a quill in a nearby inkpot, editing the entry so as to make it legible. 

"You should really leave the note-taking to Siriol," he told Caris, "Her handwriting is often acceptable." 

But she writes so SLOWLY, was what Caris wished she could say. She stood at attention, forcing herself to only mutter, " Yes, sir. "

Ondolemar dismissed the soldier with a lazy wave of his hand, returning to his papers. Not five minutes had passed of his solitude before he heard an unexpected, though unfortunately familiar, voice behind him.

"Just- ish -ee -yarrrr ," 

That same sing-song cadence made his stomach twist and quiet fury start to rise in his throat. 

"Did I not tell you to leave me alone?" Ondolemar hissed over his shoulder. Ariana sauntered over to the adjacent stone table, hopping up to sit on it. Her legs dangled from the edge, and she swung them back and forth a few times before eventually crossing them.

"I tried," Ariana lied, "But I can't seem to do that, now can I?" Her insufferable grin made Ondolemar consider violence, a feeling he forced himself to bury. He wasn't in the mood to file any conflict reports that day. 

"What's to stop me from arresting you for Talos worship? Have you no sense?" He was willing to try anything at this point, however, the impotence of his threat was not lost on Ariana. 

"Don't you need proof?" She chucked. "I can't imagine you managing to obtain any from me. I worship no one."

Of course, this wasn't entirely true. Sithis wasn't exactly a name she could mention in casual conversation, and her reverence of the Dread Father was quiet and personal. It lacked the overt passion she associated with the word "worship". 

Ondolemar resigned with a long, strained sigh. 

" What exactly, do you want from me this time?"

"Hm," Ariana began, looking upward, tapping her lips and pretending to be in deep thought, "So when is your birthday?"

"My what? " The question was so unexpected, he found himself unable to feign disinterest. No one in the past two centuries had ever asked him that before, not outside of a bureaucratic setting, at least.

"The day of your birth, when is it?" She asked once more, tilting her head ever so slightly. She leaned forward on the stone table, resting her weight on the edge with her palms.

Ondolemar blinked, and replied numbly, "The 30th of Frostfall," he quickly shook the innocent astonishment from his mind, angry with himself that he actually disclosed it, " Why do you want to know? "

"Oh!" Ariana clapped her hands softly, "It’s coming up then!" She leaned forward even more, catching herself before she fell from the table. 

"Your sign is The Tower ." 

"You don't think I know that?" Ondolemar scoffed, reaching for a nearby wine bottle. She was giving him a reason to start early.

"It’s funny," Ariana continued, "I spent most of my life thinking my sign was The Lady, but then I found an old… er, document from the orphanage and I'm apparently The Serpent." 

Ondolemar took several large gulps of his wine, trying his best to avoid looking at her. If he simply ignored her at the point, would she give up and leave? After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he ended up responding, despite himself.

"I'm sure that makes you think you're special ." He told Ariana, focusing on refilling his pewter tea mug that now held wine. This offended her slightly, not because she thought she was special, but because she so desperately wanted to be.

"Ha, no," she managed, "But you being The Tower is interesting! I bet you're good with opening locks."

"Sure, should I have the key." Ondolemar responded coldly, willing his ever growing temper stifled, so as not to make a fool of himself. He quickly found Ariana off the table and leaning uncomfortably close to his head.

"I bet you're loaded ." She whispered aggressively by his hood, grinning.

Ondolemar shot out of his chair, his sudden, towering stance making Ariana stumble back.

"Have you NEVER heard of personal space?" He hissed, glaring down at her, wide eyed and indignant. Ariana spied a subtle frost beginning to dance around his clenched fists. This excited rather than frightened her, however. She straightened her stance, smiling up at his apparent fury.

" Goodness , you are so easy to anger." She couldn't help but giggle.

Ondolemar closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and steadied his hands. Stars, she's TRYING to antagonize me! He forced his voice low and cold, looking down at her through narrowed eyes.

"I know you find my frustration… entertaining ," he began, willing every ounce of the cool, rigid courtesy from his upbringing into his tone, "But my work is far too important for such distractions, and I would really prefer not to have company."

Ariana’s smile fell, and a small frown formed as she folded her arms. His manners' return was the last thing she wanted, and she knew now that her pushing of his boundaries would have to come to an end for the day. He would entertain her no longer.

" Fine ," she eventually uttered, "But one more thing before I leave…"

Ondolemar sat back down in his chair and held his temples, trying to redirect his focus back to his soldier's field notes. 

" What, " he grumbled.

"Tell me Happy Birthday." Ariana's boldness surprised even her, and a slow, smug smirk returned to her lips. Ondolemar quickly faced her, utterly confounded. 

"It’s today," she added, never breaking her insufferable smile.

The fourteenth, he initially noted, before shaking the unwanted information from his head.

"And you couldn't think of a better way to celebrate than to harass me ?" 

Ariana flicked her hand dismissively, rolling her eyes, "Oh, please , I haven't celebrated a birthday of mine since I was seven. Besides, I was already here in the city on a job." She started for the doorway, deciding him actually asking her a question was a good place to leave it. She waved to him without turning, calling back cheerily, "Until next time!"

Next time , Ondolemar dreaded hearing those words from her. However, he was unable to force his focus to his work yet, and frowned, thinking about what she had said. He took another swig of his cheap wine.

" Happy birthday, " he found himself uttering to no one.

***

Ariana returned to Markarth towards the end of Frostfall, this time having no acceptable excuse to really be there. She found herself strolling through the center hallway of Understone Keep and climbing the many stairs.

Having watched her footing as she ascended, she was surprised to run straight into Ondolemar at the top. He stood with his arms folded, gently tapping a foot, as if he'd been waiting.

"I haven't gotten your name," he began coldly.

"Oh! (I'm pretty sure I've told you before, but) I'm Ariana Marcellus." She chimed before adding, "You can call me Ari for short." 

Sneering a bit at her informality--though at this point, he hardly expected anything else--he shifted his weight and cleared his throat. Holding his head aloft, he looked down at her behind his large nose.

"Well, Marcellus, I have a proposition for you, if you're up to it." He scanned her odd, tight-fitting leather armor.

Ariana said nothing and narrowed her eyes, a brief smirk threatening to emerge on her lips. She attempted to convey suspicion. Ondolemar let his arms drop and sighed. He never liked asking for… help … but he was currently running low on options.

"Consider it a birthday present?" He said softly, bending slightly so the short Imperial might could hear him better. 

"I don't know," Ariana replied slowly, taking great care not to allow a smile, "I don't really give those." She quickly pocketed a small parcel she had been carrying: a small block of compressed Aldmeri tea. He bent even lower.

" I'll make it worth your while. " He viciously whispered, unable to hide his desperation.

"Gold?"

" Of course. "

Ariana stepped away from the staircase, to Ondolemar’s side. His two soldiers eyed the pair from their positions down the platform. 

"Hm," Ariana held a finger to her lips, pausing though she had already decided. "What do you need me to do?"

Ondolemar finally let his shoulders relax, sighing softly.

"Ogmund the skald," he began, as if Ariana had the faintest clue who he was talking about, "He's old, respected, and I know for a fact he worships Talos in his home."

"You want him dead? " She asked plainly.

"No!" Ondolemar jolted in his affront and his abrupt soprano made Ariana chuckle. "( Well, not yet anyway. There is a protocol we must follow.) Anyway, the Jarl ," he glanced back at the currently empty throne room with contempt, "Has been hesitant to call for his arrest."

"You can't just detain him whenever you want?" 

" Like I said, there are protocols . And I must adhere, first and foremost, to laws of the land, no matter how frustrating and inhibiting."

"So what do you want me to do?" Ariana folded her arms, praying he would get to the point.

"I want you," Ondolemar replied cautiously, hoping his wager on her moral compass was correct, "To break into Ogmund's home and find evidence."

This made a sharp, loud laugh escape Ariana’s throat.

"Is that all? " She barked before adding, "What kind of evidence, exactly? I'm not sure what I should even be looking for."

"An Amulet of Talos should suffice," Ondolemar answered in a low voice, willing her volume to match his own, "I know for a fact he owns one, though he hasn't worn it outside his home in some time now." 

Ondolemar retrieved a small, worn map of Markarth from his pocket and pointed to a particular residence. "You will find his home here." Ariana studied the parchment, eventually nodding when she was sure she had the location memorized. She then suddenly started for the stairs. 

" Marcellus, wait ," he hissed after her, making her stop two stairs down, "Let it be known that he only leaves his home shortly before seven. I wouldn't dare attempt it until then." 

"Ondo, I do believe it's seven now." 

Ariana’s impromptu nickname for him struck a nerve and triggered an emotion he could not yet identify. It certainly wasn't a good one. However, that was the least troubling part of her words. Did I really spend that much time explaining this to her?  

"Anyway," Ariana said, waving at him from behind, continuing her descent, "I'll be back in a bit."

Ondolemar hardly had the time to register their conversation and retreat back to his office before he spied Ariana skipping back up the stairs, something shiny hanging loosely from between her fingers. She stopped suddenly before the Mer, holding the gleaming Amulet of Talos aloft, swinging it gently back and forth. 

"Took me fifteen minutes, easy ," she laughed.

Ondolemar was unable to contain his shock and excitement. He snatched the amulet out of Ariana’s hand, holding it up to the light of a nearby brazier. It was, indeed, the evidence he sought. Overwhelming relief flooded him, and he couldn't help but feel a small bud of fondness growing for the Imperial.

" Thank you, " he managed through still breath, continuing to inspect the amulet, which had been the object of his obsession for some time now. " We have it, " he added, looking down at her with the softest expression she had observed from any Thalmor, let alone him. He couldn't help but look at the amulet again, flipping the heretical medallion over several times in his hands, savoring his victory. Ariana tried to soak up as much of his apparent happiness as she could. 

"I'm glad you're happy," Ariana said quietly. He looked from prize and down at her, surprised to see a genuinely warm smile on her face. He straightened, driving the amulet deep into his pocket.

"I would like to personally thank you on behalf of myself, and the Thalmor, for your assistance." Ondolemar started to extend his hand, tempted to offer a handshake, but thought better. He untied a jangling bag of coin that hung from his braided belt and thrust it towards her.

"Here," he forced his smile to fall, not wanting to give her the impression that he now might like her somewhat, "For your work."

Ariana swiftly pocketed the gold, her warm smile twisting back into that insufferable smirk he dreaded. 

"Thank you," she reminded herself to tell him, before spouting her usual, "Until next time."

Ariana turned to leave as Ondolemar was still trying to process what had happened. He couldn't help but stare at her as she began to once more descend the stone steps. She paused, waving her hand behind her once more, calling back at him, "Happy Birthday!" She felt kind of bad for it being an afterthought, though only slightly. Before Ondolemar could respond, she was gone.

Chapter Text

Ondolemar spent his winter days strictly inside, forcing his two soldiers to perform any and all tasks that involved the outdoors, (then again he spent most of his days inside). He had been in Skyrim for quite some time now but still had yet to adjust to the climate. Though he had previously expressed his frustration to the First Emissary about being stationed in such a miserable corner of the province, he was beginning to be grateful he was somewhere with such efficient heating. Above him, he watched the large Dwemer pipes hiss and pop, releasing their warm steam into the Keep. He could never express as much, due to the air of stern cynicism he desperately tried to maintain, but Dwemer engineering never ceased to amaze him. 

He looked down to see a familiar Imperial at the other end of the stone walkway, sporting her usual, bizzare, red and black armor. She was bent over Jarl Igmund's lounging wolfhounds, extending her hand so that they may smell her. He was almost offended she hadn't come to see him first, which seemed to be her modus operandi. He found himself approaching her.

"Marcellus?" Though Ondolemar addressed her quietly, she still flinched, which in turn, made the dogs startle slightly. One of them turned to the tall Mer and let out a low, half-hearted bark.

"I didn't hear you," Ariana replied, mildly embarrassed. She wrung her fingers together, glancing back down at the hounds. "Which is unusual, considering your boots are hard and often… loud."

She looked up to see Ondolemar pointing to the ceiling with a small hint of a smile. 

"Lots of background noise today," he told her in an oddly warm tone, before adding with a soft chuckle, "What are you doing?"

"Oh," Ariana breathed, looking back down at the dogs, "I was just seeing if they were friendly." 

"Don't bother with those stupid, smelly creatures." The wolfhound that had barked at him let out a low whine and laid her head back down on her slender paws, looking up at him pathetically. Ondolemar noted the dog's expression and sneered down at her. 

" Ondo ," Ariana hissed, startling him in her offense, " First of all , they're adorable. Yeah, they smell, but I want to pet them nonetheless ." She squatted before the lazy hounds, once again cautiously extending her hand towards a now wiggling and sniffing snout. 

"You're going to get bitten," he said flatly, resting his fists on his hips. 

"That's a risk I'm willing to take," Ariana murmured, daring her fingertips to make contact with the hound's curly forehead. The hound then perked, and immediately began enthusiastically licking Ariana's gloved hand. The dog's sister still lay on her side beside her, snoring softly, completely uninterested. 

"Hmpf," Ondolemar grunted, folding his arms, "They never did let me get that close." 

"Well, have you ever considered that they don't like you?" Ariana began scratching the wolfhound behind her ear, moving her hand down to her back. The dog lazily rolled to one side and Ariana rubbed her furry, gray side. "I mean, listen to the way you talk about them. From what I've seen, few beasts are truly stupid."

"Then explain to me why their waste keeps finding my boot. They don't even have sense enough to go in a corner. Absolutely disgusting ."

Ariana paused her scratching, which made the wolfhound whine softly, twisting around on her back, reminding the human to continue. Ariana was deep in thought.

"You know," she began quietly, frowning but continuing her petting nonetheless, "Now that I think about it, I'm not sure I've ever seen them go outside."

"Oh they never go outside. The Jarl ," Ondolemar sneered over his shoulder subtly, indicating the small throne room behind him, "Doesn't seem to care where they mark, nor whom they jump on." 

Ariana began rubbing the dog's belly vigorously, making a hind leg start to kick wildly in the air. 

"That's awful ," She said in a high-pitched baby voice that made Ondolemar cringe, "Baby pups like you need to run , yes they do. Yes they do! "

" Stop that ," He couldn't help but utter. Luckily Ariana didn't hear him over the sound of a popping steam vent overhead. She stood, brushing the shed fur that now clung to her leather, and began towards Igmund's throne room. The wolfhound looked like it might follow her, but thought it better to continue her nap. 

Suddenly realizing where Ariana was heading, Ondolemar chased after her, halting her with a firm hand down on her shoulder. She froze, attempting to process the sensation. Her face quickly flushed scarlet and her eyes became round.

" Don't, " he whispered down at her, " He doesn't care, and trying to talk to him about it will only result in a headache. " Ondolemar removed his hand from her shoulder slowly, after being certain she would remain still. A nearby guard folded her arms and eyed the pair.

"Besides," he added, his voice smooth and cool, "I doubt he would even speak with you. You aren't anyone he would want to speak with."

Ariana’s flush receded and she rolled her eyes, twisting her body slightly to glare up at him. 

"Marcellus, the hounds are fine ." He added quietly, gesturing behind him to the sleeping pair. "They eat fresh meat twice a day from the kitchen and clearly don't want for a thing. They spend their days lounging about, distracting my soldiers, and getting in my way."

Ariana peered over at the dogs once more, her eyebrows twisting and her mouth small and tight. She resigned for the time being, concluding Ondolemar was at least somewhat correct. She also figured she shouldn't give the Jarl a reason to really notice her, let alone feel confronted by her, lest she lose what freedom she currently had to be in his Keep. She sighed sharply, pointing a finger up in Ondolemar’s face.

" You're lucky I like you. " She hissed, before storming back to the dogs. Ondolemar didn't follow, but watched her sit on the floor and begin petting them once more.

"Lucky, indeed ," he murmured sarcastically.

***

The long winter months passed with Ariana visiting the Thalmor almost bimonthly. They're interactions and conversations continued to warm. But to Ondolemar, Ariana’s silly obsession with the Jarl's dogs only seemed to get worse. When pressed, she lamented about never having been allowed a pet growing up, being so fond of animals as she was. He asked her why she didn't have one now, and she merely told him she didn't think she had the time to care for an animal properly. He found this level of responsibility and restraint from her surprising, indeed. 

However, her speaking of the dogs, and interacting with the dogs, and by the Eight, smelling like the dogs began to wear on him, and he eventually found himself before the throne room.

" Jarl Igmund, " Ondolemar sneered down at the Nord, making no attempt to feign respect, "I have simply had enough of the filth you allow among the floors in your halls. The Dominion already thinks of your kind disgusting mongrels , and I am disappointed by your insistence on proving it." 

Igmund shifted in his seat, resting his elbow on the arm of the ancient, Dwemer throne and his jaw in his palm. He was so used to the Mer's complaints by now that he hardly reacted, merely blinking up at him in mild vexation. He let out a small sigh in reply.

"Your hounds ," Ondolemar continued, "Are very poorly cared for, it seems. Normally I wouldn't trouble myself with what is done with one's own animals, but when it directly affects my ability to go about my business --" Ondolemar lifted a pointed, armored boot, placing it on the top step of the throne's stone dais, swiftly scraping the filth off of the bottom before the Jarl, "Something must be done." 

Igmund lifted his head, straightening a bit in his seat. He stared at the dog waste that now stained the dais, then up at Ondolemar, his eyes burning with fury. Unfortunately for the Jarl, Ondolemar’s expression matched his own, if not exceeding in its indignation, and Igmund was forced to resign to avoid angering his unwelcome guest. He knew he had to make the Thalmor happy while they occupied his city, despite how few their numbers there currently were. He knew he would be met with fire and fury, and possibly removed from power, if he did not. He took a deep breath, and forced his voice to be smooth and steady.

"Well, Justiciar, I certainly do not wish my hounds to inhibit your very important work." Igmund was not very good at concealing his sarcasm. "What would you suggest I do? Hire more help to clean? Hire attendants just for the--"

Ondolemar raised his hand, interrupting the Jarl.

"I do not want to hear any more of your excuses, Igmund, this is the final time I will address you about this matter. I have done so many times already and every… strategy … you've attempted to apply has fallen short."

The Jarl's attending guards shifted their weight nervously, and Raerek, the Jarl's elderly Steward, raked his fingers through his long, thin hair. He shot Igmund a look of warning.

Ondolemar sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose, willing the Jarl to be silent while he found the rest of his words. Luckily Igmund seemed to oblige.

" Luckily for you ," he eventually continued, "I have decided to offer you a most generous favor."

Jarl Igmund gulped subtly and straightened himself once again, "And what 'generous favor' might that be?"

"You will allow one of my soldiers to take the dogs once daily, and escort them outside the walls of the city, so that they may find a more appropriate place to defecate."

Raerek's astonishment was immediately apparent, and he muttered fervently into Jarl Igmund's ear, who still eyed the Altmer contemptuously. He eventually responded to his Steward with a short nod.

"Well, Justiciar, that truly is a very surprising and generous offer. I am honored. I had never taken you for someone who liked, let alone knew anything, about wolfhounds." 

"I assure you, Jarl , I know no more than you ." 

Ondolemar’s insult was not lost on Igmund, who twisted his face slightly, forcing it to eventually relax. 

"They will require tethers--leads--as they are prone to wandering." The Jarl said, reaching for a silver goblet that had been resting on the broad, squared arm of his throne. 

"I would have never guessed," Ondolemar smoothly uttered, flashing a quick, icy smile. 

The Thalmor left the Jarl with no sense of satisfaction, however. The entire thing had been a pride-shattering ordeal for Ondolemar, offering such an ultimately kind gesture to the Nord and his beasts. He forced himself to accept it, however, concluding it may offer him some small modicum of leverage some time in the future.

***

Spring once more came to the Reach, and the juniper began to slowly awaken. Ariana found herself approaching the Markarth gates only to be met with Siriol--a name she had had to practice in order to remember--being all but dragged behind two, massive and excited wolfhounds. Ariana, surprised by the sight, gave the Altmer soldier a quick wave before entering the city. Siriol seemed more than preoccupied to reciprocate, however.

"Ondooo," Ariana sang, leaning her head inside his office's door frame, "Outside I saw Siriol, (she's the tall one, right?) with the Jarl's hounds. She looked like she had her hands full."

"She can manage," he responded coldly.

"Nothing to add to that?"

"No," he paused, "You certainly find yourself in Markarth a lot, it seems," Ondolemar said plainly without turning in his seat to look at her. He held a piece of parchment in each hand, seemingly reading them at the same time.

"I mean, not a lot …" Her weak attempt at persuasion was not lost on him, and he allowed himself a small smile that luckily she could not see. Ariana cautiously entered the room, eventually settling against the unoccupied stone table. She struggled to start a conversation; she usually came prepared. Most often, she took the time to let down her hair before ever entering Understone. She felt it flattered her better. She found herself in the Keep based on the sole desire to see him it seemed, and today her hair hung over her shoulders in the two, messy braids she had slept in the night before. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed and she eventually pointed to the documents in his hands.

"Caught any new Talos-worshippers lately?" Ariana asked, immediately cringing. Could I not have thought of anything better?

"Hm," Ondolemar had to take a moment to break his concentration and to register her words, "No, they seem few and far between nowadays. After Ogmund, I think any remaining local heretics must have gone further into hiding. I have received no clues." 

"So," she began again, noting a brief, hint of a frown on his face, "What's that concerning, then, (if I may ask)?"

"Oh," Ondolemar straightened the paper in his left hand, "Well, this one is an Imperial security plan from last week, for the Emperor's cousin's wedding. A copy was forwarded to me from the Thalmor Embassy. And this one," he flicked the right, "Is news delivered to me this morning of her untimely passing. Apparently, the mortar on an old gargoyle had been loose and the thing crushed her in the middle of her delivering a speech."  

Ariana desperately tried to locate her hide canteen so she could preoccupy her face with something other than the shock she was unable to conceal. After taking several quick, deep gulps of water, she allowed herself a quiet, nervous laugh.

"Yes, I actually thought it amusing as well," Ondolemar said, "Objectively tragic, of course, but it was such an absurdly theatrical way to go… on her wedding day, no less." 

"W-why…" She was having a difficult time steadying her audible anxiety, "Why did you receive reports on it, exactly?"

"Just standard briefing. For whatever reason, the Empire and Penitus Oculatus found the death suspicious and sent many reports concerning the matter. It is the Thalmor's duty to oversee and cross-reference any Imperial investigations that seem the least bit important. A waste of time, really. " Ondolemar set down the documents and retrieved a tankard and bottle of wine from the far edge of his stone table. After pouring himself a cupful, he paused for a second, and offered the bottle to Ariana out if courtesy. Ariana declined, but the gesture made her smile, momentarily forgetting her nerves. 

"You're not missing out on anything," Ondolemar told her quietly, before taking a hefty swig, "It’s not very good."

Ariana and Ondolemar chatted for a while, mostly about the Jarl's dogs and the odd sight of seeing a Thalmor soldier walk them. 

"She actually volunteered for the task," Ondolemar said about Siriol, "She's always had a soft spot for those animals, so it really came to no surprise." 

They spoke a bit more, but about hardly anything in particular: about how welcome the spring was, about how pleasant the aroma was of the juniper native to the Hold. Ariana made sure to avoid the subject of Vittoria Vici's wedding, despite how entertaining Ondolemar seemed to find it. Suddenly, the two were intruded upon by a tan, rough-looking, but relatively young Imperial man. Ariana recognized him immediately from where she had stolen a copy of his schedule in Dragon Bridge: Gaius Maro. 

She froze, a little too wild-eyed, staring up at him. He eyed her and her unusual armor with what Ariana thought to be suspicion. It's Fredas, but I didn't expect him here so soon.  

"I'm sorry, Justiciar, I did not know you had company." The Penitus Oculatus agent said politely. Ondolemar waved his hand dismissively as to indicate there was little issue.

"Maro, I've read your report on Vici's death and I must ask," Ondolemar addressed the agent coolly, "What evidence have you to substantiate that her demise was a result of foul play? You offer none in your report other than the odd timing." 

Ariana forced herself still and silent as her heart threatened to escape her chest. She couldn't help but feel as if Gaius's eyes were on her, despite him paying her no attention. 

Gaius frowned at Ondolemar, eyes narrowing. He really did not want to be forced to explain his intuition. He sighed in concession, "I have none."

"You certainly don't." Ondolemar let an icy smile part his lips, looking up at the Penitus Oculatus agent from his seat. "It seems to me that Nordic and Imperial engineering is so dreadfully inadequate that the unfortunate occurrence was inevitable." 

Ariana allowed herself to exhale somewhat, but still feared the inaudible breath would bring attention to herself. She silently retrieved a small, beige vial from her satchel and placed it to her lips, never taking her eyes off the agent. 

"Nothing ever seems to be good enough for your lot," Gaius grumbled with sneer.

"What was that?" Ondolemar was almost having fun with this.

" Nothing, " Gaius uttered, turning to leave.

"That's what I thought." Ondolemar couldn't help but whisper in response, his dreadful, entitled smirk never leaving him.

"Well, Justiciar, it's been pleasant ," Gaius forced, "But I must find food and drink. I merely wanted to check in with you to see if you reviewed my report."

Ondolemar offered the Penitus Oculatus agent a short nod as he left.

"The Empire really is in shambles, if this is the sort trusted to guard the Emperor-- Marcellus? " Ondolemar found Ariana no longer on her perch, let alone anywhere to be seen. He stood and inspected the hall outside his open doorway for a moment. He then turned, startling at her sudden return, her sitting back on the table where he thought he left her.

"Sorry about that," she whispered shakily, "I didn't like him."

"So you used invisibility to hide? What are you, a toddler?" 

Ariana squeezed her eyes shut after shooting him a rather potent glare, and rubbed her temples. 

"A little bit," she murmured, before abruptly hopping down off the stone table and marching towards the door.

"Marcellus, I meant no offense--" Ondolemar began before she cut him off.

"It’s fine, I just need to hurry. I remembered I have business to attend to…" She told him in a low, grim tone, before stalking off without so much as a good-bye. 

Ondolemar was left there standing awkwardly in the middle of his office.

" Until next time, " he muttered to no one.

***

Ariana returned not a week later, visibly irritable. Ondolemar greeted atop the stone stairs with his hands on his hips.

"Are you still mad about the toddler comment?"

" What? " Ariana was taken aback, and couldn't, for the life of her, figure out what he was talking about. 

"Last time you were here, you hid from that Penitus Oculatus agent, Maro, with an invisibility potion, (to get out of having to socialize with him, as far as I can tell), and I called you a toddler for it."

Ariana found herself distracted from her current task at hand, and squinted, trying to remember. She couldn't. All she could recall from that day was how utterly mortified she was to be suddenly blindsided by Maro's appearance and subsequent talk with Ondolemar. She really should have been more careful. His killing wasn't as smooth as she had hoped either. She managed to get him alone, but he spotted her, recognized her from Ondolemar’s office, and ended up defending himself. The poison on her blade managed to do the trick, but not before he cried out in alarm, much to her dismay. She knew it would only be a matter of time before guards rushed to his aid, and she was forced to hastily plant the incriminating letter, messily tucked in his belt. There ended up a lot of blood and she cursed and picked at it drying on her skin as she fled. Ariana always considered such close calls failures, despite her task being completed and her being relatively unscathed.

"No, I'm not angry about that." She eventually told Ondolemar. 

"I should hope not; you know I jest . "

"You certainly try. " She smirked up at him. He scoffed, unable to stop himself from smiling in response. 

"If all goes well today," Ariana pushed by Ondolemar, eyeing the door to the Keep's kitchen far behind him, flashing a grin, "I'll come annoy you later." 

Ondolemar straightened his outer robes, forcing a subtle sneer, and looked down at her behind his nose.

"I don't care what you do, Marcellus."

Ariana glared up at him but was never able to fully dismiss her smirk. 

"Well, I may or may not see you soon, but I need to tend to… things."

Ariana pretended to visit the smithy, while waiting for Ondolemar to return to his makeshift office. When she was sure he could no longer see her, she consumed a large invisibility potion and darted to Anton Virane's kitchen.

Ondolemar found himself disappointed when she never returned. 

I had told her I didn't care… which I don't.  

Sighing softly to himself, and as usual, he finished his nightly bottle of wine alone.

Chapter Text

Ariana returned to the Dawnstar Sanctuary feeling half-dead and numb from the frost that had begun on her previously soaked leather.

It was done. Emperor Titus Mede II lay cold and bled in his quarters on the Katariah. She could hardly muster any satisfaction, however. The feat had been far from easy thanks to a particularly persistent Penitus Oculatus agent. 

As Ariana thawed silently by the fire in the main hall, her cheek began to sting and ache. Retrieving the small mirror she always carried in her enchanted satchel, she examined her face: A large red and purple bruise dominated the apple of her l right cheek. In the center was a jagged, crusted cut, about an inch long.

Ah, that’s right, she recalled, Evander caught me with the top of his shield. She rubbed the dry blood off, despite the pressure on her swollen cheekbone making her wince. 

“ Well? ” A deep voice asked from behind. Nazir stood next to Ariana, looking down, eager for information. “What word of the Emperor?”

“Titus Mede II is dead,” Ariana replied formally and numbly, adding, “By my hand.” This realization made a small bud of pride begin to blossom somewhere deep inside her.

“Truly?” Nazir's eyes widened and a grin slowly began to part his face. “Could you have brought us more wondrous news? Recent events notwithstanding, this is a happy day for us, my friend. Despite your… our misfortunes, you stayed true to the Dark Brotherhood. You've saved us all,” he stood between her and the fire, grasping her shoulders, “And for this you have my eternal thanks.”

Nazir beamed and, not used to such a level of pure sentiment from him, Ariana could not help but warm and smile softly.

“Now, of course I must ask,” he unhanded her, taking a step back, folding his arms, “Killing the Emperor... How much did Motierre pay for such a thing?"

Ariana had almost forgotten about him, despite him being her last stop before retreating back to the Sanctuary.

“Oh, him. Yeah… I killed him .” She answered, nonchalant and elsewhere.

“Not before collecting I hope.”

Ariana shoved a hand impossibly deep into the enchanted satchel that hung on her belts, pulling out a large drawstring bag. Its weight became apparent once it passed through the opening of her bag, and she had to hold it with both hands. 

“He gave me twenty thousand.” She said plainly, hoisting the bag of gold upward, thrusting it into Nazir’s arms. 

“Ha!” He shouted, his voice echoing throughout the empty chamber, “ Remarkable! Well, the old bastard certainly made it worth your while, didn't he?” Nazir rolled the incredibly hefty bag of gold from hand to hand.

Ariana wasn’t terribly concerned with their prize. Her family was still dead.

“Hey,” Nazir began, ignoring her persistent grimness, “Might I offer some advice? You should go to Riften and find Delvin Mallory. I believe Astrid had you visit him once before?” Her name stung Ariana’s ears and struck her gut. “Mallory is an expert 'obtainer of goods.' We can use the money to repair and refit this Sanctuary.”

Ariana let out a small sigh but didn’t respond, her silence making Nazir somewhat uncomfortable. 

“Make a true home for us, hmm? You do that, and I'll see what I can do about recruiting some new additions to our Family." 

Ariana’s face twisted slightly and she squeezed her eyes shut, “I--" she began before abruptly pausing, having to take a deep breath before looking back at him, “Can you delegate the task to another? (Not… that there are many others left, I know.) I…” 

Nazir sighed heavily at her weary, trailing voice. He relaxed his shoulders, mild disappointment evident in his expression.

“You’re tired.”

“Yes,” She uttered. This was an extreme understatement, but she didn’t feel strong enough to elaborate.

“Well, I suppose I can make those arrangements myself. And I guess you deserve a little rest.” Nazir added warmly, “You did such an amazing thing for us after all.”

“Thank you, Brother.” Ariana murmured numbly. 

“That’s what I’m here for, Sister.” He cradled the large bag in one hand, patting her on the shoulder awkwardly with another. “Of course, this will delay the recruitment.”

“That’s fine,” Ariana said, not emotionally ready to welcome any new “family".

Despite her exhaustion, and despite how nice it was to finally have her own room, though currently empty, her sleep was less than restful. Her usual bedroll felt weak and thin, and the cold of the stone floor seeped through it, stinging her aching back. By morning she was ready to be done with the place. 

“Where are you going?” Nazir asked her while seated at the small, lonely table in the middle of the main hall, thumbing through papers.

“Away, I’m not sure. I just want…” Ariana tried to find acceptable words. “I don’t want to be here right now. Alone maybe. Just for a while.” Nazir raised an eyebrow.

“I… need time to… mourn?” That wasn’t exactly right. Or it could have been? She wasn’t sure.

“You don’t need to explain yourself, Sister. You’re Listener . You can do what you want.” Nazir took a gulp from his tankard, taking another look at the parchment in his hand. 

Do what you want… that didn’t seem quite right, but she accepted it. She needed to be with someone else. Someone whose perspective wasn’t bound to the Brotherhood.

“Let Babette know I’m sorry for not checking in with her, but I… have to go." She added over her shoulder, " I hope she keeps the clown in line. ”

Nazir waved a hand at her in confirmation, not looking up from the table.

On the cold shore, outside the secluded Sanctuary entrance, Ariana summoned Shadowmere. The great black horse rose from bubbling, silent nothingness, snorting and stomping. Ariana reached up and caressed the dark beast’s nose. 

Where would she go? She wanted to be among friends. But who would listen sympathetically to her conflicts? Marcurio was the first person who came to mind.

No, he would simply lecture you, she surmised, And complain should you cry.

Lubomir? No, they were hardly close, especially these days. 

Faralda's face briefly flashed in her mind, but she immediately shook it away. They had not had any contact for many years. 

Ariana’s gut twisted as she realized the only other people left who would do were dead. Her heart ached for Gabriella and Festus, Gabriella in particular, who was the only other assassin who truly felt like what Ariana imagined to be a real sister.

Shadowmere bent slowly, gently reminding Ariana to mount her. 

“ Right ,” Ariana whispered. Taking more of her strength than usual, she climbed up on a stirrup, swinging her leg over Shadowmere's back, settling her sore bottom in the saddle. Ariana silently rode to the outskirts of Dawnstar, still trying to decide in what direction to head.

She desperately wanted distraction from it all. A moment to breathe, a moment to forget. She decided talking about her plights was actually the last thing she wanted to do.

An idea came to her, and she allowed a small smile to twist through her cheeks. She kicked Shadowmere’s sides, starting in sudden and determined gallop, heading southwest.

***

Ariana had somehow managed to sleep for a while during the ride, resting her head in Shadowmere’s mane, her exhaustion ever worse after her ill sleep. She trusted her to know where to go, and despite the undead mare's blinding speed, her gait was far smoother than any carriage.

It was nearing nightfall, and the distinct smell of juniper flooded her nose. The landscape was open, barren almost, peppered with large rocky outcrops and scraggly foliage. She was already in The Reach. 

Sitting up straight, bringing Shadowmere to a halt, Ariana spied the great stone city in the distance.

Markarth is always fun.  

She continued on towards the gates.

Just after the bridge, and just before reaching the stables, Ariana dismounted Shadowmere. She kissed the horse gently on the nose, and dismissed her back into the Void.

Ondolemar had been much friendlier to her in recent visits, and she thought she might get him to share a drink with her. He was perfect for this. He didn’t know much about her yet and would hopefully not ask any uncomfortable questions. She craved his company, keenly aware of what she wanted from him, though almost certain she could never get it. His acquaintance would be enough for now.

Ariana found the Thalmor Justiciar in his make-shift office in Understone Keep. 

She rapped on the stone door frame, which hardly made a sound and burned her bruised knuckles. (She didn’t know what she expected.) Nonetheless, Ondolemar looked up from his reports and over his shoulder, the hint of a smile briefly flashing.

“Ah, my friend,” he turned in his chair to face her properly. “There are so few pleasures in life as fine as your company.” 

Ariana couldn’t help but scoff, leaning in the doorway.

“Please,” he gestured to an empty chair by a nearby table, “Sit.”

Ariana straightened, unfolding her arms. She made her way over the chair, her dark curls swaying and bobbing as she plopped down.

“How have you been?” Ondolemar asked politely. Of course Ariana knew he didn’t actually care--it's just what you said. Still, the very thought of small talk at the moment made her roll her eyes. She took no time in retrieving a full bottle of Black-Briar Reserve from her impossibly small satchel, scooting her chair closer to him, and slamming it on his table.

“Drink with me.” She flat out ordered.

Ondolemar eyed the bottle, raising a brow, and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.

“I’m usually not one to refuse a drink of anything that says ‘Reserve'.” He began, “But mead? If I drink much of it, are you sure it won’t turn me into a Nord?” His weak attempt at humor fell flat, and Ariana snatched the bottle, prying out the cork, groaning and rolling her eyes.

“It's good . I’m not one for drinking, but I like this. ” She said, the bottle now open, impatiently gesturing for him to hand over his tankard. He hastily finished the last few gulps of subpar wine before sliding it over to her.

“So what’s the occasion?” Ondolemar asked, watching her carefully fill it.

“None really,” She handed the cup back to him, and he took it by its handle, their hands never having to touch. “Rough couple of weeks…” she clarified quietly, reaching into her satchel to obtain her own tankard. He could tell as much by the state of her cheek.

“Ah, why do you think I settle for this swill every evening?” Ondolemar lazily pointed at a plain, almost empty wine bottle towards the edge of his messy desk. He eyed his new drink, smelling it a bit. “I never drink mead , though.”

Ariana slapped the table and growled, “ By the Eight, just try it.”

Ondolemar cautiously took a sip, feigning apprehension just to test her frustration.

“Well, Marcellus, you got me. This is absolutely delicious.” He admitted, smiling before gulping it down. Ariana had hardly consumed two small sips before she saw Ondolemar eyeing the bottom of his empty cup thirstily. 

“Go on, get more.” Ariana said, matter-of-factly, still nursing her first tankard. Ondolemar began to reach for the bottle then paused.

“It’s fine .” Ariana added, patting her enchanted satchel, “I have almost a whole case in here.”

Ondolemar poured himself a second helping, drinking it a little less greedily this time, trying his best to savor it. He glanced to the side of her belts.

“I remember when I was young, I’d see ancient traveling wizards on the Isle carrying that particular enchantment. It was a very rare sight when I was in Cyrodiil, and I’ve never once heard of it existing here in Skyrim. I assumed it was far outside the limits of Nordic magic.” 

“Yeah,” Ariana admitted, “They didn’t know much about it in Winterhold.” 

Ondolemar chuckled, pouring himself a third tankard-full, while Ariana just now finished her first.

“So how did you come by it, then? I have a hard time imagining you crafting it yourself, since I assume most of your training was in Winterhold… no offense.”

“None taken,” Ariana lied, waving her hand dismissively. “A good friend of mine made it for me. Marcurio. He helped me leave Riften and get to Winterhold back in the day, and he hated whenever I asked him to carry any of my stuff, ha.”

“A Cyrodiilic name by the sound of it; I’m surprised he would know how. He must be an accomplished mage.” Ondolemar was already on his fourth drink, the bottle now empty. Ariana went to pour her second, shook the bottle, placed it on the floor, and yanked another full one out of her bag. 

“He’s pretty good, I guess,” Ariana didn’t want to give Marcurio the satisfaction, despite him currently being all the way across the province as far as she knew, “He said he studied at The Arcane University.” 

“Ah, a surprisingly acceptable establishment,” Ondolemar leaned farther back, holding a booted ankle, resting it on his opposite knee. Ariana was pleased to see him loosen up so. Then again, if she had drunk as much and as fast as him, she would be on the floor. “Went terribly downhill when the Mage's Guild disbanded.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Ariana murmured. She thought she would be happy for him to let her talk about herself so much, but this conversation was boring her. She was also reminded of how livid Marcurio would be right now, asking her why she hadn’t come to visit him after such grueling… events. 

She sipped her mead thoughtfully, and Ondolemar poured a fifth… or was it a sixth? She might have lost count. The second bottle was already halfway gone. She had suggested he help himself.

“Are you trying to get incapacitated?” Ariana giggled softly, gesturing to his quickly draining tankard. I wouldn’t mind seeing that.  

Ondolemar’s mood faded momentarily, and he stared into his drink. 

“ Stars , I wish that were still possible.” He muttered.

Ariana couldn’t hide her amusement. She had never taken the proud elf as a drunk. Then again, he certainly never acted like the ones she was used to seeing.

“Besides,” he added, before taking another swig, “I could never allow myself to get that way while at my post.”

“I, for one, don’t like being drunk.”

“Aren’t the numbing effects entirely the point?”

“I suppose. I like how a drink or two makes me feel, but not much more than that. Then again, I haven’t been truly intoxicated since I was… a child basically. I’m not sure how I’d like it now.” Ariana swirled her mead, contemplating.

“Sir,” a haughty, female voice interrupted the two, “I have returned with your requisitions.” Siriol stood awkwardly in the doorway, holding a case of cheap wine, eyes darting at Ariana. 

Ondolemar sighed, stood, and strode over to his soldier. He grabbed the small wooden crate, and hissed something along the lines of, “ You’re late .”

He dropped the crate on a low stone shelf that ran along the wall, letting the glass bottles rattle against one another in a way that made Ariana nervous. He waved Siriol away, saying, “Leave me now.”

“Sir, before I go, a courier passed this note along to me to give to you.” Ondolemar took the note and returned to his seat.

*

Siriol met with Caris in their cramped, shared quarters. They had worked well past their official hours of duty, if for no other reason than to fetch their commanding officer his weekly—sometimes daily—supply of wine. 

“Was he mad that we were late?” Caris asked her before anything.

“Not nearly as much as usual,” Siriol smiled, stealing a kiss. “He had company.” She added before setting herself on the foot of her bed.

“Oh?”

“The same one that helped us get Ogmund.”

“Helped him get Ogmund, you mean,” Caris scoffed, “We received no recognition for our parts.”

Caris paused for a moment, “The same one? Really? It’s strange how he’s become so chummy with her. She doesn’t strike me as nobility, or anyone else worth knowing.”

“Well, it looks like she brought him drink.”

“Ah, that must be it.”

*

Ondolemar couldn’t help but chuckle a bit as he read the note.

“Something interesting I assume?” Ariana smiled, cautiously attempting a third helping of mead. 

“ Interesting indeed ,” he laughed, “The Emperor has been assassinated.” 

Ariana’s smile fell, and she quickly took a large gulp of her drink, looking away from him. 

“Oh, I don’t mean to be abrupt and insensitive. I’m sure that’s shocking news… to you.”

“Pfft,” Ariana rolled her eyes, and grumbled, “I couldn’t care less, if I’m honest.”

A small, almost-hiss of a laugh burst from Ondolemar’s throat. Ariana was desperate to change the subject.

“Earlier you mentioned having been in Cyrodiil. Can you tell me about it? Why were you there?”

He looked over and down at her, his movements a little too loose. He doesn’t have as much of a tolerance as he thinks he does, Ariana thought, Better try to slow him down.

“Are you joking? Do you not know even the most recent of history?” Ariana didn’t like his tone.

“You fought in The Great War.” She concluded, “No way of knowing you were in that.” She added, only somewhat defensively.

“Of course I was. I wouldn’t have my rank now if I wasn’t.” Ondolemar started on what she swore was his tenth, halfway through a third bottle. She still had three left, but she decided it would be better if he didn’t know that.

“Slow down,” she began cautiously, “I only have one more bottle left.” 

“My deepest apologies, Marcellus,” he said, mildly contrite and embarrassed, “It is… really good. I will compensate you, if you wish, I’m sure this isn’t terribly affordable.”

Ariana waved her hand gently, “It’s nothing really.”

Before he could say anything else, she laughed softly and said, “I suppose you killed many Imperials in your day, then.”

Ondolemar paused and his face became serious.

“I’m… sorry if that’s a sore subject.”

“No!” He sputtered, “I’d expect it to be more of a sore subject for you?”

Ariana alarmed him a bit with her sudden and somewhat unhinged cackling.

“ You think I GIVE a skeever’s ass? I don’t even remember Cyrodiil, nor was I even alive back then.”

Ondolemar was suddenly reminded of how different her lifespan must be from a Mer's. 

“Anyway, doesn’t answer my question,”

“ Did you ask one?”

“Did you kill many people? Maim? Cleave? …If you’re certain this isn’t a difficult subject, I mean.”

Ondolemar rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

“ Why are you eager to hear of the atrocities of war?” He asked, eyeing her narrowly. He gestured towards the map on a nearby table, many different colored flags poking straight up out of it. “Do you wish to be in one?”

“Not particularly, but I do… kind of… delight in carnage .” 

Maybe three drinks were too many for her.

Luckily, Ariana’s morbid answer amused him.

“No, I did not.” Ondolemar replied plainly, through quiet laughter.

“Aw,” Ariana folded her legs in her chair, and leaned towards him, “Can you tell me of some of the ones you did kill? If you can remember?”  She didn’t know quite why she craved stories of his violence in such a way.

Ondolemar sighed, rubbing his temples, and eyed his case of cheap wine in the corner.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he eventually said, “But I killed no one. None that I knew of anyway.”

Ariana was dumbfounded.

“HOW?!” She blurted, “You were in many battles, were you not?”

“Er,” Ondolemar rubbed his temples more aggressively, squeezing his eyes shut, mortified by how loose his tongue had become, “Just one, technically. But I don’t remember much of it. Everything happened so fast.”

Ariana’s mouth remained slightly agape, unable to wipe away her outrageous disappointment.

“I was a legacy officer, thanks to my father's service and my military education, and spent most of the time overseeing operations, implementing strategies, and gathering intelligence. I was never supposed to see battle.”  

Ariana didn’t want to offend him, and she felt as if she were on the verge if she didn’t control her reactions soon.

“Well, have you killed anyone since then? Or before? Ever?”

“Ha, not directly, no. I’ve sent many heretic and adversary to dungeons where they met their ends, but I was never the one to take their lives personally .”

Extreme disappointment washed over her again. She wanted to imagine him covered in blood, hot breath and sweat, watching the life drain from someone’s eyes. She knew now this would most likely be inaccurate. 

“Well don’t worry,” Ariana chimed eventually, forcing the disappointment away and replacing it with her own twisted form of cheer, “You’ll kill someone one day.”

Ondolemar choked on his laughter. If he had not been so loose with drink, he may have had the sense to at least fake being disturbed by her bizarre encouragement. 

“I guess, ” he cackled, “Perhaps. Probably. Who knows?”

Ariana liked seeing him this way, and offered him her “last" bottle to finish. 

The two spoke more of Cyrodiil, and Ariana once asked if he had been to Cheydinhal, since that was apparently where her birth family was from. He had not. She then asked to describe the Imperial City, and he was surprisingly generous in his description of the great, circular, nearly impenetrable walls, and the impossibly tall White-Gold Tower in the center. He admitted that Cyrodiil was a much more pleasant place to be stationed than Skyrim, but was grateful to not have to worry about running into goblins.

“So you mentioned earlier about being a legacy officer?” She asked, leaning against the back of her chair, resting her jaw in her hand. She had no idea how late it was, and her eyelids grew heavy. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“Hm, I suppose you wouldn’t know. You don’t seem terribly familiar with anything military.”

“I’m not,” Ariana shifted her face from one hand to another, “Tell me.”

“Well, (and I think it’s similar in the Legion as well), but a legacy officer is a child of a veteran officer that enlists after completing prestigious but grueling military training, entering service automatically as an Officer.”

“Your father,”

“Yes, my father,” his expression soured slightly.

“I take it he was pretty important, if you were able to do all of that.” Ariana spoke quietly, yawning softly into the back of her hand.

“Yes, he was well known and well-liked…” Ondolemar’s voice trailed, his mood continuing to dip.

“’Was'?”

“Oh, he still is… I suppose. I haven’t spoken with him in a well over a decade.” Ondolemar explained grimly. 

“Why not?” Ariana figured if he said this much already, he would say more. His increasingly foul disposition was not lost on her.

“I haven’t had anything to say to him.” His voice dripped with quiet anger and bitterness. 

Something primal and terrible began to rise inside of Ariana. She now knew him to not be an accomplished predator, so something in her now viewed him as prey. She wanted to see him bleed.

“He surely had something to say to you?”

“He gave no indication.” Ondolemar replied softly, not quite numb.

“He must have written you!” Ariana's outrage was genuine, but there was still within her that driving force, wanting to see what his suffering looked like.

“Not at all.” 

“What about your mother?” 

“The last time I received a letter from her was a month after I had written my father my last. I wanted to inform him of my then new rank of Justiciar. He had expressed his will for me to be a part of the Thalmor all my life. He made no indication of pride when I was accepted into the elite branch, though, shortly after the war. To him, it was the bare minimum.” Ondolemar clenched his jaw and finished the last of the final mead bottle. 

“What did the letter say?” Ariana asked, concealing her eagerness in sympathy, leaning ever closer to the Mer. 

Ondolemar let out a small, breathy, bitter laugh, “Ha, simply put, she told me Father was busy .”

He rested his elbows on the table in front of him, burying his face in his hands. His breath seemed to shake a bit as he inhaled sharply. 

“ Marcellus, I may be drunk. ” He whispered, rubbing his face, which he kept hidden from hers behind his hands and hood.

“Ondo are you…" Ariana knew this was a dangerous question to ask, but she was compelled, " Crying? ”

“Absolutely not,” he replied weakly, pressing his gloved fingers into his eyes, “I have a headache.”

“It’s… fine if you are,” she slid her chair right beside him and leaned in close to whisper, lest anyone still awake in the Keep heard, “I wouldn’t think any less of you.”

“I am not. ” Ondolemar whispered back, on the verge of being sick. 

Ariana pressed it no further, despite the glint of moisture still evident on the tips of his black gloves. Instead, she cautiously placed a hand up on his shoulder, fully expecting him to shake it off.

He didn’t. He flinched slightly, but otherwise ignored it. Ondolemar just pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes tightly shut, massaging it deeply.

“No offense to your family, but your father sounds like a shit. ” She wanted to say the same about his mother, but she knew that could have been a whole other thing. 

This thankfully made Ondolemar chuckle, though weakly. He rested his head down on the desk, atop folded arms, the curved spikes on his gloves awkwardly poking into his cheeks. He was too tired and numb to care.

Ariana dared to rub his back lightly. No reaction. He was on the verge of passing out.

“I must sleep if I wish to function in the morning.” He barely managed to utter. 

“Need help making it to your bed? Wherever that may be?”

“I have no bed,” he mumbled. 

Surely he’s joking , Ariana thought. But she decided to accept it, considering she wasn’t exactly sure how she could go about helping Ondolemar if he couldn’t even hold himself up in his chair. She was half his size.

“Ondo?”

No response. He was out.

Ariana looked around for a moment, unsure what to do. She was tempted to kiss his cheek, but quickly thought better. She pulled back the flap of the enchanted satchel on her hip, and began to dig around. Finally, she pulled a small, gray, moth-eaten, wool blanket out of it, and carefully placed it around Ondolemar’s shoulders.

He may feel warm now, but he’ll certainly wake shivering.  

Satisfied, she left him there, closing the heavy, often open, Dwarven door shut behind her. 

***

Ondolemar woke stiff, his temples throbbing. He spied a scratched, Elven gauntlet gently shaking his forearm.

“Sir,” Siriol whispered, “Sir, are you alright?”

He shot straight up in his seat, blinking as the light struck his sore eyes. Something light and soft fell off of his shoulders and onto the floor. 

“I am perfectly fine ,” Ondolemar forced his voice to be deep and steady, though it threatened to crack in its dryness. “I was merely resting my head and I do not appreciate the insult of your concern. ” 

“Sorry, sir,” Siriol uttered quickly, standing rigid and tall, avoiding her commanding officer’s eyes. She couldn’t help but notice the worn, gray blanket that now sat in a crumpled heap behind his chair.

“I’ve…” She couldn’t help herself, “Never seen you use a blanket.” Adding, just under her breath, “ I’ve never seen you sleep for that matter. ”

Ondolemar quickly glanced down over his shoulder at the unfamiliar blanket. He stood—a little slower than he would have liked, his spine cracking quietly as he rose—to look his soldier at eye level. 

“Did either of you place that ugly thing on me?”

“ No , sir!” Siriol took a step backwards, resisting the urge to throw up her hands, fearing his reaction if she did. “I just now came to check and see where you were! You weren’t out and about yet and we were…” Siriol thought better than to say the word “worried.”

“And what makes you think you must check on my whereabouts so early in the morning?” 

“Sir, it’s…” Siriol’s mind was reeling. How could Ondolemar be so unaware? He was always so on top of things. “It’s 10:30.”

Ondolemar was tempted to sit again, but remained standing, maintaining his glare. It was as if a small stone was lodged in his throat, and he felt his face grow hot.

“ You dare assume I don’t know, ” he started slowly, before erupting, “ EXACTLY WHAT TIME IT IS?!”

Siriol flinched and froze.

“I—I’m sorry, sir, of course you do, sir.” She stammered, trying her best to steady her voice. She couldn’t help but notice the faintest hint of frost begin at his fingertips. 

Ondolemar sighed and turned away from her, and pretended to reorganize his documents.

“Leave me now. I don’t have the patience for your idiocy today.” He said, seemingly now calm, shooing her away with his hand. He quickly reconsidered. 

“And bring me some water.” He ordered.

Siriol stalked out of the room, and around the corner to meet her partner.

“I heard him shouting. ” Caris whispered in alarm. “ What did you do? ”

Siriol merely shrugged and began to walk with her partner along the upper stone platform of the Keep, past the stairs and towards the kitchen where she might demand some fresh water from the new chef. (The previous one had mysteriously died about a month prior.)

“He’s hungover.” Siriol said plainly.

Back in his office, Ondolemar sat back down with a weak groan, rubbing his temples. He reached down to pick up the ragged blanket, inspecting it, never removing his other hand from his throbbing skull. 

Where in Oblivion did this come from?

He slowly began to recall events from the night before. Mortified, he slammed the blanket down on the table in his fist, an action he quickly regretted since the sudden movement jostled his brain. 

How did I let that happen? Ondolemar analyzed what he could remember, and the conversation he and Ariana had. He remembered speaking to her of Cyrodiil, and of war. Odd she seemed to be so disappointed I had never killed anyone before. He recalled that that conversation had led to mentions of his parentage. The mead had apparently allowed him sorrow, and he gulped dryly, vaguely remembering her asking if he were…

No. Of course I was not. Absolute nonsense. I do not cry . Still, his gut sank. Apparently she perceived him to, or else she wouldn’t have said anything. Bitter, and a little overwhelmed by his embarrassment, he folded the blanket messily and tossed it to the side. He examined his desk.

Well, it doesn’t appear she stole anything.

Ondolemar glanced back over at Ariana’s wool blanket. She had been kind enough to lay it upon him before leaving him there. He wasn’t sure how he felt about such apparent and pure kindness yet. He wanted to be insulted, but considering the experience she must have had of him the night before, he resigned.

It was a very small, kind thing of her to do, he admitted to himself. A true friend indeed, I suppose.

He wasn’t quite sure if he had ever had one of those.

***

Ariana woke slowly in her small, rented bed. It was a little too firm, and the bedding was itchy, but it still was the most comfortable place she had slept in a very long time.

She stretched and yawned deeply, and her injured face began to ache. 

I suppose I need a potion for that.

She knew she didn’t have anymore on her. She had used the last several after her conflict with the Penitus Oculatus agent.

Ariana dressed, gathered her dagger and enchanted satchel, and made the bed. A slow, ebbing band of pain began around her head like a circlet.

I suppose I could use a potion for that, too.

She asked the innkeeper where the local alchemist was located before she left. Ariana nursed her soft, hide canteen as she made her way to The Hag's cure, which was proving difficult to find.

She finally spied a small alchemist's sign, and the door it indicated and entered. She was greeted by a rough, tattooed, Breton crone.

Ariana purchased several standard healing potions, and inquired about any potions that might remedy a simple hangover. Bothela had just the thing, and they were surprisingly inexpensive. The potions were contained in small, reddish bottles, and apparently had a composition similar to those that cured diseases, though these didn’t have such a broad spectrum.

Politely thanking the old Breton called Bothela, Ariana exited the shop and made her way up to Understone Keep. She had bought more than one of these potions, just in case he needed one.

She giggled softly to herself, remembering how much Ondolemar drank, and how he had become. It was almost cute. If he were conscious yet, surely he’d need one of these potions. 

He’s most likely grumpy , Ariana warned herself, scaling the stairs inside the Keep, He’ll probably be embarrassed, if he remembers enough.

She guessed correctly.

“ Oh, ” he began, pouring water from a pewter pitcher into a cup on his desk. He had apparently changed robes, or perhaps just his shoulder mantle--something more comfortable, Ariana supposed—since his hood and collar were now missing. She spied what looked like a vein bulging slightly on the side of his shaved yellow head. Siriol stood awkwardly by the adjacent stone table, staring at nothing in particular.

“It’s you . What do you want?” He asked Ariana, clearly irritated, never turning to look at her.

“I thought you could use…” she retrieved the remaining of the two potions from her bag, smiling slightly, “One of these?” 

Ondolemar glanced over his shoulder to see her holding the red bottle up with her fore and middle fingers, swinging it side to side. He looked back at Siriol, and uttered, “You may go.”

His soldier finally allowed herself to breathe and swiftly exited the room. Ondolemar stood and approached Ariana, extending an open palm.

“It’ll help your head.” She said as she dropped the bottle into his gloved hand. He inspected it closely.

“How am I to be sure this is what you say it is? I have half a mind to believe you poisoned me last night.” Ondolemar was quiet, unaware of exactly where his soldiers were. 

“The Reserve is a lot stronger than I thought,” she said, “And no one asked you to drink quite as much as you did.” 

Ondolemar carefully pried out the tiny cork of the potion, breaking the wax seal, and placed it to his lips. His throat moistened, his stomach became still, and the persistent pressure at his temples quickly faded. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, before thrusting the empty potion back at Ariana. She took it and shoved it deep into her satchel. It’s a good bottle. Ondolemar returned to his chair, stiff and silent, and Ariana followed, taking a seat nearby.

Neither knew exactly what to say to one another.

“About last night—” Ariana started. Ondolemar quickly held a hand up, indicating for her to stop before she could really begin. His face twisted a bit, as if he were still in pain. 

“ Please , don’t remind me.” He said quietly, “It was most out of character for a Mer of my status, and I do not wish to relive it.”

“I… suppose I understand.” Ariana replied in a small voice, before adding, “I mean, I certainly didn’t mind .” She realized nothing she could say would make him feel better about this.

Ondolemar scoffed softly and took another gulp of water, glancing over at the gray wool blanket. 

“If it’s worth anything to you,” Ariana straightened in her chair, trying to soak her voice in sincerity, “I really enjoyed hearing a little bit about your life.” 

She saw Ondolemar’s teeth tighten, the subtle movement making a small facial muscle over his jaw pop out for just a second. 

“I trust you won’t divulge my regrettable behavior to anyone,” he said rigidly, glancing at her from the side, “If you did, I would deny it anyway, and no one important would believe you.”

Ariana was already preparing an account of the evening for Marcurio. Surely he would find it amusing.

“Of course I won’t,” she lied.

Ondolemar then reached for the blanket and held it out towards her, avoiding her eyes.

“Let me return this to you.”

“You,” Ariana paused for a moment, not yet taking the folded old wool in her hands, “Can keep it if you want? I wasn’t really expecting it to be returned.”

Ondolemar raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips slightly. 

“You don’t think I’d actually like to have such a raggedy thing like that, do you?”

Ariana snatched the blanket out of his hands, eyes narrow and glaring indignantly, and messily shoved it into her satchel. Ondolemar couldn’t help but chuckle. Adorable .

“It was the same one I had in the orphanage. I’ve had it since my arrival there when I was a toddler.” Now that she knew he was capable of sentiment, two could play at this game.

It worked… slightly . Ondolemar’s chest tightened a bit, but he quickly dismissed the feeling, supposing the polite thing to do would be to apologize for his insensitivity. Then again, he was never one for heartfelt apologies.

“I’m sorry they gave you such an atrocious blanket.” He tried.

Luckily, this made Ariana laugh. Ondolemar found himself matching her small smile, before reminding himself that he must remain sore about the previous night. It was a difficult sourness to maintain however, looking at her, genuinely touched by her kindness. Too bad she isn’t Mer, he thought, She’s actually kind of pretty, for a human.

Ondolemar and Ariana chatted for a few more minutes before she announced she had business to attend to, and a long journey ahead. He bid her farewell, thanked her again for the potion, and walked her to the door, watching her as she walked away.

Very pretty, actually. He admitted to himself, admiring her figure from behind.

Chapter Text

Everything at the new Sanctuary had been going smoothly in recent months. Nazir, indeed, managed to procure furnishings and repair materials from his contacts in the Thieves Guild, and their home quickly became warm and comfortable. Ariana was especially fond of her large bed. Nazir also recruited several new initiates, though she was still reluctant to speak with them, let alone note their names. Cicero behaved himself, for the most part, spending almost all of his time attending to the Night Mother, ardently murmuring to her as he usually did. Ariana took on very few contracts for herself these days; she found herself rather distracted. She performed the bare minimum of her duties: Listening to the Night Mother and conveying the received prayers to Nazir and Babette, who would either take care of the contracts themselves or assign them to a new initiate. She would then run off for exactly a week, returning only to Listen again. 

Cicero, of course, tried to accost her with insults every time she returned, horrified by her seeming lack of passion for the role. He spewed on about her not deserving to be the Listener, before suddenly apologizing desperately to both her and the Night Mother for his moment of faithlessness. All this, every time, without Ariana having to speak a word to him. 

Ariana found herself in Markarth's main plaza, walking lazily in the direction of the Keep. She yawned softly into the back of her hand; it was sleepy weather. Spring in The Reach always brought mist, which made her eyelids heavy, especially after such a long ride. 

She vaguely noted some shouting beside her as she passed the stalls, followed by a man screaming something along the lines of, "THE REACH BELONGS TO THE FORSWORN!" Only when several guards rushed to the scene that Ariana bothered to look at what was going on. She saw a Nord woman lying face down in the pavement next to a jewelry stall, still and bleeding profusely from her back. The guards were attempting to apprehend the man who had stabbed her, but he met them swinging his small blade wildly, yelling, "I die for my people!" And ultimately, they were forced to put him down in the street. 

Ariana couldn't help but gawk as a guard's hand axe messily tore through the man's side. The man screeched in pain but still attempted to stab and swat at the guards with bits of gore hanging out of his torn tunic. 

Well he's certainly a lively one . She couldn't help but somewhat admire this man's wild resolve. She continued to watch until the life left his eyes. It took a few moments, but after a guard managed to strike him in the head with a steel mace, he dropped onto the stone, hissing and spluttering, his skull now concave and an eye threatened to erupt from its socket.

She decided she was satisfied then, and turned to continue on her way to Understone Keep. That's when a ruddy, heavily tattooed Breton stopped her in the middle of the stone pathway.

" Gods! A woman attacked in the streets. Are you alright ?" He asked Ariana, who merely peered up at him through narrowing eyes, attempting to silently convey boredom and irritation. The Breton paused for a moment, before adding, "Did you see what happened?"

"I didn't really see the woman get stabbed, but I did see the guards kill the man who did it." She replied plainly, "I heard him yelling something about the Forsworn."

"The Forsworn? Strange..."  The man--later known to Ariana as Eltrys--smoothed his red hair nervously.  "Well, I hope the Eight give you more peace in the future, for what it's worth--oh!" 

He suddenly bent before her, reaching down to the ground at what appeared to be nothing. He rose and thrust a folded piece of parchment at Ariana. 

"I think you dropped this: some kind of note, looks important." He muttered mechanically. 

It obviously was not hers, but before she had a chance to question him about it, he whirled and stalked off purposefully. She found it very strange, indeed, but was too distracted by her original purpose in the city to really care at the moment. She pocketed the note without reading it.

Ariana found Ondolemar in his usual seat in the Imperial strategy room, rubbing his forehead with a pained expression. He held an inked quill in his hand, poised over a half-blank page in one of his report journals. He was apparently having difficulty finding the right word to continue his report. 

"Your visits are always a pleasure, Marcellus, but give me a moment, if you will? I'm running late completing," he gestured to the page with his quill, "This." 

Ariana assured him she would be quiet for the time being, and took a seat in a chair on the other side of the room. From her satchel, she retrieved an Alteration tome she had purchased in Solitude a while ago, and began to read. After maybe twenty minutes of studying the tome, accompanied only by the sound of Ondolemar's occasional scribbling, she let out an exasperated sigh. She stood, setting the book open and face down in her chair, and placed her palms on the unoccupied stone table beside her. Her hands, along with the table, briefly glowed amber. She then tried to wrench the edge of the stone table upward, grunting and cursing softly. Eventually concluding it wouldn't budge, she cursed again under her breath, and glared down at the table.

"Pfft, what are you doing?" 

"I'm sorry," Ariana said, "I don't mean to distract you, I just really want to learn Feather." 

Ondolemar rested his quill upright in a nearby inkpot.

"You spent what… six years at the College of Winterhold and don't know Feather ? Nordic education really is horrid. I've known Feather since I was tiny." 

"Well, show me then, if it's so basic ." Ariana replied, exasperated.  

Ondolemar stood, flicking his hand at the same stone table. It glowed amber briefly, and he proceeded in lifting it as if it were a kitten. He dropped it back down with barely a thud. 

"Then again," he smirked, "I'm Mer. Our magic is superior regardless." 

Ariana's face became hot. She took deep pride in her Destruction skill at least, though she knew she lacked in other schools of magic. 

"Oh yeah? How is your Destruction?" She spat, instantly regretting it. There was a good chance he was better at that, too, she thought. 

Ondolemar lifted two fingers and summoned a small blizzard that cracked and swirled around them. He admired his ice with a little smile, and said, "Don't be stupid, you know that's my specialty."

Ariana suddenly felt as if she were a child again, picking fist fights with the older kids in the orphanage to try and prove her strength. 

"Oh yeah? How long can you sustain a Flame Cloak?"  

" Indefinitely ," he exaggerated, "Though not for long without burning off my clothes." He let his frost die. He was thinking about how he was so happy to have this opportunity to show off his magical superiority, but his robes had just been cleaned and tailored. 

I might like to see that , Ariana resisted saying. 

Instead, she straightened her posture, and crossed her legs as she sat upon the same stone table she tried to lift, brushing away any papers that may ignite. 

"Ah, see, that's where we're different." And she became completely engulfed in flames. "My clothes never burn off. And it's not the leather either, it's any cloth. If you're good enough with fire magic, you can control what exactly it burns." She looked down to see a blank piece of parchment that had been close blacken, "Though it takes a lot of... concentration." And she was aflame no longer. 

A rush of cold air hit Ondolemar's face as her heat suddenly vanished. He leaned back in his chair and held his chin, smirking. 

"Well, congratulations, Marcellus, you can perform a destruction spell adequately." 

"And better than you." She corrected him. 

"Yes, yes, better than me." 

He never dropped his smug expression and she couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. 

Ondolemar noted the less-than-satisfied expression on Ariana's face and decided to sweeten his tone, slightly, trying to make it seem more playful than patronizing. 

He failed. 

"Well, I'm impressed. Is there anything else you may know that I do not?" 

She wasn't exactly happy that he kept giving her opportunities to humiliate herself. She sighed and twisted her face in deep thought, folding her arms. Ondolemar resisted the urge to convey his impatience. 

"Oh! I'm actually really good at this one Illusion spell." She hopped down from her perch upon the table and shook her hands down by her sides. "Apparently it's really rare, and no one in Winterhold even heard of it." 

"Not surprising ," Ondolemar muttered, rolling his eyes. 

Ariana took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She began to slide her hands up her face, starting with her chin, up to her hairline, pausing for a second to take another deep breath. Her freckles had disappeared, her lips shrunk and changed shape, as did her nose. She dragged her palms over the top of her head and down her hair, which was now blonde and mostly straight. She exhaled deeply and opened her eyes, which were now a deep green. 

Ondolemar's mouth hung slightly agape, his eyes wide. He quickly reset his expression to avoid any display of enthusiasm. If he were truly stunned, she would win ... also, she would probably assume it to be insincere and take offense. He'd rather offend her in the way he took pleasure in... 

"A Glamour, rare indeed. But nothing more than an ancient, intricate party trick." 

Ariana huffed and shook her head, her natural features returning. She tried her best to not look as indignant as she felt, and forced a small smile. If she let him fluster her, he would win . 

"Okay, but watch this ," 

She inhaled deeply once again, pulling on the tops of her ears. They elongated and became pointed. She rubbed her eyes and her scleras darkened. She pushed up on her brow bones and they began to protrude. She could only hold the form for a few seconds before everything reverted, and she had to find her chair, huffing in exhaustion. After taking a moment to catch her breath, she retrieved the Alteration tome she had been crushing and threw it on the table next to her.

Ondolemar eyed her seriously, massaging his chin. For a moment, they sat in silence. 

"I'll admit," Ondolemar said softly, "I've... never heard of a Glamour being used like that before." 

"Wait, really? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you heard of it to begin with, if your magical education was as extensive as you say it was--" 

"It is." 

"Fantastic," Ariana breathed, "Can I finally say I've impressed you?" 

Ondolemar really didn't want to give her that, but he resigned. 

"Yes, I suppose you have," he frowned, "But Marcellus, answer me this: If no one at the College of Winterhold had heard of such a thing, then how did you possibly learn to perform it?" 

"Ah," she breathed, "Um… in my first few weeks at the College, I kind of… stole … an old tome from…" Her voice trailed.

"From whom?" Ondolemar pursed his lips, "You said no one at the College knew of the spell."

"Well, no one who taught at nor attended it," Ariana corrected herself, "Urag gro-Shub might have, now that I think about it, (him being as well-read as he was), but I never asked him."

"You must be mistaken about an Orc being 'well-read'--"

"LOOK, that's beside the point. I'm trying to tell you that I stole the tome from a Thalmor… actually I don't know what his rank or title was . He was serving as an advisor to the Arch-Mage at the time." 

Ariana was relieved to see Ondolemar chuckle softly.

"You must be speaking of Ancano ." He was a mixture of amused and disgusted when he spoke his late colleague's name. "I can see that. He was never good at his job. I mean, I expect you saw what happened to him while you were there." 

"What was his job, exactly? I could never quite figure it out." 

"I'm... not sure I'm at liberty to disclose that to you, Marcellus." Ondolemar somewhat regretted even mentioning he knew Ancano, though she probably wouldn't believe him if he had said otherwise.

"Oh, so he was a spy, then?" 

"So you did have it figured out?" Ondolemar blurted, immediately met with Ariana pointing at him, her head tilted slightly and her mouth hanging open in a wide smile. 

" Gotcha, "

Ariana expected him to fluster, but Ondolemar remained cool. He was still amused by the entire exchange, never dropping his small smile. 

"You didn't get anything," he told her, "It hardly matters at this point. That whole operation was abandoned anyway, shortly after his demise."

Acid rose in Ariana’s throat and she looked away from him briefly. Surely he wouldn't be pleased with…

"Honestly," Ondolemar laughed, "If you happened to be involved with killing the irritating weasel, I could kiss you." 

Ariana's face was set aflame, involuntarily this time. He noticed her now completely red and clarified, " Figuratively speaking. "

"You didn't like him, I take it?" She asked, looking away a bit since a little flush remained on her cheeks and ears. "I mean, he was kind of awful."

"' Kind of' awful? He was insufferable! He was talented with magic, I'll give him that, but he always made sure we all knew about it."

"Yeah," she chuckled softly, reminiscing, "He really did think he could handle the Eye of Magnus by himself. I wasn't even stupid enough to think I could, and that was during the time in my life where I thought I was invincible." 

"Do you not, still?" Ondolemar quietly asked.

"Not what still?"

"Do you not still think yourself invincible?" He couldn't resist a tiny smirk. Ariana scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"I'm not that stupid anymore."

"I don't find you stupid at all," Ondolemar admitted to her in a small voice, "Bold, certainly, and often reckless, but not stupid. "

"Ondo…" Ariana was struck with the weight of what he said, before developing a wide, satisfied grin, "I do believe that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Don't get used to it." He uttered behind his smirk, maintaining eye contact with her. He then returned to his report journal, reviewing what he had already written.

Uncomfortable with the silence that followed, Ariana eventually said, "So a woman got stabbed to death in the market today." 

"Murders are commonplace here." Ondolemar responded flatly without looking up.

"I'm well aware of that," Ariana said, folding her arms, "But seldom in broad daylight like that." 

"I suppose that is odd," he muttered, taking his quill to make an edit, "I take it the guards managed to handle the culprit?"

"They tore him apart, more or less, and he was still trying to fight with his guts hang--"

Ondolemar threw up a hand, willing her to stop.

"Marcellus, please , I just had my breakfast." He said, smiling softly with no hint of actual displeasure. She got up from her chair and leaned in close to his hood.

" He fell when they caved his head in with a mace, and his eye even popped out, " she whispered to him through a wretched grin.

"And I'm sure you found that very entertaining." Ondolemar replied nonchalantly, as if addressing a child. He turned to look at Ariana and found her face uncomfortably close to his. 

" Personal space, Marcellus ." He reminded her softly, leaning his head away from hers and raising a brow.

Ariana exhaled sharply through her nose, but maintained her smile as she returned to her chair. She studied him for a moment, watching him return his focus to his report journal. She had smelled the faintest hint of eggs and his usual morning tea on the side of his hood. There may have also been the slightest scent of wine from the night before. She wanted so desperately to touch him.

" Oh! " She breathed suddenly, remembering what had happened after she left the plaza. She pulled the strange note from her satchel. It simply said, "Meet me at the Shrine of Talos." 

Well, why would I want to do that? Ariana crumpled the paper and threw it on the nearby table, next to where her Alteration tome now rested. He's probably not even there anymore. It's been well over an hour.

"What was that?" Ondolemar asked her, again, without looking up. "You seemed like you suddenly remembered something before you read it."

"Oh," she glanced at the small ball of paper beside her, "Yeah, after the guards had killed the man, I was stopped by some Breton who told me I dropped a note and then gave it to me. It was nothing interesting. It just said for me to meet him at the Talos shrine here in town. Probably was going to try and rob me." 

Ondolemar eyed her with zeal, and couldn't help but slam his small leather-bound book shut, despite the fact the ink hadn't completely dried yet.

"I think that is most interesting. The Shrine of Talos, you say…" 

He quickly got up out of his chair and strode over to the other table, snatching the crushed parchment. He carefully unfolded it, unaware just how close he was standing to Ariana. His golden belt buckle was at her eye level, and she held her breath as she stared at it, praying her hands would behave.

"Hm," he hummed, taking a step back. He had been trying to see if he could recognize the handwriting. Of course, he could not. Ariana sighed softly, both relieved and disappointed by his new distance.

"I think you should meet him." Ondolemar eventually told her, before folding the wrinkled paper and placing it in his pocket. 

"You think you might get him as an alleged Talos-worshipper?" 

"Possibly," Ondolemar returned to his seat, though now sat facing Ariana, "But if that's the case, I mustn't go myself. If he saw me…"

"You'd lose your chance. He'd run." 

Ondolemar nodded slowly, pleading at her with his eyes. She was clearly not keen on the proposal, especially after concluding that he might try to rob her. Ariana couldn't resist his expression and sighed in resignation.

" Fine ," she groaned, standing, trying to remind herself of how happy he would be with her, "But if he tries to rob me--"

"I doubt that he could," he smiled up at her, speaking softly. She all but melted.

"I better hurry then, to see if he's still there." Ariana started for the door. 

"Marcellus," Ondolemar leaned to touch her wrist softly for just a moment, stopping her, " Do be careful."

She couldn't help but smile warmly, her heart racing from their brief contact, and replied, "You know I can't promise anything."

Chapter Text

Ariana was forced to suffer through Eltrys's explanation of how his father was murdered by the Forsworn, who were seemingly feral Reachfolk who loathed Nordic occupation of the region. She kept her arms folded and eyed him impatiently. She wanted to hurry up and see if he was an actual Talos-worshipper, or if this truly was to him just a safe, secluded area to talk. She knew if she didn't wait for him to tell his story, he may be suspicious of her asking.

"I'm sorry for dragging you into Markarth's problems, but after that attack in the market…" Eltrys's voice trailed. Ariana unfolded her arms and forced her face to soften.

"Perhaps you can pray," she gestured up at the decaying statue before them, "To Talos for resolve?" It was a gamble, but she was getting tired of this.

"I don't worship Talos, myself. Never did, and it's not exactly a good time to start." Eltrys allowed himself a small chuckle. Ariana's face hardened once more, twisting in her disappointment. The Breton gave her nothing, in his tone nor body language, to suggest he was lying. Ondo won't be happy , she couldn't help but think, It's been so long now since he's caught one .

"Tell me something, Eltrys, why do you care so much about this? I know your father was murdered by the Forsworn, but what makes you think you're in any danger?" 

"I don't know if I am or not! We all seem to be!" He placed his hands on his head briefly, willing himself calm so as not to deter his would-be help. "My father never had a single enemy that I know of, and the murders are entirely random it seems. And with my new wife and…" His voice trailed once more, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"You're afraid that you or your wife may be next at some point." Ariana's voice held no warmth, however. " Why me, though?"

"You're an outsider, you're dangerous looking, I figured you'd do."

Ariana gestured to her body, and then held her palm atop her head to indicate her height. 

"I'm dangerous looking?" She asked sourly, though it really wasn't a question. She would have loved nothing more than that to be true, however, for her outside to match her inside, but she knew that not to be the case. It was as if he was mocking her.

"Well, yes," Eltrys replied quietly, gesturing to the large, gnarly, red and black the dagger on her left hip, "And you were the only one who didn't look away--nor batted an eye for that matter--when the guards gored Weylin in the street. You've clearly seen, and therefore survived , much worse."

Ariana rolled her eyes at this illogical leap of his. This man was foolish to put so much trust in a stranger. He truly was desperate, though she still, for the life of her, couldn't understand why. 

"Listen, I just want answers, so does everyone in this city. I'm finally beginning to make a life for myself here, and I don't want to just up and leave out of fear." His growing indignance wasn't lost on her. 

"I'd really rather have no part in this nonsense, if I'm honest." 

" You want to walk away after what you just witnessed? Fine . But there's going to be no justice for that poor woman. No one cares what happened to her…"

"You clearly care, but unfortunately I do not. Good day."

Eltrys grabbed Ariana by her shoulder before she could turn to leave. She immediately swatted his arm away, fire briefly trailing from between her fingers. It managed to ignite a few of the long, red arm hairs near his elbow, which he slapped vigorously, putting them out. 

"If you're so insistent on it being me , you're going to have to make it worth my time." She figured he would become a nuisance if she didn't reconsider somewhat.

"I don't have much gold."

"Well then that's too bad--" 

"Wait!" Eltrys hissed at her, viciously untying a coin purse from his belt and thrusting it forward. "It’s all I have on me at the moment--two hundred or so--it was meant for groceries but this is more important." 

Ariana glared at the relatively small drawstring bag, but eventually took it. At the very least, it might help her buy a case or two of Black-Briar Reserve for Ondolemar, as an apology for failing to produce for him a heretic.

"What do you want me to look into first?"

Eltrys allowed himself a deep breath and a small, relieved smile. 

"This has been going on for years." He said. "And all I've been able to find is murder and blood, which is why I need help. You find out why that woman was attacked, who's behind Weylin and the Forsworn. I'll… I'll go home and get more gold to pay you for any information you manage to bring me." 

Ariana made an effort to soften her tone, if for no other reason than to help him keep his promise of giving her more gold. Eltrys ended up explaining to her that Margaret needed investigating, as did Weylin. It would at least be a start. He told her to go to the Silver-Blood Inn to at least ask about Margaret, who had apparently been staying in the inn's "nicest" room. 

Ariana left him at the shrine and made her way back to Understone Keep instead.

"Ondo, do you know anyone in the city by the name of 'Margaret' or 'Weylin'?" Ariana asked without fully entering the room. 

"I," Ondolemar was startled a bit by her abrupt return, "No, I don't recognize either of those names. Why?"

"The man who wanted to meet me wants me to look into the murder in the market today, since..." Ariana quickly darted her eyes to either side, noting a guard posted by a door at the end of the hall. She decided to enter and get closer to Ondolemar so she could speak quietly, "Apparently the guards won't."

"Was the man a Talos-worshipper?" 

"Oh," she uttered, looking down and away from him, "No he wasn't."

"Shame," was all he murmured in response, before opening a nearby log to review its contents.

"So just to make sure, you haven't heard of a 'Margaret' or a 'Weylin'?

"No, I haven't--Marcellus, why are you continuing to involve yourself in this?" 

Ariana was still wondering this herself. Then again, she was never one to refuse gold, and merely gathering information seemed simple enough.

"He's paying me. It's just a fact-finding mission, (and it doesn't even really have to be facts ), and I can always use the coin." 

"Mhm," Ondolemar was disinterested now, and she assumed it was because she didn't manage to give him any stimulating intel. Her shoulders dropped and she sighed softly.

"I suppose I'll see you later," she whispered before leaving him. 

After a moment or two of lazily going over the page, Ondolemar said, "Marcellus, did yo--" and looked up to see her nowhere to be found. He merely shook his head softly and returned to his work.

Ariana entered the Silver-Blood Inn and began asking questions about Margaret. A rough, balding Nord by the name of Kleppr, between bickering with his wife who managed the inn with him, eventually informed Ariana that Margaret indeed stayed in their "best room". He indicated to it by pointing down the hall that was near the entrance.

"The 'best room', you say? Do you mind if I can go see it? I might like to rent it later." Ariana spoke to the Nord with the sweetest smile she could muster. 

"We have yet to clear it out, but," Kleppr scratched his bearded chin, thinking, "I suppose. Here." He handed Ariana a key and added, "But don't let any mess scare you off. Like I said, we still need to clear it out."

Ariana inspected the room, opening drawers and a wardrobe. For their best room, it isn't much better than the one I stayed in , she thought. In one of the bedside drawers, she found a small, rough leather journal. She began flipping through the pages and suddenly stopped, reading a particular page. Her face twisted into a smile.

So she was an Imperial spy. This whole thing had taken an incredibly entertaining turn. She enthusiastically absorbed the contents of the page. It mentioned a meeting planned at The Treasury House later in the evening, which of course, Margaret never got to attend. Ariana noted another name, Thonar Silver-Blood, and the journal suggested he was powerful and difficult to contend with. She learned Margaret was intending to procure a deed for the Cidhna Mine--which provided the region's ample silver supply through forced prison labor--for the Imperial Legion. The writings didn't go into much detail, but apparently the current owners of the Mines, the Silver-Blood family, were Stormcloak sympathizers. 

Hearing footsteps nearing the door, Ariana quickly pocketed the journal, and surveyed the room, hastily closing drawers and straightening candlesticks so nothing would appear amiss.

***

"The guards seem to be acting strangely today." Siriol suddenly told Caris, while rummaging through an apple barrel in the Keep's kitchen. The pair luckily had the room to themselves as they scrounged for their lunches. The new cooks and attendants always made themselves scarce whenever they saw the soldiers come near, lest the shorter of the two threaten them again. 

"What makes you say that?" Caris asked while working on a piece of bread she had snagged.

"I'm not sure, if I'm honest. They just seem to be extra shifty and whispery. And one of the guards that's always at the throne room left his post in a hurry earlier and hasn't come back." Siriol finally retrieved a large, green apple from somewhere deep in the barrel. It seemed to have the fewest bruises. "Tyr, I think his name is…"

"How in the world do you remember what these sorry sods are called?" Caris said, still working on her bread. It was stale and difficult to chew, so she ate it hastily, just to get it in her. Siriol merely shrugged in response while shining her apple on a nearby rag. After a moment she tossed the rag to the side and took a large bite. To her, little things like names and job titles just seemed to be important details to note.  

"Didn't Ondolemar need his lunch?" Caris asked Siriol, noting her tall, slender partner start for the door. Siriol shook her head.

"Apparently not. When I let him know we were going to take ours, he didn't make any requests, and it seemed like his mind was elsewhere."

"I'm not sure why he's been working so much, it's not like anything has happened for a while. Was that woman there again?"

"Marcellus? No, she was not. Her visit seemed to be rather short today… from what I could tell." Siriol tossed her apple core in a nearby waste bucket. Caris followed her out the door, brushing breadcrumbs from her armored breast.

***

Ariana was more mentally stimulated than she'd been in ages. The process of uncovering this mystery had all the pulp and richness of a novel to her, and she found herself more and more invested. 

The day had taken her to and from Eltrys in the abandoned Shrine of Talos, where he, indeed, paid her more gold for each new piece of information she provided. It took her yet again to the Warrens, where she was very pleased that she managed to successfully intimidate a man named Garvey for Weylin's key. Inside Weylin's small, dank room, Ariana found a most interesting note that had been locked away in a chest. The chest's lock was very cheap, however, which was nothing her still weak Alteration skill couldn't handle. The note read:

You have been chosen to strike fear in the heart of the Nords. Go to the market tomorrow. You will know what to do.

-N

Ariana exited the Warrens after pocketing the paper. The cryptic signature intrigued her the most, and her mind reeled with the possibilities of who this "N" would be. Luckily, she then ran into someone who might be able to provide that information. Unluckily , this person in question immediately greeted her with a threat.

"You've been digging around where you don't belong. It's time you learned a lesson." He spat, and before Ariana had time to react, the man caught her in the eye with a swift and forceful punch. Ariana, struck completely off guard, stumbled backward and fell, her vision momentarily failing her. Her brain seemed to jostle violently in her skull and she desperately tried will it still. The man--Ariana would later know him as Dryston--dipped low, readying another fist for her head before he was met with a sudden burst of flames. Ariana rose as quickly as she could, holding her swelling and bleeding eye socket, completely surrounded by her protective fire. Dryston found her fire didn't burn as intensely as her glare, however. 

Ariana drew her blade and grabbed Dryston by a buckle on his chest piece, pressing the serrated edge into his side. The leather began to singe and his face reddened, and fear quickly became evident in his eyes. 

"If you don't tell me who you are or who sent you, I'll gut you like they did the man in the market."

"OKAY, OKAY," Dryston quickly surrendered, unwilling to risk pushing her away lest he burn off his fingers. Ariana, let her flames recede, but maintained the dagger at his side. She quickly examined his face: Though he was most likely a Breton, he did not look entirely unlike an old contract she had received when she had first become an assassin. Dryston had similarly colored blond hair to the Nord she remembered, in almost the same exact style. Dryston's eyes were hazel rather than her old mark's steel gray, however, and he was much broader and shorter, and lacked any visible tattoos. She forced the memory of Killian out of her mind; this certainly was not the time nor place.

Ariana dug her blade further into Dryston's side, maintaining fierce eye-contact. His leather armor split and he was suddenly aware of just how sharp her dagger was as the skin between his hip and ribs began to sting.

"Speak." She quietly ordered. They had been lucky enough not to draw much attention so far, despite her sudden Flame Cloak, and Ariana wanted to keep it that way.

"I was sent by Nepos the Nose." He replied shakily. "The old man hands out the orders. He told me to make sure you didn't get in the way. That's all I know, I swear. " 

"He sent you unarmed?" Ariana glanced down to discover no weapon on Dryston's hip, her face twisting with something akin to disappointment.

"Well," Dryston muttered, forcing deep, even breaths, "You were only described as a petite Imperial girl with dark hair and weird studded armor. (No clue you were also a… mage.) "

Ariana resisted a smile. It was always satisfying when someone underestimated her and she managed to show them otherwise. 

"Anything else?" She asked Dryston, gently twisting her dagger, making him wince. 

"Nepos is in charge; that's all I know!" He desperately whispered down at her. He kept trying to throw up his hands for emphasis, but forced them to remain still by his sides, lest the sudden movement cause her dagger to dig in deeper.

After eventually releasing Dryston, and him hurrying away, Ariana made her way back to the Shrine of Talos to convey this new information to Eltrys.

" Nepos the Nose, you say?" Eltrys massaged his jaw, his eyebrows twisting in his concern. He proceeded in telling Ariana where to find Nepos, but insisted she go investigate Thonar Silver-Blood first. "Please be careful, though. Rhiada, my wife, is working there today and I don't want any conflict to… stress her."

Ariana followed his advice without much thought, distracted by the delicious drama of it all. She made her way to the Treasury House-- which was apparently some sort of financial institution, a place she was still unsure the purpose of--to try and talk to Thonar, or at least ask someone about him. She remembered a spare healing potion she had in her satchel, knowing her face must look awful. It certainly would have felt awful if she weren't still riding the high of intimidating men who were much larger than her. 

After she drained the small red bottle, feeling around her eye to make sure the swelling disappeared, Ariana entered the grand building on the north end of the city. Inside, she was greeted by an attractive, scantily clad Breton woman. Rhiada wore a very low cut dress with a stiff, short bustier, (to accentuate her breasts, as far as Ariana could tell). Ariana spied the slightest protrusion of Rhiada's lower abdomen, and due to her overall slim features, she wondered if she and Eltrys were expecting a child. Ariana also noted two servants on either side of the main hall, silently sweeping and dusting. There was also an attractive, blonde, Nordic woman reading at a nearby table. Ariana noted her fine furs and jewelry.

Ariana placed her hands on the counter, but before she could begin asking her questions, she noticed Rhiada begin to eye her cautiously.

"The Treasury House is really just for patrons of the Silver-Blood family." She said, unable to hide her sudden apprehension as she studied Ariana’s face. "You… don't belong here." 

Ariana knit her brow in confusion; she hadn't even stated her purpose yet. As she frowned slightly, the movement made the skin on the left of her face pull uncomfortably, as if it were encrusted. 

Damn it, my face is still covered in blood!

Forcing a small, light-hearted chuckle, Ariana pointed to her stained cheek.

"Oh, don't worry about this. I had a spill on my way here and you know how dramatically facial injuries bleed. Ridiculous, really." 

Rhiada squinted slightly. There was a lot of dried blood, but she could see no wound. 

"I'm sorry," she told Ariana, "But we're only interested in helping our patrons."

"And I need to see Thonar," Ariana said flatly, trying to resist a disagreeable tone. She was beginning to get impatient. 

"I'm afraid he's asked not to be disturbed. He has important business."

"Yes, I know," Ariana fabricated, folding her arms and beginning to tap a foot, "And he's expecting me."

"Oh!" Rhiada gasped, scrambling from behind the desk and unlocking a nearby door, "I'm sorry to keep you! Head right in." 

Inside the room, Ariana found a middle-aged, well-dressed Nordic man with a receding hairline--whom she presumed to be Thonar--seated at a table alone. Before him was a silver plate bearing a half-eaten wedge of cheese, a small salmon steak, and what looked like the remnants of grilled carrots and leeks. He held a silver goblet in one hand and a book open in the other.

Important business, Ariana thought, allowing a small smirk and folding her arms.

Thonar glanced up from his book to note the intruding stranger.

"What are you doing here? I told them no visitors. This better be important," he grumbled, taking a swig from his goblet, "I'm a very busy man."

"I assure you I won't take much of your time, provided you… cooperate." 

Ariana's poor choice of words obviously irked Thonar, and he threw his book on the table with a sigh, glaring at her through narrowed eyes. 

"I just want to know what you know about Margaret, and what happened to her in the market today." Ariana softened herself, and threw up her hands. "She was supposed to meet you?"

Before she really had time to register the horrified and furious look that now dominated Thonar's face, Ariana heard a blood-curdling scream from the entryway.

"BETRID!" Thonar screamed suddenly, bolting from his chair and scrambling out the door. Ariana swiftly followed. The richly adorned Nordic woman she saw when she entered lay on the floor, eyes frozen wide, gasping and sputtering as blood flowed from several wounds in her belly and chest. Over her stood the two Breton servants, one being a rough-looking woman, the other being an elderly man. The man, however, held no age in his stance, staring and sneering wildly at Thonar and Ariana, the bloodied dagger still held firm in his hand.

Rhiada ducked behind her desk, still whimpering after letting out a small scream. The servants then charged at Thonar and Ariana, thrusting and swinging their blades furiously. Thonar was sadly unarmed, and tried his best to dodge the female servant's blade. It eventually caught him in his arm, and he let out a deep, desperate groan. Ariana was already set aflame with her own magic, but found it didn't deter the old man quite as well as she expected. His steel dagger sliced into her studded bracer as she scrambled to draw her own. Though his energy was that of someone young, his movements weren't terribly coordinated. Ariana mustered all of her strength, bringing her large, serrated dagger down over his knobby wrist. His own knife crashed upon the stone floor, something that couldn't be heard over the conflict beside them.

Thonar was on his back, punching and clawing at the feral-eyed woman who was trying to wrestle away the dagger that was still lodged in his forearm. Ariana grabbed the woman by her long, graying hair, yanking her head back, and messily sawed her throat open.

The elderly assailant now sat back on the floor, cradling his wrist, spitting and cursing. Ariana's strike didn't quite sever his hand, but it did leave it hanging loosely by bits of ligament, flesh, and wrinkled skin. He attempted to clamber upright, grasping his dagger with his wrong hand, as Ariana approached, but with his injury, he was now much too slow. Ariana bent, fatigue of the day beginning to finally wear on her, and drove her blade deep into his belly with a small grunt. She had to place her foot on his shoulder to yank it back out, stumbling back a bit. The old man crumpled as Ariana began plucking bits of his flesh from the Daedric dagger's serrated edge, repulsed by the mess of it all.

I should probably be accepting more contracts, she thought, I'm out of practice.

She continued to pick at the dagger's edge, willing the repetitive movement to quiet her adrenaline. Ariana found Thonar crouched over the blonde woman, grasping her lifeless hand in his, having great difficulty catching his breath.

"My wife… they killed her." he whispered, "My wife is dead."

Ariana stood over him, shakily fastening her sheathless weapon to her belt with a brass clip. 

"I'm… sorry," she managed softly.

"No you're not." Thonar hissed over his shoulder, before standing to look down at her. He glanced back down at Betrid, brief anguish flashing across his brow, before hissing to himself, "Damn Madanach, damn his Forsworn backside."

"I am sorry your wife is dead," She said, somewhat truthfully, "But I do need you to tell me what you know about the Forsworn."

Thonar clenched his jaw and sneered, quickly glancing between Ariana and Betrid on the floor. 

"Fine," he eventually said, "You want to know what the Forsworn really are? They're my puppets . I have their 'king' rotting in the Cidhna Mine." He spit and rubbed his sore forearm. His wound had been superficial, the servant's blade having only been lodged underneath his skin, barely piercing his muscle. It had mostly stopped bleeding. "He was supposed to keep them under control."

Ariana took advantage of his grief-stricken, loose tongue, and he ended up explaining to her a brief history of the Forsworn in the Reach: About Madanach, "The King of Rags", about Ulfric Stormcloak having taken Markarth from him shortly after returning from The Great War, and about how he had practically gifted Madanach to the Silver-Bloods.

"I offered him a stay from execution if he used his influence to deal with any annoyances that came up: competitors, agents, idiots. So I've let him run his little Forsworn rebellion from inside Cidhna Mine. Now," Thonar glanced back down at Betrid, pain twisting once more on his face, "He's out of control."  

Ariana was still trying to process all of this information, trying to triage what would be most important to Eltrys. She briefly scanned the hall, noting Rhiada nowhere to be found. 

"I suppose you need some help controlling this?" She wasn't exactly offering, but the silence ebbed away at her.

"You already got what you want, you damn hound!" Thonar hissed down at her, glaring lividly, and gestured to his now cold wife. "This is your fault. You and Madanach are animals , and I'll see you both rot to death in the Mines for this." 

He swung his uninjured arm behind him, pointing at the entrance, his eyes wide and burning, "Now, get out of my HOUSE!"

Though Thonar's fury wasn't terribly surprising, Ariana still flinched at his sudden and intense volume. She rushed out of the Treasury House and began for where Eltrys had mentioned Nepos living. There was still more she felt she needed to know before returning to Eltrys. The sun was beginning to dip behind the mountains and the stone city was now washed in a pale blue.

Rather than knocking on the door, Ariana was pleased to find it was unlocked, and boldly let herself in. Though the healing potion had corrected her face, her orbital socket still vaguely stung, and she was eager to confront the man who had ordered Dryston's assault.

Inside, Ariana was immediately met with whom she assumed to be a maid.

"Excuse me, what's your business here?" The Breton asked suddenly, eyeing Ariana's now somewhat ragged appearance up and down, her fingers hovering over the dagger on her hip. 

"I'm here to see Nepos." Ariana replied flatly. 

"We haven't been expecting you, and the old man needs his rest." 

"And who are you?" Ariana huffed, gesturing at the woman.

"If you must know, I am the maid. And the master of the house needs his rest, as I said before. You'd better leave."

"Are maids often ar--" Ariana began, before hearing an old, shaky male voice chime in from a nearby room.

"Wait," Nepos called, "It’s okay, my dear, send her in."

***

Ondolemar, realizing he was a bit peckish after apparently skipping lunch, found himself strolling along the length of the open, upper floor hall. He met Siriol alone by the Jarl's hounds, having them sit and be still for a small morsel of meat.

"Sir," she addressed him, noting his odd, elsewhere expression, "What do you need of me?"

Ondolemar furrowed his brow slightly, his mouth fused in a straight, rigid line. He held up his hand to indicate he didn't need anything.

"I'm just going to find some dinner." He eventually muttered.

"Oh, sir, I'm terribly sorry!" Siriol hastily threw the dogs their treats. "I had no idea what time it was or I would have--"

Ondolemar raised his hand once again, closing his eyes momentarily.

"No, I can get it myself…" his voice trailed. Siriol eyed him, stunned by his unusual demeanor. He started for the kitchen before pausing, turning back to address his soldier.

"Siriol, have you--?" He began in a small voice, hesitating.

"Yes, sir?"

"You wouldn't have happened to see Marcellus anywhere lately, have you?" 

"No, sir, not since she left this morning." Siriol replied softly, her mind beginning to reel and churn.

"Odd," he breathed before entering the kitchen.

Inside, the new cook, whose name Ondolemar had never bothered to note, eyed him with something akin to fear before retreating to his small room that was connected to the far end of the kitchen. Ondolemar hovered a hand over a small loaf of bread that sat upon a cloth napkin on the table, but never quite managed to grab it.

I wonder if I offended her somehow .

He found himself by a nearby shelf, browsing small wooden crates full of venison and horker jerky. 

I'd expect her to return by now. I wonder if something happened…

Ondolemar's hand hovered over a small bottle of ale that sat atop a closed barrel, unable to focus his mind on his original purpose there. 

Perhaps I should go lo-- He swiftly shook such a ridiculous thought from his head. She can handle herself, and I suppose I should be grateful that she allowed me a day of relative peace.

Ondolemar returned to the bread on the table, the ale bottle's neck suspended between his pinky and ring fingers. He vaguely noted the sound of running hide boots and clinking armor on the outer platform and down the stairs, as well as distant shouting in Nordic accents. He stowed the small loaf, along with its cloth napkin, in his robe's pocket, and made his way out the door.

Before he could make it more ten feet out of the kitchen, he was met with Caris suddenly rushing to him, eyes wide.

"Sir, that woman!" She spit, her face parting in a wide grin. "The guard is apprehending her in the street! She's screaming and putting up quite a fight." 

"Marcellus?" Ondolemar reminded himself to keep a hold of his ale and willed his legs not to move. This really shouldn't have surprised him.

"Yes!" Caris was unable to hide her excitement. There was finally something entertaining happening at her incredibly dull post. 

"Why?" He whispered, followed by a small, breathy laugh. 

"No clue!" Caris laughed, absolutely beaming. "Whatever it is, she probably deserves it."

Ondolemar's false amusement fell from his face, and he glared down at her.

"And what would YOU know of her?" He hissed. He pushed past her, heading for the stairs after thrusting his ale into Caris's armored hands. "I'm going to see what all this fuss is about." 

***

Ariana had found herself bloodied and limping to the Shrine of Talos. Her meeting with Nepos had gone terribly awry. He had given her valuable information, which quickly became suspicious. But before she was able to leave, Nepos and his "servants" attacked. Being outnumbered four to one, she was lucky to make it out of his house alive. Nepos, himself, was relatively simple to dispatch, being as frail as he was, but Uaile and his other attendants were a different story. Ariana had to resort to being reckless and wild with her fire, which had proven extra exhausting after she sustained several lacerations to her shoulders, arms, and legs. 

She was beyond done. Violently trembling as she weakly pried open the door to the shrine, she cursed softly to herself. She was half-tempted to outright murder Eltrys for involving her in this in the first place. After she entered, she froze; it turned out someone else beat her to it.

Eltrys lay bloodied and broken before the Talos statue, surrounded by three or four, fully uniformed, Markarth guards. 

"What did you do to Eltrys?!" She shouted at them, despite herself. Her mind was already quickly sifting through the numerous probabilities, and she knew it was a foolish question to ask.

"Same thing we do to all the other natives who want to change things around here." One of the guards told her in a thick, western Nordic accent. "We had a nice, little deal going in between Thonar and Madanach until you and this one," he gestured at the now lifeless Eltrys, his expression unreadable behind his full helmet, "Started snooping around."

The guard placed a palm on the pommel of his still-sheathed sword, drumming his fingers along the quillons below. Ariana, still sore and weak from her previous altercations, slowly stepped back towards the door. She was out of any potions that would serve her in this moment, not that she had the time to retrieve any from her satchel to begin with. 

"Well," the guard added, nonchalant and almost bored, glancing down at the ground and sniffing, "You wanted to find the man responsible for those killings? You'll have plenty of time with the King of Rags when you're in the Cidhna Mine."

By the time he looked up, Ariana was out the door and sprinting away as fast as her sore legs could carry her. Despite her injuries and fatigue, she was luckily much swifter and familiar with the night than the heavily armored guards, and she managed to make it to one of the stone bridges that snaked throughout the city. It wasn't shortly thereafter, she was bashed from the side with a wooden shield. Now on the ground, her brain spinning and stunned by the sudden strike, she forced flames to erupt from her body. Her magicka reserves were low, but she knew she had to put in maximum effort if she were to survive the night. Struggling to get up on her feet, she readied more fire in her gloved hands and hurled it at the guards that now surrounded her. 

There was a lot of vague shouting in the distance, seemingly coming from the direction of Understone Keep. Ariana thought she might have heard a familiar female voice let out a sharp laugh that echoed off the mountain and stone.

Unfortunately, in her exhaustion and brief distraction, she found her lower back suddenly stinging. Reaching down to feel the back of her hip, she kept her eyes on the guards. They were now six or seven in number, and were all seemingly apprehensive about charging her while she was still ignited. She found a thin, cold arrow was lodged deep in her muscle, irritating a nerve that sent lightning down her leg.

One of the guards started for her then, and Ariana was horrified to discover her flames rapidly weakening before disappearing completely. Desperately attempting to summon every ounce of her magicka, she found she no longer had any. 

The guard, whose voice she recognized from when he addressed her at the shrine, chuckled and said, "You think we don't have poisons to deal with the likes of you?" He drew his steel sword, and attempted to bring the pommel down upon her head. Ariana luckily dodged, barely, scrambling to draw her own blade as she stumbled backwards, landing on the rough stone with her rear. Her legs were failing her, and the arrow still stuck in side of her lumbar bent and twisted painfully, snapping with the force of her fall. 

"We aren't trying to kill you, you know." He folded his arms, sporting a shining, white, Y-shaped scar near his bare elbow. He leaned over the seemingly stunned and incapacitated Ariana, bending so his face would be closer to hers.

"It would be a waste of labor."

Ariana grimaced and grunted, using all of her remaining strength and rage to kick her foot up and across his helmet, launching it up and off of him. The Nord's face was illuminated by the other guards' torches. He had dark hair, pulled in a tight, short ponytail at the back of his head, as well as a medium-length, neat beard. His eyes were currently blazing slits under thick, dark eyebrows, their color indiscernible in the poor lighting. From what she could see, he was conventionally attractive, and Ariana hated him all the more for it. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and slowly wiped a bit of blood that had started on his lower lip, where his helmet made contact before leaving him.

***

Ondolemar stood aways outside the Keep, up against a stone railing, observing the scene in the distance. Ariana had been apparently defeated, and from what he could see, was propping herself up on bloody, weak arms. She was surrounded by a circle of several guards with torches, though only one seemed to be engaging her. 

Stupid, he thought, his face contorting slightly and his grip on the stone railing tightening. Why did I ever tell her otherwise? 

The single guard bent over Ariana and his helmeted face was swiftly met with her foot. 

REMARKABLY stupid. Ondolemar found his teeth grinding painfully and his legs began to waver. And most definitely warranted, whatever she may have done.

The guard in question paused for a second, before retrieving his helmet from the ground. He immediately and forcefully swung it down atop Ariana’s head. Ondolemar's breath stopped momentarily as he saw her crumple. The guard hurled it back down at her again, striking her shoulder this time, and she curled into a pathetic ball on the stone. Again and again, the guard pummeled her with his helmet, pausing only to give her swift kicks to her ribs and legs. When Ariana’s breath caught, she let out a shrill, pitiful cry that echoed off the city walls. Ondolemar's legs wanted to move now, his hand aching for his mace, but he forced himself to be as still as the stone around him. The local guard's affairs were, strictly, not his business, whether they involved an associate of his or not. 

The guard finally stopped, stepping away, and beckoning for another to approach. Ariana, from what Ondolemar could tell, still lied on the pavement, weakly cradling her head, her entire broken body heaving and trembling. This second guard carried what appeared to be an empty, worn sack. That's when the guard that beat her readied his sword.

Ondolemar, not entirely aware of what he was doing, found himself beginning to march silently down the stone walkway, never taking his eyes off the spectacle. Surely they aren't going to kill her; she's already immobile. He halted his movement, once again grasping a nearby railing, catching himself before his body did something his mind knew it should not.

The guard adjusted his grip on his sword and bent, grabbing as much of Ariana’s hair as he could, yanking her head back. To Ondolemar, her face was almost unrecognizable in its nearly doubled size. Her eyes were obscured by intense swelling, and blood dripped from her lips. 

"No!" Ondolemar breathed.

With a few swift sawing motions, the guard cut off Ariana’s long hair at her nape. Ondolemar huffed in apparent relief before his face twisted once more. He couldn't, for the life of him, figure why this caused him so much anxiety. He had made acquaintances before, conversation and drinking partners during the war, and watched them die all the same. Ariana's head, being released by the tension of her severed hair, slammed back down into the stone. She simply lacked the strength to prevent otherwise.

Oh, she isn't going to like that , Ondolemar couldn't help but think, referring to her hair. She was always fussing over it, complaining whenever she had a hard time finding the right oil or a comb tooth broke. He watched the guard who cut it stuff it messily into the sack the other provided, allowing a few of the shorter locks to land on the pavement. 

"So she's going to the Cidhna Mine then," a soft voice uttered behind him. Ondolemar flinched, and whirled to see Siriol beside him. He found himself unable to respond just yet.

"Oh, they always cut long hair off of new prisoners. Make them ready for work, I suppose… Sir?" She couldn't help but notice a hint of torment lingering on his brow as he looked away from her and back down at the bridge. Several guards were now dragging Ariana's limp form away to the south, most likely heading for the mine on the other end of the city. One guard remained, however, the one holding the sack of hair, which was saved, most likely for wig-making or thread-spinning. He lazily plucked spilled locks off the pathway, tucking them into the bag, before hurrying off in the same direction as the others.

"They do it to humiliate them." Ondolemar uttered.

Chapter Text

Ondolemar inspected the bridge under the dim moonlight. He noted several thin streaks of dry blood going in different directions outside of a dark pool in the center. He dared to skim the bloody mark with his gloved fingers and found that it was, indeed, still wet. 

"She received quite a beating," Siriol said quietly, observing her commanding officer squat before the blood stain. The night was now quiet and still, all straggling gawkers having retreated back to their homes. Ondolemar heard the soft thud of light armored boots approach him and Siriol.

"She certainly did," chimed Caris, standing beside her partner, placing her hands on her hips. She looked down at the bloody mark with a small smile. "She must have made the guards especially angry."

Ondolemar glanced over his shoulder at her but said nothing, his eyes burning, chartreuse slivers in the low light. 

"Oh, you aren't actually upset about this, are you?" Caris blurted. Ondolemar quickly stood and glared down at her. "I mean, I know you considered her a friend, but-- "

Caris's face was swiftly met with the back of Ondolemar's hand. The sides of her Elven helmet protected her cheek from his spikes, but one of them still managed to hook slightly on her lip, tearing it open. Caris grasped her now bleeding mouth, glaring up at her commander with burning fury. Siriol took her partner's face in her hands, stepping in between her and Ondolemar, and gave the sore cheek a gentle stroke, trying to calm Caris's rage. Siriol quickly looked back at Ondolemar, her brows knitted upward.

"I assure you, she meant no disrespect, sir!" She shakily pleaded.

"Yet it seems so deliberate!" He hissed behind a tight jaw. "Both of you, return to your posts this instant ." He pointed straight ahead, behind the pair, towards the looming Keep. Caris hesitated, still eyeing Ondolemar contemptuously, but Siriol managed to tug her away.

Before the two soldiers entered Understone Keep, Caris froze, rigid and fuming. Siriol paused with her hand on the handle.

"Why is he a Justiciar in the first place?" Caris grumbled, wiping the blood from her mouth.

"Love, what do you mean?" Siriol's face seemed to be permanently twisted in her upset. She couldn't bear to see her partner humiliated in such a way, but she knew there wasn't anything she could do about it other than avoid further provocation. "If the Thalmor awarded him the rank of Justiciar, he certainly earned it. They don't just throw around a title like that." 

Caris closed her eyes briefly and drew a long, strained breath. She pushed by her taller counterpart and hurled the heavy, Dwemer door open herself.

"He's weak. " She growled as she stomped inside.

Ondolemar watched his soldiers retreat behind the great waterfall that obscured the entrance of the Keep. Satisfied that they were, indeed, now gone, he turned back to the blood stain. He felt a sharp rising in his throat.

I have seen much worse. His brow was locked in a painful furrow. To people I was much more attached to…

He spied a single, remaining lock of curly black hair on the stone beside his feet. He found himself bending to retrieve it, rising to inspect its sheen in the moonlight. He turned and twisted the lock between his gloved fingers, trying to make sense of what he was feeling, and making an effort to repress it should he be on the verge of realizing. 

Ridiculous, he thought, I shall miss her company, surely, but there is simply nothing to be done about it.

Ondolemar stalked back to Understone Keep. He shoved his hand deep into his pocket mindlessly, feeling what he then remembered to be a small loaf of bread. He still had not eaten. 

I am letting myself get distracted by things that do not concern me, that do not concern the Thalmor. He began his ascent up the stone stairs within the Keep. He glanced at Siriol, who had yet to retire to her and her partner's quarters. She sat on a stone bench, and quickly pulled her hands from her head, where her face had been resting. She kept her eyes averted. 

Caris didn't really deserve that. She's a fine soldier, and completely correct to be concerned. He admitted to himself, his jaw tightened once more. And honestly brave, taking a chance to tell me as much. The Dominion should be proud to have her. He quickly strode to the Imperial strategy room, paying Siriol no mind, and slammed the door behind him. 

Ondolemar took a deep breath while standing just inside the room, before deciding to take his usual seat at his usual table. I wonder what Caris did with my ale… not like I can go ask her now. He reached for a half-empty wine bottle and poured it into a nearby tankard, but his stomach churned and growled before he had a chance to drink. Ondolemar, remembering his bread yet again, hastily pulled it from his pocket, praying the cloth managed to protect the crust from lint. He frowned down at the loaf. Clinging to the rough-spun napkin was a band of curly, dark hair. I was sure I tossed that. He took the lock once again, winding it between his fingers, his disposition quickly souring. Must have caught on my glove or something.  

He found himself twisting the hair longer than he was comfortable with, but for the life of him, he couldn't seem to put it down. He was then startled by a sudden banging on the large Dwemer door behind him. 

"Sir!" Siriol called adamantly from the other side. "I'm terribly sorry, I know you most likely want to be left in peace, but please may I have a moment of your time?"

Cursing softly, Ondolemar hid the unwanted weft in a small report journal; he could dispose of it later. 

"Come in," he spat, and Siriol cautiously entered.

"Sir," she began, her voice still wavering, despite her best efforts to calm it, "I want to apologize for Caris's tactlessness and apparent insubordination."

Siriol stood at attention next to Ondolemar’s desk, her eyes avoiding his. 

"You aren't her, therefore you needn't apologize," he replied flatly, "Besides…"  

"I wanted to, nonethe--"

Ondolemar threw up his hand and she flinched and fell silent.

"Despite her poor choice of words, and disrespectful tone, her," he couldn't help but sigh, followed by a soft grinding of his teeth, "Concern over my apparent behavior was understandable." 

Siriol's eyes widened but she willed her mouth to remain shut.

"But I want you to assure her: There is absolutely nothing to be worried about. Though I seemed to be distracted this evening, I am still focused and committed to our purpose here. It really is no issue."

"Sir," Siriol breathed, despite herself, "What you saw this evening was disturbing, and I understand if you experienced discomfort."

"Stars, Siriol!" He rose to meet her at eye level, disregarding her visible recoil at his sudden movement. "Has this dismally tedious station made you soft? What we saw today was nothing: a mere beating in the street, not even a slaying. We have all witnessed far worse at one point or another, if not performed it ourselves. We would not be the Dominion's finest if we were so weak to what's inevitable." 

"I--" Siriol felt her eyes moisten and forced herself to numbly utter, "No, sir. I just know how much she meant to you."

"She? I know you aren't speaking of Marcellus. I'll admit I found her entertaining, but she's still an inferior Imperial. She means nothing to me." Ondolemar sternly said, though these words hardly felt like his own. It was as if he was just to the left of himself, hearing a stranger with his voice speak. Siriol's face contorted and a million questions threatened to spill from her lips.

"Sir, if I may be so bold," she began, despite her nerves, "If she meant nothing to you, then why did you inspect the place she was beaten?"

Siriol was relieved to hear Ondolemar let out a sharp, but relatively light-hearted laugh.

"Do you not think it's interesting that the guards would use such excessive force, long after their target had been immobilized? It seems most suspicious, if I do say so myself. Possibly indicative of widespread corruption, if not just a sign of instability in general. If the local authorities here are so incompetent as to allow their emotions to interfere with their work, it is definitely something we should record." Ondolemar didn't even feel like he was even in the room at this point.

Allow their emotions to interfere with their work , was a phrase Siriol found repeating in her mind, trying her best to dismiss it. What Ondolemar said, ultimately, made sense, and she knew if she wanted to maintain a peaceful chain of command, she would have to accept it. He was her superior, after all.

"Yes, sir," she quietly replied, "That makes sense, sir. What would you have me do to assist you?"

"I will let you know in the morning. For now, " he gestured to the door, trying to maintain a calm tone, "You are dismissed and may retire for the night. It is very late, and you and Caris will need your rest if you are to be of any use to me."

"Yes, sir," she murmured, turning for the door, "Thank you, sir." 

Ondolemar watched her leave and close the door behind her before he returned to his seat. His conversation with Siriol allowed pleasant scheming to return to him, and he started sifting through stacks of files that sat upon the low, stone shelf that ran along the length of the wall. 

"Guard roster, guard roster, where are you?" He muttered to himself. There was once a time where he kept his files and documents meticulously organized, but they became increasingly disheveled over the past year or so. After a moment of shifting papers and hide portfolios, he wrenched his intended document from a particular stack and scanned it.

Ah, here it is, Ondolemar began to review the names:

Matin Andav, Corrine Apinis, Menaara Beaunarel, Relnadett Dracis, Rolf Elf-Breaker… Ondolemar couldn't help but chuckle, "Elf-Breaker," Hadwulf Enriksson, Sigvrygg Frost-Back, Tyr Heart-Drinker, Cassius Navonicus, Horgondir Oakenheart, Johanna Vedassius…

He readied a quill and inkpot, snatching a nearby leather-bound journal, and flipped it open. It happened to open in a particular place, however, since the pages had already been separated by a foreign object. 

Ondolemar's brows furrowed once more, and icy tension threatened to return to his chest. He plucked the weft of hair from the pages, and began to hold it to a nearby candle. Before the strands could coil and bubble, though, he apparently reconsidered. Placing his quill back in its inkpot, he stared down at it, where it now rested in his palm. His gut churned and jaw clenched, and he found himself softly biting the inside of his cheek.

You truly insist on haunting me, then. You know there was nothing that I could have done. His eyes burned into his hand and the soft, black curls it held.

***

"By Mauloch, just open your damn mouth!" A ragged voice grumbled close to her. Ariana's ears were still ringing, it was as if her entire skull was made of splinters, and her vision was still far from her at the moment. She suddenly felt sharp pressure on both of her bruised cheeks as this unknown person tried to pinch her mouth open.

"You'll need a potion so you can work," the Orc, later known to Ariana as Urzoga, growled, "Looks like he had a little too much fun with you. Dunno why he couldn't have just done this himself…"

Ariana's mind finally began to work, and white hot fury started to build in her throat. Still unable to see much around her, Ariana lifted a shaky, cold hand and managed to grasp the neck of the bottle, shoving it painfully to her lips, and chugged. 

Her vision slowly returned, due to the sharp reduction in swelling, and the odd clicking in her ribcage when she breathed seemed to stop. There was also, luckily, a significant alleviation from pain. As the taste of blood receded from her mouth, she recognized the tell-tale bitterness of a particularly strong healing potion, before noting a rather unusual aftertaste. 

"Don't try to start with your fire, now. He warned me, and there's magicka poison in that potion." Said the severe-looking Orsimer. 

Ariana quickly discovered, much to her dismay, that she couldn't seem to muster even an ember. From her position on the dirt floor, she glared up at Urzoga, mindlessly feeling her hip. Terror suddenly flooded her: Ariana was no longer wearing her usual attire, and was instead dressed in an ill-fitting roughspun tunic and pants. She had been disarmed and her enchanted satchel was now missing. She quickly stood, the movement making her wince slightly due to lingering soreness.

"Where are my belongings?!" She hissed up at the Orc, who replied with a coarse chuckle.

"You… really have never been to prison before, have you? Everything's been confiscated." Urzoga said flatly, folding her arms across her dull, steel chest plate.

"Well when do I get them back?!" 

"You don't. Your family has thirty days to claim them before we start auctioning them off."

"Well can I get a letter out or something?!" Ariana practically squealed, grasping the sides of her head, her mind furiously spinning. 

"Ha, no."

But Urzoga's answer didn't quite register. With her hands still planted firmly on her head, Ariana felt her hair. Her vision blurred and her face grew hot. She ran her bare fingers through it, from front to back, absolutely horrified when its length stopped suddenly at her nape.

"What," she began as a hoarse whisper before screeching, "Is THIS?!"

"It was too long for work."

"WHAT?!"

"Too long for work," Urzoga repeated, huffing, before gesturing to a nearby iron barred gate, "Eyes front, prisoner. You're in the Cidhna Mine now. And we expect you to earn your keep." She grasped the shoulder of Ariana’s tunic and began to drag her towards the gate. 

"Wait!" Ariana tried desperately to swat away Urzoga's hand, suddenly remembering her precious satchel. "Can I at least get a local note out? To someone in Understone, maybe?" The Orc paused, but her grip on Ariana remained firm.

"NOo," she replied slowly, in lilting irritation, "That luxury is reserved for one prisoner, and one prisoner only ."

Urzoga swung the iron bars open, their sudden screeching making Ariana flinch, and shoved her through. Ariana whirled and grasped the bars as they were shut and locked behind her, trying to muster fire from her skin. 

"Here, you work." Urgoza said, gritting the teeth behind her tusks. "You'll mine ore until you start throwing up silver bars. You got it?"

Ariana's mouth twisted and her eyes narrowed. She forced her voice low and still despite the violence shaking her skull.

"Sorry, I'm a bit deaf in this ear." She sneered.

"Don't get smart with me , princess, I'm in charge here. You keep it up and I'll have your toes cut off."

"Wouldn't that make it difficult for me to mine ore?"  

Urgoza quickly struck Ariana’s fingers from the bars with the back of her steel gauntlet, before marching away, yelling to someone unseen.

"I swear, this is the LAST TIME I HANDLE INTAKE!"

Ariana was left holding her bruised knuckles, wringing them in a manner that was less than soothing.

***

Having just started to get their armor on, Siriol and Caris were startled by sudden and violent knocking on their door. 

"You two better be up and ready! There's lots to do today." They heard their commander shout from the other side.

"I wasn't even sure he knew where we slept." Caris grumbled, yanking on her boots. Siriol hastily fastened her chest plates' side straps, flinching at the continued banging. Figuring she could finish the last two afterwards, she rushed to the door, flinging it open. 

"Yes, sir?"

"Oh thank goodness, this is the right room." Ondolemar muttered, averting his eyes from the open door after noticing Caris still just in her tunic and quicksilver chausses. Siriol eyed two steaming mugs he held in each hand.

"I brought you both tea. I need you and Caris as alert as possible this morning. I will tolerate no distractions. Very important work to be done." He told her, noting her surprise and attempting to fix his own demeanor. 

"Sir!" Siriol gasped, receiving the cups, "That is most generous, you have my sincerest thanks."

"Most unusual, you mean," Caris murmured, thrusting her foot into her remaining Elven boot. She stalked over to the doorway, snatching a pewter mug from Siriol's hand. Taking a hefty swig and ignoring the tea's temperature, she glared up at her commander. Ondolemar spied a small scab and bruise that lingered on her lower lip when she finished.

"My apologies," he began, his brows briefly knitting down at Caris before turning back to Siriol, "For my intrusion. I am merely eager to assign your duties for the day."

"And what would those be?" Caris grumbled, taking another sip before catching herself. "Sir."

"I need you two to go to the guards barracks and retrieve for me a copy of this past week's patrol schedule… or duty roster. I'm actually not sure what they call it here, but it doesn't matter. I require a detailed list of when and where each guard is posted." Ondolemar let out a small sigh, and forced his face to remain expressionless despite the gnawing tension beginning in his chest. "Particularly from yesterday." 

Caris raised a brow and returned her lips to her pewter mug, though only a drop remained. 

"Yes, sir," Siriol said seriously, "We'll get right on that, sir." 

"In the meantime," Ondolemar turned and began down the hall, "I must meet with Igmund." 

***

Ariana made her way down the shaky, splintery wooden walkway, fuming. At the bottom she met a pale, thin, Breton man, who was shirtless and barefoot, sitting beside a large bonfire that sat in the middle of the chamber.

"What are you in for, new blood?" He asked her, scanning her up and down. He raised a brow as he noted her stature.

"Killing a guy who asked too many questions," she spat.

"Violent one, huh? Best keep that to yourself, new blood. Others find out, they'll consider it a challenge." The Breton--later known to Ariana as Uraccen--said, extending his feet towards the fire so as to warm his bare toes.

"My advice?" He continued. "Serve your time at the pickaxe and get out. You don't want to end up getting a shiv in the guts over a bottle of Skooma."

"I swear to the Dread Father, I'M not going to be the one with a shiv in her gut." Ariana grumbled, looking away and grinding her teeth. She kept her arms folded tightly across her chest, trying to keep her trembling rage from devolving into uncontrollable screaming. Ariana eyed her surroundings. She stood in a dank, ill-lit cavern, snaked with tunnels and a single iron-barred door. There only seemed to be a few others there, and they all seemed to be fellow prisoners.

"Where are the guards?" She asked Uraccen.

"They come down here once a week to clean out bodies, grab any ore we've mined, and beat down trouble makers. That's the only time we get food, too." He held his stomach softly, frowning a bit. "And if there's not enough ore mined up, we don't get any."

"Oh that makes perfect sense," Ariana grumbled, running her hand through her now short hair, "Starving your workers will certainly make them more productive. Idiots. I can't even pull my hair back now. How in Oblivion does this make me 'ready for work'?"

"It doesn't really," Uraccen replied to her personal mumblings, "Long hair, when cut by a prisoner, can be used for all sorts of things that might be a threat to an unwary guard."

"How many guards have you seen murdered down here?" Ariana's mind began to churn, and a small, horrible smile crept through the corners of her mouth. She thought of all the terrible things she could do to a particular guard if she ever saw him again.

"A few," Uraccen said a matter-of-factly, "Then again, when you've been down here long as I have--"

"So where's Madanach?"

"Ah," Uraccen let out a strained sigh, looking back at the fire, "If you're asking, that means you're a new lifer. Tough luck, friend. Those guards sold you out. No one talks to Madanach, I'm afraid. Not without getting past Borkul the Beast…" He gestured lazily to a rather large, shirtless Orc that stood by an iron-barred gate. "And you don't want to talk to Borkul the Beast."

Ariana scanned Borkul, noting his large muscles and rough, worn pants that were just a little too tight on him. He was taller than most Orcs she had met, about as tall as Siriol. The sides of his head were shaved and he wore white warpaint in the form of a skull on his face. 

"I might want to talk to Borkul the Beast," she uttered.

"No you don't. He's Madanach's guard. Heard he ripped a man's arm off and beat him to death with it. He's old-fashioned like that."

"Sounds like someone I'd like, honestly," Ariana chuckled, imagining that particular scene. Despite Uraccen's warnings, she purposefully marched up to Borkul. Seeing her approach, he dug his fists into his hips, his lips curling around his tusks in something like a smirk.

"The new meat," he addressed her, "So soft, tender. You're not going to make it long down here." 

Ariana, blushing in spite of her offense, folded her arms and glared up at him. Unable to find fear in her eyes, Borkul softened somewhat and his smile grew wider.

"What was it like killing your first one, huh?"

"I--" Ariana couldn't help but let an ounce of her anger fall; he was someone she would like, indeed. "Exhilarating."

"A true killer like me, then." He let out a quiet, breathy laugh, "The gods put us here to fill their halls with souls. I guess you'll fit in fine down here."

"I don't want to fit in, I want out of here. I need to see Madanach."

"You want to see the King of Rags?" Borkul laughed. "I mean, fine , but first you gotta pay the toll." 

He paused to look her up and down, and Ariana scowled up at him as if he were some massive, unruly child. 

"How about you get me a shiv? Not that I need one but it's nice to have in case I need to do some, ha, shaving."  

Ariana tried to think of something witty to say, but at a loss for words, she merely grumbled, "I don't have a shiv."

"Then find one? Grisvar’s been kno--"

"Just let me through, you ass!" Ariana hissed, attempting to push by Borkul's enormous frame. He swiftly plucked her off the ground under her arms, and set her back down a couple of feet away. 

"I don't really want to fight you, tidbit, it would be all over in an instant. Not much fun." 

"Don't call me that! I will rip your dick off and MAKE YOU EAT IT!" She snarled, viciously trying to strike and claw at his torso. Her magicka hadn't yet returned to her and she barely managed to make the tips of her fingers burn hot. Borkul, completely unaffected by her impotent attack, stood like a statue, stifling laughter. He glanced over to see Uraccen still seated by the fire, shaking his head. 

"You can try all you want, I'm not moving." He said flatly, giving her shoulder a half-hearted push before folding his arms. Ariana paused, huffing in brief embarrassment, before rushing at him once more. She grasped him around the waist and bit down as hard as she could just under his chest. 

Borkul flinched and grabbed her by her hair, yanking her face away from his ribcage. She bit down harder as he tugged her off of him, the sudden pulling making his tough skin tear. He looked down at her seriously, exhaling sharply from his nose. 

"I wouldn't do that." He whispered, holding her still by her curls. Ariana could tell by his eyes that he wanted to smile. 

"And why not?" She smirked, licking the sour blood from her lips. 

"Just… I wouldn't do it." He said even softer, between jagged breaths, trying to communicate something else with his eyes. Ariana scanned the bent Orc up and down, noticing a protrusion beginning in his ragged trousers.

Ariana stepped back, her face twisting into a satisfied smile. Borkul slowly released her hair. 

"Well," she breathed, noting the faintest hint of blush on the Orc's ears, "Since I don't have a shiv, is there anything," she paused to give him a look, " Else , I can do for you so you'll let me pass?"

Borkul straightened and let out a low, shaky laugh. He held his chin, pretending to think about it. He eventually bent closer to her face and whispered, "As long as you keep up that same energy."

Chapter Text

Ondolemar, ill from his brief meeting with the Jarl, stalked back to the Imperial strategy room. He had tried to make the conversation as polite as possible, but Igmund's palatable dislike for the Justiciar often made it difficult. The Jarl, of course, typically kept his manners, but his tone and facial expressions never failed to pull Ondolemar into biting incivility. He learned almost nothing, but Igmund at least listened to what he had to say.

"That particular guard's behavior is regrettable, but things like this happen." The Jarl said dismissively. 

"Under proper law and order, it mustn't. Every single guard must be held accountable for their inappropriate actions, lest the disorder lead to chaos." Ondolemar maintained his arms folded just under his chest, angling his body slightly away so he could look down at the Jarl over his shoulder. 

"They get dealt with eventually, when discovered. There are always a few bad apples, doesn't matter where you go--"

"'A few bad apples' often spoil the entire bushel." Ondolemar was trying his best not to shout. 

They went back and forth like this for a while longer before Ondolemar threw up his hands and stalked away. Though the conversation had yielded almost nothing of use, he still had hope Igmund would at least think about the matter presented. He walked back to his desk, and poured an overfull tankard of wine. This bottle had been particularly sour,  and he closed his eyes as he drank, as if that would somehow brace him for the taste. He took several quick large gulps, emptying his cup halfway, before letting out a small, strained sigh.

"Why am I doing this?" He found himself uttering aloud, bearing his weight on the stone table with his palms. A few fleeting images passed through his mind, as if to answer. He shook his head softly to banish her.

Love a good chance to bully the Jarl, really. He hastily swallowed the rest of his wine, having to wipe a drop from his lips when he finished. He began to shift through his leather-bound journals and portfolios, trying to locate his current one, before remembering to take his seat. He flipped the journal open and frowned once more.

Why am I keeping this? Ondolemar picked up the small lock of curly, black hair, straightening and twisting it so it would stay all together. The coarse parchment of the book had begun to ruffle the fine strands. Is the threat of her absence really that unnerving? She hasn't been gone for more than a day, and surely I can find something else to entertain myself with. He wound the curls around his gloved fingers, glaring down at them. 

"Sir, we've returned." He flinched at Siriol's sudden announcement behind him and stuffed his shame back in between the pages of the journal before slamming it shut. He got up to meet his soldiers in the open doorway.

"Excellent. Let me see," Ondolemar said quietly, snatching a small stack of papers from Siriol's hand. Caris stood beside her, eyes averted and arms folded. 

"Fredas, Loredas, Sundas, Morndas, Tirdas, Middas--" he muttered, quickly thumbing through the pages, "Where's Turdas?" 

Siriol shifted her weight awkwardly and Caris let out a small sigh.

"Where is the schedule from yesterday?" Ondolemar blinked and stared at them, stifling fury.

"Well, sir," Siriol began cautiously, "It was... We demanded it specifically, but they insisted it was missing."

Ondolemar looked to the ceiling, and took a deep, shaky breath while closing his eyes. After a second or two, he glared down at Caris.

"You did what you usually do, right?" 

"What would that be, sir?" Caris asked plainly.

"You know, the thing you do… with the lightning? Stars, Caris, I'm asking if you threatened them adequately!" 

Caris couldn't help but smile and soften. Suppressing a giggle, she said, "I was unaware you wanted me to do as much, sir."

"She did it anyway, sir! Don't worry." Siriol quickly added, fearing his reaction to Caris's jest. "I think they were being truthful."

"Someone must have destroyed it then." Ondolemar began to pace in front of the door, massaging his short beard. "But why? They shouldn't be suspecting an investigation." It’s not like I've ever investigated them before, he thought better than to say aloud.

"Unless," He stopped suddenly, eyes widening, staring at the wall before him. He whirled and faced his soldiers once more.

"Siriol, you're good with names. Do you remember what the two guards are called that are posted outside Igmund's throne room? They're the same ones every time, right?" 

Siriol shot Caris a smug look before answering. Caris couldn't help but respond by rolling her eyes.

"Yes, sir. I do not know their surnames, but I know the taller one is called Tyr. His counterpart's name starts with an H. Sounds something like 'horker deer'. Both are presumably Nords, judging by their accents."

"Yes!" Ondolemar whispered excitedly, tempted to grasp Siriol's shoulders before reminding himself of proper boundaries. "Magnificent, Siriol! I think I know just the names you speak of, as well." 

After Ondolemar had returned to his desk and messy array of papers, he dismissed his soldiers. He let them know to standby, and would give them orders as soon as they came to him.

Siriol took a seat at her and Caris's usual bench by the smithy. Caris paused before her, her face contorted incredulously and laughter threatened to escape her throat. 

"Oh look at me," She eventually hissed, waving her hands down by her waist, "I'm Ondolemar the Justiciar, I'm going mad because my performing monkey has been taken away."  

Siriol tried to give Caris a sensible, stern look, but it proved difficult to maintain. She eventually erupted in low, hysterical giggling, watching her partner continue to quietly mock their commander.

***

"Okay, can I see Madanach now?" Ariana said flatly, immediately finding and pulling the coarse tunic back over her head. 

"I--" Borkul frowned, still lying on his bedroll, propping himself up on one elbow. "Damn , you can't just wait a minute?" 

"Take me to Madanach now." She glared down at the Orc, aggressively tying the laces of her roughspun trousers.

"Could you just--" Borkul looked around the small, secluded chamber, blush once again returning to the tips of his ears. He pointed at the bedroll beneath him, eyeing her impatiently.

"Again?!"

"No, just--" He sighed, and closed his eyes for a few seconds. "Let me hold you for a minute? It's been so long…"

"You have got to be kidding me--"

"Look, I've been here twelve years. Having Skooma addicts suck you for half a bottle gets old after a while."

Ariana let her folded arms drop to her sides. Rolling her eyes and groaning softly, she lied down on the Orc's small mat, facing away from him. He draped a massive arm around her waist and pulled her close. 

The awkwardness of the embrace began to eat away at her, and she felt compelled to speak.

"Wow, twelve years," she said, "What are you in for?" 

"Murder, banditry, assault, theft," Borkul chuckled softly, his hot breath shifting Ariana's dark curls, "And lollygagging ." 

"Sounds fun."

"It was, till the guards managed to bring me in. Was running a good group of bandits up until then. But these Forsworn. They're nothing like the men I cobbled together. They're real killers."

Forsworn , Ariana's thoughts echoed. She gritted her teeth almost painfully for a second before letting out a short, brittle laugh.

"Real killers, " She twisted around to look up at him. "I suppose they get the job done, but there's no control. No… quiet eloquence. And it seems they die as often as they slay."

"Fancy," Borkul uttered, noticing her sudden shift in mannerisms. It took her a moment to figure out what he meant.

Ugh, HIS influence. Ariana stewed silently for a moment, thinking about Ondolemar. This would have never happened if I weren't here in the first place. If I didn't have a stupid, silly obsession with someone who most likely doesn't give a damn about me…

"If I say the Forsworn are real killers, they are. I've killed hundreds of people back in the day."

"Hm, if you are… as talented as you seem to be implying," Ariana sat up on the bedroll, ignoring his surprisingly weak protest, "Have ever thought of killing for the Dark Brotherhood?"

"Wait, are you--?"

Ariana nodded her head slowly and gently. This seemed to be a safe enough place to disclose such a thing, and Borkul certainly wasn't someone who would willingly talk to authorities. 

"THAT explains it. I knew you had the eyes of a killer." Borkul sat up next to her. "But you're so small, tidbit, I had a hard time imagining it."

"I told you not to call me that." She growled. "You really want me to slap you again?"

"Aye, you didn't do it hard enough the last time."

This made Ariana chuckle, despite herself. 

"You could have plenty more opportunities for me to hurt you if you wanted to become a new initiate." Ariana slowly grasped where his thick neck met the muscle of his shoulder, and dug in her nails, pressing her thumb deeply into his artery.

"Tempting ," he shuddered, "But I gotta pass. Too much sneaking around. Not really my style."

"Fine, whatever, just take me to Madanach." Ariana grumbled and yanked her hand away from him. She stood once more, folding her arms, glaring. 

Borkul let out yet another disappointed sigh, and slowly came to his feet. He lazily pulled up his torn trousers, eyeing her as he fastened the strings. He straightened, now towering over her, and quickly gestured at the opening to the small chamber.

"Well," he muttered, "Go on."

Borkul the Beast escorted Ariana back across the main chamber, past the fire where Uraccen had rested, and to the iron-barred gate. Retrieving a small key he kept tucked underneath his iron gauntlets, he unlocked the gate and swung it open. Before she could make her way through it, however, he grabbed her by the elbow and leaned in close to her ear.

"You better behave yourself, now. The King of Rags is a powerful man." 

"'Behave myself', Sithis, you should know by now that's difficult." She grumbled, failing to wiggle out of his grip. She squeezed her eyes shut and clawed her hand up at nothing, trying to calm herself. Her face was suddenly blasted with heat, and she looked down to find a small ball of fire hovering just above her palm. A terrible little smile emerged along her lips.

"I suppose I should thank you for," She paused for a second, looking back up at Borkul, "Reinvigorating me."  

Borkul slapped her flaming hand down, wincing briefly despite his gauntlet protecting him from the heat.

"Don't do anything stupid." He spat. "I don't wanna have to put you down. Would be a…" His face contorted slightly, "Waste."

"I won't, I won't," Ariana growled, letting her flames die. She was unable to dismiss the excitement that now coursed through her, however. It's all over for anyone who tries me now.

Borkul released her and allowed her through the iron gate. He led her through a short passageway, every once in a while looking back to shoot her potent, warning glances. Ariana found herself in a surprisingly furnished chamber, complete with a proper bed, chest, and table and chair. The table in question held a small assortment of food and drink, as well as a small stack of parchment, a quill, and an inkpot. At the table sat a muscular, older man. His graying hair hung limp and straight from his scalp, interrupted only by two stiff braids tucked behind his ears. Madanach turned to see who entered, his steel gray eyes piercing her. 

"Well, well, look at you," he began from behind his long mustache, "The Nords have turned you into an animal. A wild beast caged up and left to go mad."

Ariana glanced down at herself, noting the dirt clinging to her sweaty rags. She no longer had her small hand mirror to confirm, but she surmised her face was also, most likely, quite dirty, from lingering blood if nothing else. She found herself feeling her hair, which was beginning to mat in the back, and figured it must be sticking up in all directions. She supposed Madanach's assessment of her was warranted.

"So, my fellow beast," he continued, "What do you want? Answers about the Forsworn? Revenge for trying to have you killed?"

"You really tried to have me killed? Specifically? Wasn't terribly clear. " Ariana couldn't help chuckle quietly, folding her arms. Behind her, Borkul cleared his throat, and shifted his weight awkwardly. 

Luckily, her mild sass seemed to amuse Madanach, and he matched her quiet laughter, waving a hand dismissively.

"You have a lot to answer for," Ariana told him, suddenly stern, remembering her predicament. Borkul cleared his throat louder this time, and took a step closer to her from behind.

"Do I?" Madanach rose from his chair and walked closer to her, his overwhelming, neglected sourness finally finding her nose. "And what about you? What right did you have to meddle in my affairs? Kill my people?"

"They didn't really give me much of a choice--"

"Was it worth it?" He gestured to the rough, carved out walls around him. "Your truth?"

"Wasn't my truth. It was Eltrys's, but he's dead and gone now, as is the gold he was paying me. I don't belong here. I want my freedom." 

"Your freedom? Yes, but even if you escape this place, your name will still be stained with all that blood."

"My name is already stained with the blood of many, you think I care? I want out."

Madanach let out a sharp, coarse laugh, taking yet another step closer to her. 

"Don't you see?" He whispered down at her grimly, tilting his head. "You're one of us now. A slave. The boot of the Nord stepping on your throat." He turned and walked back to his table, fetching a wooden tankard and taking several, swift gulps. "Maybe if you understood that, I could help you."

"An unpleasant amount of understanding seems to have been thrust upon me already. And I'm not sure I want your help."

"And yet you're here," Madanach said, taking his seat once more, "So many say that, at first, until they realize the truth." 

Ariana sighed and let her arms drop. Sense was slowly returning to her. She found herself admitting silently that this "King of Rags" was most likely her best bet at getting out of there. And she would be a fool to refuse his generosity.

"If you change your mind about wanting my help," Madanach added quietly, "Speak to Braig. Tell him I sent you. I want you to know how widespread the injustice in Markarth is."

Ariana thought for a moment before replying with a short nod. 

"So who is Braig?" She asked Borkul as they returned to the main chamber.

"Besides Madanach, he's been here the longest." He grumbled, before adding, "I'll admit, I was worried for a second there."

"I wasn't going to do anything to him, and I assure you, I was being as polite as my mood will allow."

The Orc chuckled and began to lead Ariana to a cramped tunnel. Ariana heard the clinking of a nearby pickaxe grow louder as they neared yet another rough, wooden-braced chamber. 

"Braig's just inside," Borkul told her, "And tidbit, I never got your name."

Ariana smirked up at him, half-tempted to set his trousers ablaze in response to her apparent new nickname. She gave him the look for only a second, before turning to march away.

"Nor will you ever." 

***

Ondolemar decided to keep the Dwemer door locked behind him, after remembering he still had the key in an envelope amongst his files. Despite him willing his wine to still his apparent nerves and scattered thoughts, he found it doing just the opposite. He ended up reminiscing about when he was small, though nostalgia was far from him. Sentiment will lead to ruin, was a phrase that kept repeating in his mind, words first spoken to him by his mother. There is no such thing as love, nor friendship, and you would do well to push such nonsense from your head, was something hissed to him from his father. He couldn't have been any older than eight.

He held his quill over a page, trying to force his focus. He had copied names, times, and locations, in an attempt to organize the information in a way that would lead to some sort of revelation. The names "Tyr Heart-Drinker" and "Horgondir Oakenheart" had been underlined several times. As the duty schedule had indicated, despite the missing day, the two were typically posted just outside of the Jarl's throne room, and often together. Figuring he would most likely require permission from the Jarl and/or guard captain, Ondolemar tried to formulate a plan for questioning the pair. His scheming was loose and drifting, however, as his gut twisted and ached, staring at the hair that poked behind the pages of his journal. 

I will miss her, it seems. This was not the revelation he was hoping for. He dropped his quill on the table, the ink still wet on its tip now staining the stone. He carefully pulled the strands out and weaved them through his fingers. I did not like seeing that happen to her. He admitted to himself. As usual, he felt a gnawing "why" in the back of his mind. He had to take a deep, shaky breath through his nose to quiet the answer. 

That breath however, he found to be up against his gloved hand. Horrified with himself, he shook the weft from his fingers, where it separated and floated down to his desk. It smelled of old blood, sweat, and dust, of olive oil and belladonna. The scents lingered in his nose, and he felt for a moment as if Ariana was there. 

"NO," He sternly uttered to himself, slamming a fist down atop the stone. But he could banish the thought of her no longer. He felt a sharp sinking through his belly, the sensation eventually settling in his lap.

" Do I wan--" he whispered to himself, his face twisting. "No," He willed this to be true, but his mind was screaming otherwise. He silently cursed his education and training: The truth of every matter always must be uncovered, even if it is to be buried later on. 

I do want her, Ondolemar finally allowed, followed by a small sigh. Though it most likely only occurred to me due to the isolation of my station. Stupid. Disgusting.

He gathered the stray strands from his desk, twisting them together, and once more tucked it into the back of his small journal. 

It's no use anyway, he thought bitterly, After what happened to her, I doubt she would be the same. Probably a broken shell of what she once was. 

***

Ariana found Braig swinging his pickaxe against a silver vein close to the floor. After several strikes that seemed to do nothing, a large piece of ore would break off of the wall. Braig would then kick it away, towards a pile next to a half-full handcart. His receding and thin fair hair swung back and forth with each strike of his pickaxe, and pain seemed evident on his face. 

"Braig?" Ariana addressed him softly.

The Breton flinched and turned his tattooed face towards her. 

"Who wants to know?" He grumbled before returning to his work.

"Me," Ariana replied, compelled to raise her voice over the violent slamming of metal on ore, "Madanach sent me."

Braig paused once more, glancing at her from the side. He closed his eyes for a moment and clenched his jaw.

"I suppose that means you want to hear my story , then." His bitterness wasn't lost on Ariana. 

"I would like to, yes." 

"Everyone in the Cidhna Mine has a tale." He grumbled, letting the heavy iron of his pickaxe fall on the ground next to him. He held the handle upright to lean on it. "Let's hear yours first. When was the first time you felt chains around your wrists?"

Not wanting to admit she had never been incarcerated before, she thought of his words in a more metaphorical sense. Grelod's face briefly flashed through her mind.

"Young, I was often in trouble." She eventually replied.

"Then you know the hard looks as judgment gets set upon you. The sneers of people who never had to face a sentence."

Ariana forced herself to consider this in the context of her fellow orphans, especially the ones Grelod seemed to pay little attention to, as well as the ones her old caretaker tried to pit against her.

"I… yes, I suppose." She found herself folding her arms in her impatience. He wasn't supposed to be the one asking questions. 

"Do you have any family? Anyone waiting for you on the outside?" Braig huffed slightly, his brow knitting for a second.

"Yes," she began, "Well, no. I have friends, but I consider them my family. No one knew I was arrested, however."

"I guess that does complicate things." Braig muttered, before deciding to return to his mining. 

"What about you?" Ariana eventually asked, her hold on herself tightening. Madanach won't help until I hear Braig's story, damn it. 

Braig merely continued to swing his pickaxe, grumbling something along the lines of, "I don't like to talk about that."

"Braig?"

"I said , I don't like to talk about that!" He spit, followed by mumbling curses.

Ariana threw up her hands emphatically. Unable to force an audible apology in her frustration, she stormed out of the chamber and approached Borkul.

"He won't tell me." She told the Orc, who merely blinked in response. 

"Won't tell you what?" He eventually asked.

"Whatever Madanach wants me to learn from him!" 

"Considered using the same tactics you used on me?" He chuckled down at her, resting his hands on his hips. Ariana scowled up at him, swallowing rising sick.

"He's clearly emotional, and family seems to be a sore subject for him. I wouldn't want to offend him further."  

Borkul let his quiet laughter fall and resigned. 

***

"Igmund, I wanted to draw your attention to the matter I presented to you a few days ago." Ondolemar addressed the Jarl, holding a thin stack of papers. 

"Ah, yes, the use of excessive force and questionable imprisonment by my guard." 

Ondolemar tried to listen to the two guards that stood just outside, trying to note any murmuring or nervous shifting.

"I assure you, an internal investigation has been launched--" 

"Internal investigations often yield nothing . Then again I've come to expect such inutile solutions from you." Ondolemar spat, still trying to train his ears behind him. 

The Jarl merely looked at the stone ceiling briefly and sighed, bitter about his apparent failure to placate the Justiciar. 

"I assume you have a suggestion." Igmund replied numbly. 

"Of course," Ondolemar offered the Nord a cold, ill smile, and thumbing a particular page in his stack, he said, "I would like to personally question two guards in particular." 

Jarl Igmunds sour disposition became apparent on his face, and he straightened in his throne, leaning forward and eyeing Ondolemar.

"I don't think your authority here extends to such a thing." He replied with quiet fury, his lips curling ever so slightly in disgust. 

"My authority," Ondolemar said slowly, through his teeth, "Extends wherever it needs to further the Thalmor's agenda. You would do well to remember that." 

"And how is this related to the Thalmor agenda?"

"Do you truly wish for me to relay my suspicions of rampant Talos-worship among your guard to the First Emissary? She would most definitely believe you enable it." Ondolemar punctuated his sudden ultimatum with a tight smirk.

Raerek, the Steward, fervently whispered something into Igmund's ear. Ondolemar tilted his head and bit the inside of his cheek slightly, trying to maintain his threatening smile. He was thrilled to note a quiet, strained sigh from somewhere behind him.

After receiving his Steward's counsel, Igmund straightened once more and held up his index finger.

"You will have five minutes with them each. Not a second more. And you will report your findings to me once you are finished. I trust your intel has let you know where to find them."

Ondolemar, still holding his breath, heard a stifled grunt from just outside the throne room. Fearing they might flee, he shoved and crumpled his papers into one of his pockets. He took several quick steps backwards, and snatched one of the guards' shoulders by his chainmail. Horgondir froze and stumbled, the terror in his eyes unreadable behind his full helmet. The open doorway of the throne room was too wide for him to grab the other without reaching, but before he had a chance, Tyr readied his wooden shield before him.

"HEART-DRINKER," Igmund roared, shooting out of his throne. "You will go with the Justiciar, and you will answer his questions so we can be done with this!"  

Tyr slowly lowered his shield, and forced a light-hearted laugh.

"Sorry, your grace, I wasn't serious . Just a bit of humor to lighten the mood." 

"You don't think that's inappropriate, considering?!" Igmund hissed at the guard, scowling intensely, his circlet shifting atop his wrinkled forehead.

"Sorry, your grace," Tyr replied flatly. Ondolemar studied the slits in his helmet, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes.

"And Ondolemar," the Jarl turned once more to the Thalmor, "That is your name, correct?"

"I'm surprised you can pronounce it." Ondolemar quipped, his smugness never leaving his face.

"I trust you will remember your commitment to… justice , and apparent destain for the use of force."

Ondolemar's smirk widened into an unsettling grin. 

"What do you think Justiciar means?" He said, tugging the one guard along as the other reluctantly followed. 

Before turning the corner to head to the Imperial strategy room, Ondolemar met with his two soldiers by the smithy. 

"You two," He said, still holding Horgondir by his chainmail, before pointing to Tyr behind him, "Sit on this one for a while, will you? Make sure he stays here until I summon him." 

"Yes, sir," Siriol replied properly. Caris gestured for Tyr to sit on a nearby bench, and leaned in close to his helmet, whispering, "Lucky you, I know he didn't mean that literally."

Tyr tilted his helmet up to face her, and she could practically hear his smirk as he replied.

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart, if you sat on me I might vomit." 

Caris sneered down at him in her affront and pulled Siriol near the bench. 

"You watch'em, will you? I might kill him before our commander has a chance to get his answers." She muttered. 

Meanwhile, Ondolemar slammed the heavy, Dwemer door shut, and dragged an extra chair to his stone desk, opposite his usual seat. 

"Remove your helmet and sit." He ordered the guard. 

Trying his best to still his nerves, Horgondir slowly pulled off his helmet, revealing a pale, scarred, freckled face. His frizzy, ginger hair hung in a mess of haphazard braids and mats by his shoulders. 

Eyeing the Nord awkwardly take his seat across from him, Ondolemar quickly concluded he wasn't the one who beat Ariana. He had been too far away that night to note the guard's features, but he knew his hair wasn't fair. This one still could have been the one who destroyed Turdas's patrol schedule, however, making him complicit. 

"What are you called?" Ondolemar sternly said, pulling a particular crumpled paper from his pocket and smoothing it open on the stone.

"H-Horgondir," the ruddy Nord uttered, "Oakenheart."

Ondolemar raised a brow and made a mark next to a name on the page with his quill.

"You're familiar with the events of last Turdas night, I'm assuming."

"I," Horgondir desperately wished Tyr was there with him, so that he might be given a clue as to what to say, "Yes, we saw what happened. Many of us, did."

"If you saw what happened, that means you left your post by the throne room. Why?" Ondolemar's voice remained cool, and his eyebrow raised.

"I, uh…" Horgondir tried his best to steady himself, "A lot of us left our posts. There was a dangerous person loose in the streets and the other guards needed backup." 

"Dangerous person, indeed . Then again, as would any remotely competent fire mage be in the face of unjust arrest."

"She was the one responsible for all of the killings in the city lately, though." 

Ondolemar shot Horgondir a weighted glare from across the table, his hands balling into tight fists. He felt the tension begin to bend and crack his quill, and he quickly suppressed it. He set down the almost-broken quill and laced his fingers together under his chin, maintaining intense eye contact.

"I happen to know for certain that isn't the case," he said in a low, even tone, "At least not for the killing in the market from that particular morning. She was seen elsewhere by credible witnesses." 

"What credible witnesses?" Horgondir could help himself.

"That is hardly your business at this point." Ondolemar hissed, slamming his hands down on the table, making the Nord flinch.

"Were you aware Turdas's patrol schedule is missing from your barracks?" Ondolemar suddenly asked, hoping to catch Horgondir off guard. 

He succeeded. 

The Nord shifted his weight nervously in his seat, darting his eyes down and to the left of him, at nothing in particular. Ondolemar noticed the small bone in his throat bob slightly, indicating an involuntary gulp.

"No, I don't know anything about that." Horgondir replied plainly. 

Liar, Ondolemar couldn't help but smile slightly, resting his hands gently on the table. 

"Well, it turns out it didn't matter. I've received stimulating information despite it. Can you tell me about your counterpart, then? The one you are often posted with outside the throne room." He asked, before clarifying, "His name is Tyr, correct?"

"Yes," Horgondir nearly whispered. 

"And that is the same man that I brought you here with?"

"Yes," The Nord all but croaked.

"Earlier you mentioned 'we saw what happened', referring to the night in question. I assume this to be Tyr, correct?" 

Horgondir tried to banish the horrified expression he felt on his face. 

"Y-yes," He knew there was no use in trying to lie to the Justiciar at this point. He would simply have to choose his words more carefully from now on.

"And what do you know of Tyr's involvement?" 

"He just stood holding a torch near me. Afterwards, we helped take the prisoner to the mines, and process her. He confiscated her things and changed her into her prisoner rags."

Something cold and heavy suddenly sank in Ondolemar's gut, and his teeth threatened to crack under the tension of his jaw.

"You mean to tell me," He began, before once more slamming his hands on the stone table and swiftly rising to his feet, shouting, "That he UNDRESSED her?!"

Horgondir couldn't help but jolt in his confused terror.

"I mean, y-yes," He stammered, "Wasn't like she could change on her own, being in the state she was in."

Tyr sat on the stone bench next to Siriol, trying his best to think of ways to antagonize her. 

"Girlfriend's grumpy, huh?" He muttered, leaning uncomfortably close to Siriol's quicksilver and moonstone helmet. 

"You know," She softly told him with a sweet, subtle smile, "She really wants to kill you. Tear you asunder and burn the flesh from your bones, that is. Do humiliating things with your still-wet skull. I might be able to convince our commander to let her when he's done with you." The lilting gentleness of her words were as if she described a breezy, summer picnic.

Siriol heard Tyr exhale sharply from his nose before Ondolemar suddenly shouted from his office.

"BRING ME HEART-DRINKER, NOW!" He roared, his voice echoing off the high, stone ceiling. He thrusted Horgondir out of the door, sending him stumbling into the hallway. 

"Your turn," Siriol softly chimed, giving the guard that sat beside her a small, warm grin. She noted his slight, odd neck movement, as if he were trying to fix his obscured expression.

"Finally," He uttered nonchalantly, rising to his feet, "Been over five minutes, anyway." 

Tyr lazily strode to the room, passing Horgondir on the way, seemingly shooting him a look behind his helmet. 

"Remove your helmet!" Ondolemar ordered once more, this time nearly shouting. Tyr dropped his wooden shield on the floor as Ondolemar threw the door shut behind them. 

"Can't I sit first?" Tyr chuckled.

"You will remove your helmet NOW before I rip it off your head." Ondolemar hissed, tilting his head so his eyes might directly glare at where he guessed the guard's to be.

"Fine, fine, no need to get upset." Tyr slowly began to pull off his helmet. The guard's intentional lack of haste was not lost on Ondolemar, and he clenched his fists, with icy shards beginning to poke painfully into his palms. He bit the inside of his cheek slightly, willing his temper stifled.

Tyr chucked his helmet lazily next to his shield before slowly making his way to the table. He paused with a hand on Ondolemar's chair. 

"You sit there." Ondolemar hissed, gesturing to the opposite seat, yanking his own away from the guard. 

"Of course, of course," Tyr threw up his hands, and sat in the chair indicated. Ondolemar finally was able to analyze his appearance. He noted Tyr's dark brown ponytail and neat beard. This alone matched the description of the particular guard Ondolemar found himself hating. But it was a very plain, Nordic style that honestly could have been found on a dozen others in the city. 

"You wanted me farther from the door, didn't you?" Tyr said, smiling and leaning over the table, towards the fuming Justiciar. 

Ondolemar drew a long, deep breath. Solidifying his calm and suppressing his prior, apparent jealousy, he laced his fingers atop the table.  

"Your partner, Oakenheart," he began, forcing his voice low and cool, "Told me of your involvement in the beating and subsequent arrest of one Ariana Marcellus Turdas night."

Tyr sniffed and subtly licked his lower lip, making sure there was no longer an obvious scab. His eyes remained dull, however, and his expression didn't seem to budge.

"Yeah?" He said plainly. "What of it?"

Ondolemar received no clues from Tyr's face, and let out a small sigh.

"I want you to recount said involvement, in your own words."

"Well," Tyr scratched his beard, his brows furrowing slightly as if he was trying his best to remember, "I was there, with Horgondir and the others. We each held a torch since that night was especially dark. She was hurling fireballs at us--burned the Oblivion out of Hadwulf, he's still on the mend. I think Johanna was the one that managed to get her with her bow. She's usually a pretty good shot, and I'm glad she was quick enough with the magicka poison. We're still trying to figure out who was the one that ended up beating her after she was down--"

"Did none of you see his face when she kicked his helmet off?" Ondolemar raised a brow, and kept his gaze cold. If he isn't the one, he's protecting him.

Tyr's felt his face threaten to contort, but he held it still.

"No," Tyr said seriously, "Like I said, that night was very dark, and we were all too far away from them for our torches to do much good."

"First of all," Ondolemar almost felt like laughing, and tried to triage which question he would ask first, "Why did you all keep such a distance?"

"In case the archers needed to have another go at her." Tyr immediately answered with steady resolve.

"And if the torches were so useless in that apparently unusual darkness, then why was I able to see him so well from just outside here?" Ondolemar whispered violently, leaning over the table, burning his yellow-green eyes into Tyr's light blue. 

"Oh, so you were out there that night, then." Tyr flippantly replied, resting a booted ankle on his knee and leaning back in his chair. "What did you need me to explain it all for?" 

"Yes, I was there," Ondolemar said quietly, forcing his icy calm to return and ignoring Tyr's deflection, "Which is how I know the bastard in question had," he eyed Tyr's hair, "Dark hair pulled into a short ponytail," he made sure Tyr saw him look down his face, "And a medium-length, unusually neat--for a Nord that is--beard." 

Ondolemar tried to see if any mark was visible on the guard's lower lip, remembering him wiping it after the helmet had been kicked from his head. He couldn't seem to find one.

"Well," Tyr sniffed and shrugged slightly, "That's a good description, we'll be sure to include it in our own investigation." 

"You're certain it doesn't sound… familiar?" Ondolemar gritted his teeth, but forced his voice steady. He was staring at the Nord, desperate to find any hint of him faltering.

"Oh," Tyr replied, seemingly unconcerned, raking his hand lazily through his hair, "Yeah that sounds similar to me, I guess, but I already told you I was holding a torch next to Horgondir." 

"Yes, he told me as much." Ondolemar muttered, biting the inside of his cheek. 

"Then are we done? I'm pretty sure it's been over five minutes." 

Ondolemar inhaled sharply, and said, "Yes, I suppose we are." 

Tyr retrieved his shield and helmet from the floor and Ondolemar walked him to the door. Before Tyr could leave, however, Ondolemar grasped him by his bare elbow and leaned in close to whisper in his ear.

"Know that I am watching you, Heart-Drinker."

Tyr wiggled free from Ondolemar's grip with a soft chuckle, and marched away.

Caris and Siriol approached their commander to find him pausing in the open doorway with a hand on his hip, and the other pinching the upper bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, that one was a headache, if you ask me." Caris said.

"Caris desperately wanted to kill him, sir." Siriol almost laughed.

Ondolemar exhaled sharply from his nose, his lips curling in what threatened to be a smile. 

"I might have you do that, Caris, if the opportunity happens to present itself." He muttered, removing his hand from his face and looking down at her. His gut still seemed to contort and mangle, however, and his eyes held no warmth.

"He called me sweetheart." Caris grumbled quietly, folding her arms. 

A sinking realization came to Ondolemar, then. This particular guard's mannerisms and quick, convenient answers, mixed with his apparent reactivity with his shield earlier, began to check off a list somewhere deep in Ondolemar's memory. The guard wasn't entirely unlike certain soldiers he encountered during the war, individuals on both sides, who relished in domination and violence, but held no modicum of sincerity or purpose.

"He's a monster." Ondolemar eventually uttered.

Chapter Text

Ariana sat with her legs crossed on the dirt floor, compulsively flicking a small flame in and out of existence from her fingers. With her other hand, she grasped her rumbling stomach. 

"Hey, you better stop that," the Orc said as he approached from behind. "The guards come today and you don't want to give them an excuse to beat you down." 

Ariana rolled her eyes and rapidly flicked the flame six more times, unable to dismiss the irrational sense that something bad might happen if she didn't. She then began to pick at a hangnail on her thumb. 

"Braig still won't talk to me." She muttered. "And I'm starving."  

"You'll get used to it." Borkul chuckled above her. "Quit your whining." 

"I don't want to get used to it, I want to get out of here." Ariana mumbled through gritting teeth, subtly clawing at her belly. "Which is why I need him to talk to me. Why does Madanach care if I hear some stupid sob story? I wouldn’t expect someone like him to be so sensitive…" She paused to tear a bit of dead skin off of her thumb with her teeth, before adding quietly, "Why would he assume someone who killed six of his people--in one day--be so easily compelled by such a thing?"  

Borkul bent slightly and huffed, "I said stop whining. I think I hear the guards. But don't worry," he straightened and put his hands on his hips, "I won't tell them you've been lazy with your pickaxe."

"I can barely lift it over my head."  

Ariana heard the iron gated squeal from above them, and several Markarth guards emerged atop the wooden ramp. 

"BRING OUT WHAT YOU MINED," One of them bellowed. Ariana heard a gradual shifting and shuffle of the other prisoners, them exiting their various tunnels and chambers pushing heaping carts. Ariana reluctantly stood and brushed the dirt off her rear.

"Maybe we can find you a child's pickaxe." Borkul said, followed by sharp, low laughter. Ariana, merely groaning at his suggestion, watched her fellow inmates wheel their carts into a crooked line between the base of the wooden ramp and bonfire. Borkul already moved his into position earlier that morning. He was kind enough to share some of his heaping silver pile with Ariana, whose cart was dismally bare, since she had only managed a few small chunks of ore in the past few days. The largest one was partially melted when she ended up striking it with concentrated fire out of frustration when it failed to budge from the wall.

The guards remained atop the wooden platform, eyeing the weekly haul. After several moments of watching the guards stare down at the ore, and hearing ardent murmuring amongst the other prisoners, Ariana saw one guard sharply nod to the others. They began down the ramp, followed by a previously unseen guard sporting a crate full of what Ariana hoped was food.

"Grisvar, tell me what's new." One of the guards said, addressing a shorter, balding Nord, who stood behind Borkul and Ariana. He met with the guard and whispered something into the side of his helmet. 

"Ah, the new one hasn't been working very hard, huh?" The guard uttered back to him, his words just barely audible to Borkul.

"She got plenty. We all got plenty." Borkul growled, folding his arms. "You wouldn't have come down if we didn't." 

Ariana glared at Grisvar as he walked past her. She heard him take his previous place behind, shooting her a subtle smirk before he was out of view. Ariana held her hands behind her back, and held up her middle finger, igniting the tip with a small flame like a candle. 

The guard Grisvar had spoken to muttered to a taller guard next to him for a second.

"Don't worry, Orc, there is just enough altogether, and you'll all get your food." Said the shorter guard. "But we have to teach that one a lesson." He pointed at Ariana. "We don't tolerate laziness in these mines." He gestured to his silent, taller counterpart, who quickly walked to Ariana, grabbing her shoulder. Just before he began to tug her along, she spied a shining, white, Y-shaped scar near his bare elbow.

Rage tried to fill her, but was cut short by unexpected terror. It was if she could still feel the heavy steel being struck across her face, and as if she could still smell her blood mix with the stone beneath. Tyr managed to drag her to a nearby, secluded chamber, and thrust her up against a thick, wooden wall brace. Before Ariana could muster her flames, he stuck her in the hip with a tiny blade, not unlike the shivs Grisvar made. The tell-tale sting of the magicka poison made Ariana squeak.

"You shouldn't have hesitated with your fire, sweetheart, would have given the others an opportunity to kill you." He laughed quietly. If his scar had not been enough of a clue, his deep, Nordic accent and lilting casualness of his voice confirmed who he was. Ariana tried to muster all of her strength to push him away, but found her muscles to be weak and trembling. The small child that still lived deep within her simply prayed he wouldn't beat her again. 

"I thought," She barely managed, struggling, "Killing me would be a waste of labor." 

"According to Grisvar the Unlucky, apparently not." Still holding her against the wooden bracer, he lifted her onto her toes, and pressed a hide-braced forearm up against her throat. He leaned his helmeted face down and whispered near her hair.

"You smell pretty bad now, huh? Almost smell as rancid as that pig face out there." He slowly put more pressure on Ariana's throat and pushed his body up against hers, to help hold her weight firm. 

Ariana, unable to hide the terror and rage in her eyes, was now gasping and sputtering.

"Tell me, how are you able to cause me so much trouble still, when you're down here?" 

"W-what do y-you mea--" She attempted, her face now beet red, and dull, loud pain beginning to hammer at her temples.

"Nothing," Tyr spat, making one, final, hard push against her throat before letting her go. "Just know that you've become a bigger bother to me than I ever could have imagined." 

"I-I w-will," Ariana gasped, holding her throat. She was still on her feet, but leaning weakly against the beam, "I-I will kill you."  

"Oh, how scary," Tyr chuckled, "If you could, then you would have already." He twirled the small blade in his fingers before leaning in close to her face once more. "But I'm always one step ahead, darling."

Ariana mustered all of her remaining strength and tried to shove him away. It worked, slightly, and the guard stumbled back for a second, before thrusting her back up against the wooden bracer by her waist.

"I don't want to have to beat you again," He tilted his head to the side of hers, whispering in her ear. She could feel his hot breath drift through a slit in his helmet against her sweat-soaked skin. "I don't wanna have to waste another potion."

Ariana held her breath as he pressed his body up against hers once more. He snaked a gloved hand underneath her bottom and squeezed, pulling her up higher. 

"Then again," He whispered, brushing the face of his helmet up against her hair, "There are other ways I can have fun with you."

Ariana's eyes grew wide; she could no longer stifle her trembling, and hot sick rose in her chest. 

"Hey, T--" The shorter guard from before began from just outside the chamber, before catching himself, "Food's distributed and the Captain wants some words with you."

Tyr cursed softly and dropped Ariana on the floor where she practically crumpled, shaking and tightly holding herself.

"Damn it, I'm coming!" He shouted behind him. He turned back to Ariana and bent low, bringing his helmet once again close to her face. She couldn't help but turn away, drawing shallow, shaky breaths through her nose. 

"I'll be back next week, sweetheart," he whispered, "Try and clean yourself up a little before then."

Ariana dared to look directly into his eye slits, trembling fury burning in her gaze. A nearby wall torch managed to hit the thin holes directly, illuminating light blue eyes behind them. She maintained her glare as he left, but still held herself tight by her shoulders. When she heard the guards begin to stomp up the wooden ramp in the main chamber, followed by the squeaky wheels of prisoner-driven handcarts, her chest heaved and tears began to stream down her cheeks.

After a few moments, Borkul the Beast entered the chamber where Ariana was silently sobbing. He found her sitting up against the wall, her face buried in now soaked hands. She violently flinched when he cleared his throat, and stared up at him through wet eyes. 

"So what did he do to…" Borkul began, before his voice trailed. He noted a bloody rip in her pants on the side of her hip, but no swelling or bruises from a beating. The Orc let out a heavy sigh and slowly sat on the ground in front of her. 

"So it was that guard, huh?" 

"P-please tell me you know his name." She uttered, trying to calm her quivering chest. 

Borkul shook his head and leaned forward so he could keep his voice low.

"The guards that come down here never let us know their names. One of us might try to get revenge for a beating if we're ever released. Doesn't help that they always wear those full helmets so we can't see their faces."

"I know that one's face." Ariana muttered through gritted teeth, viciously trying to rub the tears from her face. "Should have kicked his helmet off again."

Borkul huffed and crossed his legs.

"He was the one to bring you in, I take it? I can see you doing something like that." Borkul couldn't help but chuckle quietly.

"I don't remember him bringing me in, I just remember waking up already in my prison rags with Urzoga trying to force a potion in me." 

"Potion?"

" He…" Ariana's tears had stopped, but something still caught in her throat, and she felt the need to take a deep, shaky breath, "Beat me with his helmet in the street. I was unconscious when I was brought in." 

"Hey, I know you're hungry," Borkul began, uncomfortable with this exchange and eager to change the subject, "A loaf of stale bread on your stomach feels like a feast after not eating for a few days." He rose and tugged on her elbow. She reluctantly stood with him, eyes trained on the floor. "Might make you feel better, hm? C'mon." 

Borkul began to lead her back into the main chamber, and Ariana trudged behind him through the short tunnel, her thoughts a blur of murder and offense. He suddenly stopped and bent, plucking something off the floor. The Orc let out a quiet, slow laugh. 

"Looks like that guard left you a present, tidbit."

Ariana quickly strode to his side to see a small, shiv-like blade held up between Borkul's thick fingers. He flipped it around and pointed the handle towards her.

"You keep it," he told her quietly, smiling behind his tusks, "For when he comes back."

The corners of her mouth turned up despite herself, and she accepted the small blade, folding it in her tunic, tucking it underneath the rope at her waist, so it could remain concealed. 

***

"Igmund, my," Ondolemar winced slightly as he tried to force the words, "Apologies for not reporting my findings sooner. The guards in question," he once again trained his ears behind him, noting a soft shifting of boots, "Gave me consistent accounts of the night in question, both denying personal involvement in the unnecessary brutality."

Ondolemar heard a soft, relieved sigh from behind and to the right of him.

"Yes, I had the guard captain speak with them earlier today, and he reported the same thing." The Jarl drummed his fingers on the broad, squared arm of his stone throne. "I take it your inclination towards interrogating my guard has… waned?"

"Hardly," Ondolemar sneered, folding his arms and keeping his head aloft. Someone behind and to the left of him sniffed softly. "But I will grant them stay from further questioning… for now. There is another issue I wanted to bring to your attention."

The Jarl blinked and shifted, clearing his throat.

"And what would that be?" He asked plainly.

"When the falsely imprisoned will be released," Ondolemar, no longer paying as close attention to the guards posted outside, took one step closer to the Jarl and let his arms drop. The Jarl's housecarl grasped the handle of her steel sword in response to his sudden approach.

"We do not know if she was falsely imprisoned." Igmund grumbled, glancing at his housecarl. Ondolemar then leaned over the Mournful Throne, keeping his voice low and tight.

"Yes you do," he violently whispered. He heard the sound of steel scraping across leather beside him, as the housecarl drew her sword.

"Hey!" She said, "You back off, now!"

The Jarl waved his hand at her, mildly panicked.

"It’s fine , Faleen, stand down." He quickly uttered, shuddering at the thought of a direct confrontation with the Thalmor.

Faleen sheathed her sword with a huff, and took a step back. Ondolemar didn't even bother to glance at her, however, his gaze still trained on the Jarl.

"So you want her out, I take it." Igmund said, audibly irritated.

"What I want, to be put simply, is justice. Something which cannot be satisfied while an innocent woman rots in a prison cell." Ondolemar straightened and folded his arms once more. 

"Not to," the Jarl began, before sighing quietly, "Further provoke your temper, Justiciar , but we are still not sure if she is innocent."

"I happen to know that she is," Ondolemar quickly replied, his indignance never leaving him, "Do you wish to receive a report on the matter? I think you would find the monetary donations to certain members of your guard from the Silver-Blood family most interesting."

That was the family name Igmund never wanted to hear uttered from the Thalmor's lips. The Jarl found himself painfully gripping the edges of stone he usually rested his arms upon. 

"In addition to," Ondolemar paused to let out a soft, breathy laugh, "Other donation recipients from said family. Of course a copy of the report would be forwarded to the Embassy before anything else."

Raerek, the Jarl's Steward, bent to his ear once more. After a few long moments of vicious whispering, Igmund gave the elder a short nod and straightened in his seat.

"Give us two more days. We will accelerate our own investigation. If we find further evidence of her guilt, she will not be released. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, I understand your words, Igmund, but not your simple-minded thought processes. If your investigation was worth anything, you would have something to show for it already."

"Two more days," the Jarl growled, slamming a fist painfully onto the stone, "Then you'll get what you want."

Ondolemar gritted his teeth and softly bit the inside of his cheek, glaring down at the Nord. He felt his folded arms tighten before finally readying a retort.

"Fine," he said, before allowing a small, creeping smirk, "It will give me plenty of time to further investigate these most unusual monetary contributions."

Ondolemar, hardly satisfied, marched back to the Imperial strategy room. 

"Any luck?" He heard Siriol's voice call as he swiftly strode past. Ignoring her, he slammed and locked the door behind him. He took his seat at his desk and began to thumb through various documents and notes. He focused on a particular page, one that held a detailed list of names and figures, written down by Siriol when he had her and Caris investigate the Treasury House. An unusually large number stood out next to the name "Tyr Heart-Drinker", 12,000 septims, by far the largest donation on the list. Ondolemar readied his mended quill with ink, and underlined the particular line.

Two days, he found his mind repeating, So many things can happen in two days. They'll most likely try to fabricate evidence against her to try and bury the Silver-Blood's control of the guard. He sighed deeply and glanced at a nearby report journal. It was bound in thin leather and small, smaller than Ondolemar's open hand. Its cover was plain and titleless, and it had a clasped flap that ran almost the length of its pages to hold it shut. It was remarkably unassuming, but he eyed it sourly, well aware of what it contained. 

Two days, he stewed again. Ondolemar was over two centuries old, which was by no means elderly for a Mer. But compared to the human races, it was old enough to be able to wait for incredible lengths of time. However, he found himself growing impatient, with the proposed two days now seeming like a decade.

With his quill now resting in its inkpot, he opened the journal, and retrieved the black, curly weft from between two blank pages. He wound it once again between his gloved fingers and, with little hesitation this time, closed his eyes and placed it against his nose. 

I miss her, he thought, his brows knitting as he inhaled. I want to hear her laughing, I want to experience her short, fleeting temper once more. I at least want the promise that those experiences will return to me.

He suddenly balled the hand that held the hair into a fist and slammed it on the table, making the papers shift and crackle. 

"Stars, Ondolemar, how depraved and revolting!" He hissed aloud to himself. He was unable to suppress the heavy, sinking feeling in his gut, however, with the smell of her still in his nose. 

Yes, depraved and revolting, he repeated silently, unable to control himself as he lifted the lock back up to his face, Utterly repulsive are the depths of this desire, it seems. When that sinking feeling finally found his lap, he surrendered to it.

***

"B-Braig," Ariana uttered. The Breton stopped his mining and sighed down at the ore vein. 

"What do you want? I have digging to do." He grumbled without looking at her, brows furrowing.

Ariana's nerves were still shot. The stale bread had, indeed, replenished her energy somewhat, but her bones still threatened to tremble from the incident with the guard. She was more desperate than ever for Madanach's help, and to get out of there, and she felt moisture well up in her eyes. 

"I-I… I'm sorry for being so pushy about getting you to talk to me. Madanach said he wouldn't help me if I didn't, and…" her voice trailed and quivered. She drew a deep, strained breath, willing her tears to remain inside. 

Braig sighed once more, and leaned his pickaxe against the crudely carved rock wall. He turned to face her and folded his arms. He kept his eyes averted, however, and twisted his face slightly as if he were in pain. 

"We all want out of here, you know. It's just not something that can be done." 

Ariana's voice threatened to crack, but she cleared her throat and forced it low and steady.

"I'll be honest with you, Braig, I've never been arrested before--"

"Then how could you poss-"

"But I do know what it's like to be discarded." Ariana's voice began to break and quiver despite her best efforts. Her face twisted painfully as her eyes became hot and wet. "I was thrown away by a family I'll never know. A Bosmer woman took care of me for the first few years of my life, how I came to her I still don't know. She fed me, comforted me, gods, I learned to talk from her. In the beginning I even had her accent. Her son was my brother, and she was my 'mummy'."  Ariana bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, rolling her head in an attempt to quell some unknowable pain. "And then when I was three, she left me at that horrible orphanage in Riften!" Hot tears finally escaped her eyes, cutting paths through the dirt on her face. "I didn't have sense enough to cry when she left. But I cried for weeks after. 'When is mummy coming back?' I would wail. And that foul cunt of a headmistress would merely say, 'I'm your mother now'." 

Braig's brows knitted upwards and he gulped softly, but Ariana could hardly see him through her bitter tears. 

"She held no warmth in her voice for me, though I desp erately tried to find some. She would hold me while I was still small, doting over how cute my hair was, and how soft and round my cheeks. I thought then, that that was love--" Ariana had to pause briefly to inhale and glance at the ceiling, swallowing dryly, "But it wasn't. I was her doll, her toy… until I wasn't anymore. She began to withhold food, worrying about me somehow becoming ugly should I get plump . Sithis, I stopped growing when I was eleven! She had me work and work and work until my back broke and my knees bled…" 

Ariana cupped her hand over her mouth then, her eyes shutting once more, squeezing a few, large, burning tears from them. She found herself digging her fingertips painfully into her cheeks, in an attempt to still her violent heaving. She glanced down and to the side, her gaze narrow and furious and bloodshot. 

Braig seemingly held his breath.

"So don't," She continued, dropping her hand from her face and looking directly into his eyes, grinding her teeth, "Don't ever suggest I don't know what it's like to be a prisoner. To be thrown away and starved and treated like an animal. That was my entire childhood."

Ariana held herself and drew several, long, deep breaths, trying to banish her tears. If it weren't for her desperation, embarrassment would have overcome her in that moment. She just recounted the bitterness she held from when she was a child, as honestly as she ever had, and to a complete stranger, no less. She usually had no trouble telling tales of her time in Honorhall with friends and acquaintances, but they were often a-matter-of-fact and flippant and dismissive, despite the horrors they conveyed. 

"I," Braig began slowly, in a small voice, "Don't know what it's like to lose a mother so young, and gain such a horrible one at the same time… but I do know what it's like to lose a daughter."

"Tell me about her," Ariana uttered weakly.

"She would have been twenty-three this year. Probably married to some hot-headed silver worker, or maybe on her own learning the herb trade." His voice threatened to waver, but he just managed to keep it steady. "She always had a thing for flora." He quietly added. 

"What was her name?" 

"Aethra." Braig murmured, the pain of that name creeping through his entire body. "The Nords didn't care who was and wasn't a part of the Forsworn uprising. I had spoken to Madanach once, that was enough." His voice shook slight now, and his eyes reddened. "But my little Aethra… she didn't want to see her papa leave her. She pleaded with the Jarl to take her instead. He… accepted."

"Igmund?" Ariana whispered.

"No, his father, Hrolfdir." Braig's hatred was palatable. He  paused, looked up briefly, and shuddered. He turned back to look at Ariana, his face twisted in wild rage and disgust. "After they made me watch as her head rolled off the block, they threw me in here anyway, to dig up their silver."

Ariana had a hard time looking at his face. She was still emotionally weak; her gut started to knot and tears threatened to return. This sort of horror she had heard many times before, and she, herself even performed atrocities that destroyed families. She could never imagine herself being that unnecessarily cruel, however. 

"I'm sorry that happened to you." She finally managed.

"My daughter is the one that needs your pity," Braig hissed, once again picking up his pickaxe, "I'm just a poor Forsworn whose only regret is not killing more Nords before I was locked up." And with that, he forcefully swung his pickaxe down at the silver vein, sending violent echoing throughout the chamber.

***

Ondolemar's day had been quiet, but far from peaceful. He kept finding himself pacing the length of Understone Keep's upper, stone platform, much to the Jarl's and guards' discomfort. He kept glancing from the side to the throne room each time he passed, stifling the urge to approach Igmund and ask for updates. There was simply nothing to be done today but wait.

"Nervous, elf?" Tyr chuckled quietly as the Justiciar passed for the sixth or seventh time. Ondolemar paused his stride, his face twisting and fists curling. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes before turning to glare at the guard. 

"Hardly," he lied, forcing an icy, small smile, "But you should be, Heart-Drinker."  

Ondolemar would periodically break himself away from his compulsive pacing. He would briefly return to his desk for a drink, he would raid the kitchen for morsels of something sweet, and he would ask his soldiers if they had heard anything new, despite them never having left the Keep. Every time he returned to the Imperial strategy room, however, he would immediately spy the small journal, which would make his chest tighten and hot blood sink. He would find himself pacing yet again, for no other reason than to preoccupy his body with something other than her. 

His previous realizations embarrassed him still, and he rapidly cycled between trying to bury and justify them. The mental acrobatics concerning the apparent nature of his attraction to the human were dizzying. He found the distressing sensation quelled only when he resigned to what he knew was true.

This dismal day passed slowly, and he was unable to let his body relax until his soldiers had retired for the night and the Keep fell quiet. After a few hours of reviewing reports and notes he had fifty times before, he allowed himself to open the journal.

There's no harm in this, really, Ondolemar thought, attempting to alleviate his deep shame, Not the first time I've let myself privately indulge in a perverse fantasy. It was very late at night, now, possibly even approaching early morning, and everyone in the Keep was still asleep, save for the night shift guard. Lounging back in his chair, he rested an ankle on his opposite knee. He was already two bottles deep into his nightly wine, though he barely felt it. He held a half-full tankard in one hand, and twirled the curly black weft in another. 

She can never know, however, he stared at the hair, smoothing it and winding it between his fingers. Knowing her, she would begin purposefully doing things to test my self-control. His face was flush with his wine and arousal. He couldn't help but fantasize about what Ariana looked like underneath her studded, red and black leather, about how soft her curves must be, unrestricted by the tight armor. He wondered if she had freckles elsewhere on her body other than her face. At least I have the sense not to actually pursue her physically… The trousers under his layered robes had been gradually tightening over the course of a few minutes, and he adjusted his hips in the seat, trying to relieve the pressure. No matter how much my body seems to want otherwise.  

Ondolemar was tempted to remove his lightly armored gloves, so that he might finally feel the lock with his bare fingers. But he hesitated, fearing the time it would take and that his soldiers may knock on his door at any moment. He had no clue what time it was, nor was he about to go outside to check, lest his condition be apparent once he stood. He decided instead to place the fine curls against his face once more, against his cheek this time, rubbing it softly against his skin, visualizing her up against him. 

After a moment of this, the tightening in his lap became unbearable, and he swiftly made his way to the Dwemer door, making sure it was, indeed, locked. Even if his soldiers came knocking then, he would not answer.

***

"Imagine hearing a story like that, over and over." Madanach told Ariana as she stood before him in his seat. "Each time, a different family, each time a different injustice." His demeanor was much different now, less intense, and, to Ariana, noticeably softer. "Your meddling above ground reminded me of how removed I've been from the struggle." His brows knitted briefly, and he took a swig of his cheap ale, which was the highest luxury item deep in the mine. He added in a low, grim tone, "My people and I should be in the hills, fighting."

"Does this mean you know how we can escape?" Ariana asked cautiously.

"Yes," Madanach rubbed his chin and rose to stand with her, "But I need a show of loyalty from you. I don't need a shiv in the back while we break out." 

"Anything at this point," she said plainly, though her brows turned upward and her jaw subtly clenched.

"Have you met Grisvar the Unlucky?"

"Not personally, but I do, unfortunately, know of him."

"He's rightly named, and he's also a thief and a snitch."

"Oh yes, I've gathered as much, at least the latter part." Ariana placed a hand on her hip, unconsciously guarding the small, scabbing wound. 

"Well, he's outlived his minor usefulness, and become quite a nuisance. Take care of him, and we can leave the Cidhna Mine for good."

"Ah," Ariana breathed, a slow smile bending her cheeks, "Now that is something I'm good at." She heard the orc behind her let out a low chuckle. 

"One question, though: Do you want it to be a quiet death? Or is that not an issue?" Ariana thought how difficult it might be, relying on her small shiv. She had no poison on her, nor the means to make any. And without the enchantments of her Shrouded Armor, her capacity for stealth still had room for improvement. Madanach massaged his chin once more.

"I think I would prefer a relatively quiet one, unless the noise causes a guard to come investigate. But, ultimately, my main priority is his death. If you can't seem to do it quietly, just make sure it gets done."

Ariana's smile grew wider. She sealed her impromptu contract with a stiff, short nod, and stalked out of the chamber.

"Do you know where Grisvar usually is?" She asked the orc as they exited the iron-barred gate.

"That bastard seems to be all over the place. Lately at least. You weren't in here when they handed out the food yesterday, but as a reward for snitching, he receives double the rations." Borkul said with mild disgust. "Hopefully you can find where he stashes it whenever you're, ha, done with him."

"Oooh, I can't wait to kill him, I cannot wait." Ariana viciously whispered, holding her fists up like a child excited for a sweet treat.

"Then go ahead, tidbit, I'm sure you won't have a problem finding him somewhere around here."

Ariana adjusted the shiv tucked in her tunic, making sure it would be easy to draw. Struck with something akin to cheer and pleasant nerves, she began methodically searching the mine's tunnels.

Braig was still in the chamber he had been in for the week. Ariana spied a Breton prisoner by the name of Duach, taking a breather from his work. Ariana found other prisoners in other tunnels, though their names she never noted. Eventually, in the middle of a thin, winding chamber, Ariana spied the Nord bent over a vein with a hammer and chisel, trying to separate stone from silver. As quietly as she could, she approached him from behind, a hand now under the folds of her tunic, grasping the thin, coarse handle. 

"Can I help you?" Grisvar grumbled without turning or rising from his squat. Ariana sighed quietly, disappointed she let her excitement diminish her stealth. 

Grisvar looked over his shoulder briefly, just long enough to get a fleeting glimpse of her face before returning to work.

"Oh don't take it personally," he said, infuriatingly light-hearted, "When you keep being thrown in here like me, you'll do anything just to make it more bearable."

Ariana couldn't help but let out a low, only somewhat deranged, laugh. Grisvar paused his work then, staring at the rock wall before him. 

"What do you want from me, anyway?" He spat, twisting around to be able to look up at her better. She was looking at him in the widest grin he had seen from anyone in ages. Her eyes were wide and wild, however, and as he stared, he noticed flame suddenly reflected in them. It was as if she were suddenly and silently set ablaze.

Ariana continued to smile down at him through her fire, and held the shiv aloft, twirling it between her fingers.

"Madanach says hello."

***

Ondolemar rarely needed to sleep. In the past several decades, he found it only necessary after exhausting physical exertion or extreme inebriation. The previous night, however, warranted at least a short nap at his desk. He exited his make-shift office and saw his soldiers eating what he presumed to be breakfast on their usual bench by the smithy. He offered them an unusually warm smile before heading towards the throne room.

Jarl Igmund arrived at his throne with his Steward and Housecarl, only to be met with Ondolemar standing by the doorway with his arms folded. The Justiciar was the last person Igmund wanted to see first thing in the morning, and he let out an exasperated sigh as he took his seat upon the Mournful Throne. 

"I said two days , Justiciar," Igmund grumbled as Ondolemar approached. 

"Yes, and today is the second day."

"There's hardly been a second day, damn you. Be reasonable."

"I am not rushing you, Igmund," Ondolemar replied with a surprising lack of disdain, "I merely have questions. For one, have you yet to obtain evidence of the prisoner's guilt?"

"There have been several 'eyewitnesses' who have come forward, but considering that the witnesses in question were other guards and certain members of a… certain family..." the Jarl winced internally, unable to say the name "Silver-Blood". He paused and let out a breathy, bitter laugh. "You will be thrilled to hear this, Justiciar, but I've deemed the claims unsubstantiated."

Ondolemar allowed a small, genuine smile down at the Nord and uttered, "How remarkably competent."

"But," Igmund continued sternly, holding up a finger, "There is still today, and still time to prove her guilt."

Ondolemar's smile fell and his demeanor returned to its typical sourness. He took a deep breath, hiding his rolling eyes by closing them briefly. 

"How much longer do you intend on dragging this on?" He forced his voice low and steady, though it threatened to groan.

"I thought you weren't rushing me." Igmund said plainly, blinking and resting his cheek on his fist. Ondolemar's face threatened to contort, and he silently cursed his previous courtesy. The night before had been surprisingly refreshing, freeing even, in his mental surrender. And apparently he allowed the fleeting joy to derail his usual strategies when negotiating with the Jarl. Foolish, he thought, I truly can never give him anything.

"Igmund, have I not offered you kindness in the past? Was that, perhaps, a mistake?" Ondolemar prayed the Jarl would remember his soldiers tending to the hounds. "Because you never fail to insult my intelligence. If every single piece of evidence you've gathered so far has been clearly fabricated, then what do you think a few more hours is going to yield?" Ondolemar's lip curled and his eye twitched. He kept his tightening fists rigidly by his hips, not trusting himself with what he might do if he lifted them.

"Justiciar, please," Igmund began, noting Ondolemar's fists beginning to tremble. In his periphery, he thought he saw Faleen grasp her sword once more. "Things like this take time and the Cidhna Mine is treacherous. If she's even still alive, it will still take my men a while to find and process her for release." He scanned the Mer's face, hoping this would at least somewhat soften him. But Ondolemar's gaze was still intense and furious. He found himself focusing on just a few of Igmunds words: If she's even still alive.

"She will be released," Igmund said finally, praying Ondolemar's palatable outrage would diminish, "This afternoon. Unless there is some irrefutable evidence of her guilt suddenly brought to light, she will be released."

Ondolemar took a steady, deep breath, willing it silent so as not to convey his relief. 

"Good," Ondolemar said flatly, finally trusting himself enough to fold his arms, before adding, "But that alone is hardly justice."

The Jarl groaned quietly and leaned forward, resting his face in his hands and massaging his temples.

"What do you--"

"What do I suggest? As if you've ever taken that into consideration. What I suggest is compensation for the prisoner in question, upon her release. Something to prove contrition for your abysmal 'justice system'."

"I suppose I can offer her gold upon release."

Ondolemar was hardly satisfied by such a shallow and generic offer, but sighed in resignation, unable to think of anything better at that moment.

"Pray you offer enough."

***

Girsvar's slaying proved relatively easy. Despite him having drawn his own shiv, he was too much of a coward to attack her fully through her flames. He managed to stick her once in her upper arm, but the wound was superficial and hardly made her wince. After her flames singed his fingers, which made him drop his blade, she thrust her own into the side of his neck, and used her weight to help carve it down to his collarbone. She yanked the shiv out and thrust it into his flank. The blade, though crude, was so thin that she found it easy to remove and stab over and over without much effort. 

When Grisvar finally lay still, Ariana stalked back through the main chamber and through the iron gate, wiping the blood off her face with the bottom of her tunic.

Madanach greeted her with a warm smile, eyeing her blood-soaked prison rags.

"You've finally become one of us." He said, rising from his chair and beginning to walk past her. "Come with me. I think it's time to announce my plans to you and your new brothers."

Chapter Text

Madanach and Ariana found Uraccen seemingly waiting for them in the main chamber. 

"What's going on, Madanach?" Uraccen held his hips and could not hide the worry and anticipation plain on his face. "You wouldn't have old Grisvar killed unless you weren't planning on needing him."

"I don't need him, go fetch the others, quick."

Ariana watched as Uraccen smiled briefly and ran off. He soon returned with several other prisoners, as well as Borkul the Beast, who had been resting in his small, secluded chamber. 

"My brothers, we have been here long enough!" Madanach's voice echoed through the chamber. "It’s time to leave the Cidhna Mine and continue our fight against the Nords."

Borkul took his place beside the Forsworn king and Ariana, folding his arms and shooting her a look heavy with questions. 

"Through this gate," Madanach continued, gesturing to the iron bars behind him, "Is a tunnel. A tunnel that leads right through the old Dwarven ruins of Markarth, into the city. It took years for me to make it passable, and more time still to formulate a plan on how to make it out of the city alive."

Ariana grew nervous then. How would she, or anyone else for that matter, be able to escape through the city unharmed, since they had no weapons or armor. Many of her fellow inmates even lacked footwear. 

"Well? What do you say my brothers?" Madanach bellowed, followed by audible excitement from the other prisoners. Ariana could hardly hear what he told them next, however, more rallying from the sound of it. Her gut started to knot and acid rose in her throat. She dreaded the inevitable conflict ahead, despite being relieved that her ordeal might soon be over… if she survived. She also felt silly for mourning her belongings, many of the smaller items being irreplaceable.

"C'mon, tidbit, you don't want to get left behind." Borkul laughed, fervor washing over him, and he tugged her along by her elbow. Ariana followed behind, her pace reluctant and forced, despite her prior passion about escaping. She found herself counting to six twelve times, and to twelve six times, her murmuring drowned by the footfalls of her fellow escapees. 

The familiar, ancient construction of the city became apparent as they made their way through the winding tunnel, until they were met with a small, decrepit Dwemer chamber. Nearby steam vents hissed and spit, and the great pipes they were attached to vaguely quivered from their use. Ariana couldn't help but wonder how these ancient machines still managed to function with apparently no one tending to them.

She had great difficulty focusing on her surroundings still, however. She and the others found themselves in another chamber, this time covered from floor to ceiling in massive spider webs.

Frostbite spiders, was something that briefly drifted through her mind. Being as fond of them as she was, she had practiced ways of getting around them without having to kill them. Her counterparts weren't so knowledgeable, however, and attacked the defending hulking spiders wildly with their magic and shivs. Ariana did not note if any others fell or were wounded, as she failed to count their numbers before they began. They apparently defeated the spiders without her help, as she found herself led out of the chamber, through more ruined, Dwemer corridors. 

They eventually emerged atop a great platform inside a cavernous chamber. Along the walls, large vents hissed as they opened, allowing two, full functioning Dwarven spheres to roll out and unfold. And Ariana found her suddenly in her body once more. All around her was wild, echoing shouting and the deafening crackle of lightning striking metal. Not wanting to accidentally ignite any of the others, she readied sparks with her fingertips. Having been so used to allowing flames in particular from her hands made her magic slow, however. Before she had time to short circuit the sphere next to her, Borkul snatched it by its blade, and tore the mechanical arm off in one, swift motion. The sharp edge had cut into his palm, but he hardly seemed to notice. He turned to Ariana, with the fearsome eyes of someone she had yet to meet, and smiled at her from behind his tusks.

"Too bad these don't have blood!" He shouted vaguely in her direction, though she figured it was mostly to himself. 

After the spheres were defeated and everyone grew quiet once more, uttering nothing but strained breaths and grunts, they began down a stone staircase. Ariana paused several steps down, where it abruptly ended due to what must have been an old collapse. Beneath her were jagged boulders and stair fragments, and she nearly fell when her fellow escapees swiftly slid past her, climbing down and falling below. Her feet would not allow herself to do the same, however. Before she knew it, she was lifted by a massive arm around her waist, and her breath stopped as she dropped. Borkul practically threw her ahead of the rocky heap, yelling, "HURRY UP!" 

Ariana managed to land on her feet, though stumbling, before heeding the orc's words and sprinting after Madanach and Uraccen, who were now far ahead. They all stopped abruptly before a Dwemer door, not unlike the ones she was used to seeing in the Keep. There they met a slim, tan, fair-haired woman with a stiff mohawk. She wore ragged leather and fur armor and a necklace of long, thin bear claws and some sort of bird's skull in the center. Her shoulders were adorned with scraggly feathers, and she was armed with what looked like a short bone spear with spikes along most of its length. 

"Madanach," she said, dropping the massive pack she carried over her shoulder with jangling thud, "I've brought what you asked for."

"Good work," Madanach said, his voice low and serious, "Get ready while I have a word with our favorite outsider."

Madanach bent and retrieved several weapons, most of which looked similar to the one this woman had on her hip, throwing them on the ground behind them. He then found a few, compressed pairs of worn leather boots. After a second or two of rummaging, the old Breton finally pulled out a sheathless Daedric dagger wrapped in old canvas, a wadded up mess of black and red studded leather, and a small, ornate hip satchel.

Ariana's breath stopped once more, and her heart threatened to escape her chest. He handed the stack of items to her with a small smile, and she snatched them readily.

"I had Kaie recover all the things the Nords stole from you." He said, as Ariana glanced over to Borkul, who was grasping his steel war axe, as if to get a feel for it. "You better get ready before we break out into the city." 

Kaie helped Madanach pull out several more compressed and crumpled hide armor pieces from the bottom of the tall, stout pack, and distributed them to the fellow escapees. Tugging and stretching worn boots onto his feet, Borkul turned and eyed Ariana, who had retreated behind the group to strip down. Kaie punched the orc on his broad shoulder, and he turned back to see her glaring.

"I know she's the only other woman here, but gods--"

"Nothing I haven't seen before," he mumbled, once again readying his axe in his hand and cracking his thick neck.

Ariana dressed in her Shrouded Armor as quickly as she could, skipping a few small clasps and fasteners. Her preferred attire was always time-consuming to put on and take off, which was a protective feature she found herself dreadfully missing the day before. She just managed to fasten her satchel to her belt and ready her blade as Madanach opened the door.

***

Ondolemar returned to the Imperial strategy room with a steaming, pewter mug. The Keep's kitchen attendants were kind enough--well, forced really--to maintain an ample supply of his usual Aldmeri tea, a commodity they could only acquire through continuous and costly deliveries from the East Empire Trading Company. He paused in the open doorway, however, curling his lip as he smelled something that overwhelmed the scent of his tea.

"SIRIOL!" He shouted over his shoulder.

"Yes, sir?!" She shouted back, hopping off her bench and rushing to him.

"Did you let either of those smelly hounds in here?"

"No, sir," she breathed, before clarifying flatly, "I know better than that."

Siriol may be airy and a little odd, but Ondolemar had never known her to be dishonest. 

"They must have snuck in at some point then. You can't smell that?"

Siriol closed her eyes and leaned her face through the open doorway, turning up her nose.

"No, sir," she replied softly, "I'm sorry sir."

"Hmpf," he merely uttered in response, before waving her away and closing the door behind him.

Ondolemar took a long, slow sip of his tea, willing the aroma to overwhelm his nose. He spied a half-eaten piece of horker jerky upon a cloth napkin on his table, among the messy array of papers and journals. 

I really must stop eating in here, he thought, I'm forgetting about these kinds of things lately, and I really can't blame those animals for being attracted to the smell.

Ondolemar drained his mug. He scowled down at it as the sour, wet dog odor returned to him. His scowl was brief, however, because he quickly remembered he had something else to preoccupy his nose with. He set his empty cup on the low, stone shelf that ran the length of the wall before heading back to the door and locking it. He sat at his desk and opened the journal. 

I still have to wait a few more hours, he pressed his secret against his face and inhaled. He tried his best to dismiss the shame and disgust that still gnawed at his gut. He was well aware how his private behavior would be taken if anyone were to observe it. He certainly would be quick to judge someone else for it.

He hummed softly to himself as she filled his nose. His lap began to tighten yet again, but before he had a chance to move his other hand down to it, there was a sudden, violent knocking at his door. 

He cursed rather loudly, despite himself, and stood. He hastily slammed the lock between the pages of the journal and clasped it shut. Before he opened the door, he paused, adjusting his robes in a way that hopefully nothing would be apparent.

"Sir," Siriol windedly greeted him, "The Jarl has summoned you."

Already?! Ondolemar thought, pushing by her. He managed to conceal any excitement on his face, but not in his hurried step.

"Igmund," he addressed the Jarl a moment later, trying his best to banish all emotion from his voice, "Why have you su--" Ondolemar cut himself short, however, after noticing the Jarl leaning forward in his throne, holding his forehead between his thumb and index finger, massaging the temples below his circlet.

"Igmund," he repeated slowly, a hint of accusation in his tone.

The Jarl glared up at him and flipped his palm upward in apparent frustration.

"They can't find her," he growled.

"What do you mean they 'can't find her'?!" Ondolemar spat, eyes wide and furious. Frost began to whiten his gloved fingertips. 

"They can't find her!" Igmund shouted. "They can't find half of the prisoners for that matter!" He slammed his fist on the arm of his stone throne and shot up to standing. "We have crews now searching the lesser mined tunnels for them, and for a potential collapse."

Ondolemar's mind was reeling and his dizziness threatened to make him waver. The thought of her death was something he simply could not, in that moment, comprehend. 

"Are you sure there hasn't been a jailbreak?" He asked plainly, frigid numbness beginning to wash over him.

"Impossible," Igmund grumbled, pacing for a moment before the Justiciar, "The Cidhna Mine is inescapable. There is only one bottleneck of an entrance, and it hasn't been breached. The only reasonable explanation is some sort of mining accident."

Ondolemar heard someone behind and to the left of him sniff, followed by what sounded like a barely audible chuckle. He softly bit the inside of his cheek, and his brows slightly furrowed. His throat felt as if it could collapse at any moment, and his eyes ached and threatened to water. The pain on his face then twisted into potent, quiet rage.

"That is most unfortunate," he said in a low, icy voice, "For the Silver-Bloods… and for you." 

Before the Jarl could respond, Ondolemar spun to leave. He made it two steps out of the throne room and heard a guard shout up from the bottom of the stairs.

"PRISON BREAK!" She bellowed.

Ondolemar paused and he felt his shoulders fall. An ill smile curled his lips and he slowly turned to face the Jarl once more. The two guards posted outside the throne room rushed past him and started a hurried descent down the stairs, but not before the one on the left let out a short, disappointed sigh. Igmund's face was frozen in his alarm. Ondolemar flashed him a subtle, small grin. 

"Most unfortunate."

***

Ariana and the escaping Forsworn left the ruins only to be met by Thonar Silver-Blood, armed with a silver broadsword and accompanied by few Markarth city guards. 

"Madanach!" He growled and spit. "Think you can escape my prison, do you?! You'll pay for what you've done to my family!"

"Your family?!" Madanach yelled, "You've poisoned the Reach with your tainted silver for long enough, Thonar!"

Ariana found herself wondering how Thonar managed to know where they would be. But she quickly pushed the thought away and set herself ablaze. Everyone seemed to rush at each other at once, and having glimpsed a guard at her right, that would be where she started. The guard, as people usually do when met with her flame cloak, hesitated just long enough for Ariana to thrust her blade through his thin chainmail and into his belly. Her adrenaline gave her the strength needed to quickly wrench it out of him, the serrated edge sawing and yanking bits of gore along with it. Though he most likely wouldn't die for quite some time, he was clearly no longer a threat as he immediately crumpled. Ariana whirled and grunted as she swung her blade down into the shoulder of the guard engaging the orc. 

"BORKUL MOVE!" She roared, readying potent fire in her left hand. But the orc seemingly couldn't hear her; his eyes were wild with terrible joy, as he hacked and slashed at the guard's shield with his steel axe. After Ariana had wounded him, however, the guard couldn't help but glance behind him, and his shield lowered in his brief distraction and sudden pain. Borkul let out a sharp, terrifying laugh and swung his axe at the guard's neck, decapitating him in one strike with his amazing strength. Ariana barely dodged the severed head as it flew past her. The other two guards were slain by the others, as was Thonar, who lay still, bloodied, and maimed on the stone. 

Ariana paused to catch her breath and looked up at Borkul, who merely stared back at her with a violent grin. His bare chest rose and fell with his heavy breath, glistening with sweat and blood. He glanced at the bit of obvious intestine still attached to one of her dagger's serrations, and smiled even wider. 

The group began through the streets, up and down winding stone pathways, every few seconds being met with a new guard, or foolhardy citizen trying to play one. With each guard that fell or retreated, Ariana desperately tried to spy a familiar scar on the bare part of their arm, but having to rush and focus, her mental efforts remained fruitless.

She and the Forsworn eventually carved their way through the city, a feat she wished she had been able to do alone the night she was arrested. In a final burst of adrenaline and fervor, they ran from the gates, past the stables, across a stone bridge, and to the hills in the northeast.

***

Ondolemar observed the bloodshed unfolding down in the streets from his usual location against a stone railing outside Understone Keep. He was somewhat conflicted. On one hand, the carnage below seemed unnecessary, given his efforts over the past few days, and would most likely complicate things. On the other hand, he found himself smiling, as he spied a particular prisoner, a petite woman in red and black armor that stood out amongst the Forsworn. Her shoulder-length curls wildly flew about behind her flames as she and her co-conspirators slaughtered all in their path. He even thought he spotted the hint of a smile from her in the distance. 

She doesn't seem broken at all. He sighed, drumming his fingers along the stone railing. I was a fool for doubting her ferocity, it seems, not that I've truly been able to savor it like this.

Ondolemar's entertainment was suddenly interrupted by someone violently shaking his shoulder.

"Hey!" Shouted the same guard that alerted those in the Keep about the escape. "Aren't you and your soldiers going to go down there and help?"

Ondolemar turned away from her and gazed down at the bloody streets once more.

"THEY'RE KILLING US OUT THERE!" The guard shrieked, tempted to bash the Justiciar with her shield. 

"That," he replied through unsuppressable satisfaction, "Is simply not a part of my purpose here."

The guard cursed him and spit, before running off to join the others.

After the escaped prisoners, and Ariana, were no longer in view, and most likely had made their way out of the city, Ondolemar sauntered back into Understone Keep.

"I trust you've been briefed on what just occurred outside, or do you wish for me to do it?" Ondolemar said, folding his arms before the Jarl, his smugness evident as ever.

Igmund's anxiety was palatable, with him standing by the guard captain and his steward, his fingertips pressed into his wrinkling forehead. He twisted around, facing the intruding Justiciar, his face burning with rage.

"You saw what they did? You SAW what they did to my city?! To my guard and my people?" He all but shouted at Ondolemar. 

"If you hadn't been so leisurely with--"

"NO!" Igmund shouted, stomping up to Ondolemar and scowling up at him. "Enough!"

Ondolemar kept his head aloft, and his gaze cool and infuriatingly casual, looking down at the Jarl behind his nose. 

"As I was saying," he began again, after pausing in case Igmund had anything useful to add, "This was unavoidable, and you know it. Have you forgotten everything we've discussed this week?"

The Jarl screwed up his face as if in pain, and returned to his throne with a huff, lounging and rubbing his temples in his mental exhaustion. After a moment of awkward silence, he waved his hand at the guard captain, dismissing him.

"Justiciar, you know now that any previous claims of her innocence are now forfeit. What she did today made her an accomplice of the Forsworn, in the worst possible way." The Jarl forced his voice calm and steady.

If she's spotted near here again, they'll try to put her on the block. Ondolemar quietly shuddered as he banished the image from his head. He tightened his folded arms. A previous, fleeting thought came back to him and gnawed at his chest: I at least want the promise that those experiences will return to me. He needed to be alone to adequately scheme.

"We will see." He uttered as he turned to leave.

***

When Ariana and the group of Forsworn fugitives were far enough from Markarth to be safe from any guards, they slowed their pace, eventually stopping to collectively catch their breath by a large boulder surrounded by juniper bushes. 

Madanach approached Ariana, who was panting and straining on the ground with her head in her hands. 

"Here," he said, and she looked up at him, trying to still her exhausted breath, "Take this."

He handed her a folded set of rough, hide and leather armor, not unlike what Kaie wore. 

"It’s blessed with the old magicks." He added, smiling gently down at her. "Something to remember me by."

This old, wild man's sentiment struck her, and she sheepishly accepted his gracious gift. She carefully rolled the furry mass of hide and squeezed it through the opening of her enchanted satchel. 

"Thank you," she uttered up at him. She felt like it might be more polite to stand, since he was, but she couldn't will her sore legs to lift her in that moment.

Madanach looked up and inhaled deeply, enjoying the crisp air and juniper.

"Time to savor the sky," he whispered, "And make it rain red."  

After about thirty more minutes of rest, Madanach announced it was time to depart to a place called Druadach Redoubt, which would serve as a base of operations so he might reorganize the Forsworn. 

"C'mon," Borkul offered Ariana a blood-encrusted hand and helped her to her feet. 

"I can't go with you all." She said plainly. "I have… responsibilities."

"Ah, of course," Borkul replied quietly, remembering her occupation. "Before we say goodbye, tidbit, at least tell me your name. I want something other than 'tidbit' to say when I'm telling the story of our escape."

Ariana let out a small, breathy laugh. It wasn't a good idea to disclose her full name, especially if he planned on using it for drunken stories, but sentiment got a hold of her and she resigned.

"You can call me Ari." 

Chapter Text

Ariana bid farewell to Borkul the Beast, and Madanach and Kaie and the others. She made her way southwest, before stopping herself in the middle of the road.

What am I doing? The Sanctuary is in the opposite direction.

Her brows knitted briefly and her gut churned. Her heart was telling her to return to Markarth, despite that ensuring her demise. 

He doesn't care about me enough for it to be worth it, she tried to convince herself. But her chest tightened and tears threatened to well up in her eyes. She found the thought of never seeing Ondolemar again remarkably unsettling, and remained in the middle of the road as the sun set behind the ridge, debating with herself.

If I go back now, the night will hide me. She argued. You have no more potions, you idiot. And invisibility is the only way you should even risk it.

She went back and forth with herself for a few more minutes as she mindlessly made her way further down the road.

You canNOT see him again, unless you somehow run into him outside the city walls. Ariana, hardly looking where she was going, found herself on a stone bridge. The same stone bridge outside of the city in question. 

At least let me look at it, the city, one last time . She pleaded with herself, ducking behind the bridge's stone railing. I might can send him a letter once I make it to a tow-- Sithis, why am I this way?

Ariana's mind squirmed and twisted as she paused on the bridge. She was now liberated from the mine, and luckily was reunited with all of her things, but at what cost? She regretted every single decision she made last Turdas. She eventually turned away from Markarth when something grasped her wrist from behind.

She whirled, drawing her blade and stifling a shriek. Barely visible against the cloudy night sky was a broad, towering figure. He  raised a hand to summon a small, magical light to illuminate his face. Ariana lowered her weapon.

"Could you not have waited?!" Ondolemar hissed. "They were coming to their senses; they were going to release you."

Ariana's mind reeled, and she was having a hard time processing what he was saying. A small, "...what?" was all she managed to utter.

"Come on," Ondolemar let his dim, magical light die and gestured for her to follow, "We have to fix this before the situation devolves further."

Ariana, nodded sheepishly, still stunned by his sudden appearance, and followed behind his quick pace, deciding to trust him for reasons she did not yet understand. She couldn't, for the life of her, understand why he bothered to come find her. Her thoughts began to jump to fantastical conclusions, but she shook them away, fearing the hope they instilled.

As they neared the city gates, Ondolemar paused and waited for Ariana to catch up. He extended his arm towards her, his face still sour.

"Stay close. The city guard is still... agitated."

Ariana stood very close to him, her heart now threatening to burst from her chest. For a moment, she forgot about all of the horrible possibilities that awaited her. She was so close to his body she thought that she might hear his heartbeat if her own hadn't been so loud. Even if they put me on the block, this moment would be worth it. But the thought was brief and incorrect, and anxiety flooded her again as they approached a guard posted at the gate.

She couldn't see the guards face, but she could tell when he started to stare at her, and when his hand tightened on the grip of his sword. The guard, however, dared not move, and turned his fully helmeted head up towards Ondolemar, who gazed back, fuming.

"Well," Ondolemar spat, "Aren't you going to open the gate? I do not like waiting."

The guard scrambled to open the gate. Ariana could feel his eyes on their backs as they made their way through the dark city.

Before entering Understone Keep, and just out of earshot of any more guards, Ondolemar stopped abruptly and bent down near Ariana's cheek. Her heart skipped as she felt his warm breath on her skin.

"Enough of this pitiful, contrite demeanor," he whispered, "It doesn't suit you, and it certainly won't suit you in there."

A feeling Ariana wasn't used to letting herself experience was overwhelming her, and apparently her face and body language gave it away. Guilt. She wasn't feeling remorse for the jailbreak, or for the carnage she and her fellow inmates committed through the streets that day, but guilt for...  stressing Ondolemar? Was that really what this was? He was obviously put out and cross. She had hoped, but did not dare expect him to care that she had been arrested, or about anything else that had happened to her for that matter. But clearly he did, at least enough to know of plans to release her. She couldn't help but suspect he may have something to do with it, but again, she dared not get her hopes up.

Despite her quiet terror, Ariana straightened her posture, forcing confidence and entitlement in her step, as they entered the Keep.

He doesn't like you that way, she thought, Be bold. Be a beast, who thinks herself invincible.

Ondolemar tried to stifle a small smile as she marched in front of him up the stone steps, towards the Mournful Throne. She planted herself silently before Igmund, folding her arms, and Ondolemar strode toward them softly, stopping beside her. After a short moment of painful silence and shifting guard boots, Ondolemar addressed the Jarl.

"Jarl Igmund, it is unfortunate that your sluggish reaction to remedying this mistake has resulted in such destruction in your city. But let it be known, Marcellus was absolutely in her right to liberate herself from such wrongful imprisonment, especially at the hands of such an incompetent justice system."

The attending guards shifted their weight and shot nervous looks to one another. The one on the left ached for his sword. The Steward pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut, sighing softly. Igmund's indignation at these predictable insults spread across his face, though after the Justiciar's continued threats throughout the day and evening, he willed his temper stifled.

"I still do not see how that justifies destruction of my city--"

"It was unfortunate, yes," Ariana interrupted, Ondolemar's eyes darting down to her, mentally pleading for her to choose her words carefully, "Believe me, it would have all been much more peaceful if the guards allowed for such." Ondolemar heard nervous shifting behind and to the right of him, before she quietly added, "It's not as if they gave me much of a choice—”

"Precisely. If this had been managed adequately from the beginning," Ondolemar gestured broadly to the Jarl and his company, "None of the disasters of today would have happened. I'm sure the Empire, and my superiors will be very interested to hear about how poorly this little corner of Skyrim is governed."

Jarl Igmund sat up straight and rigid in his throne. A twinge of fear tore through his gut. Words could not fully articulate how badly he hated the Thalmor being there. It had been a bane and a hindrance from the start, but he never quite had a choice. But now the Justiciar threatened his seat of power directly. He found himself bound an impotent.

"Ah, but this is being remedied, is it not? The guards have not attacked nor arrested her since she has returned," Igmund tried his best to relax his body and lighten his tone, as if Ondolemar wasn't even a threat at all. "Tell me, Justiciar, and I know I always seem to ask this, but what else would you propose we do?"

"All bounties on her must be forfeit," Ondolemar replied instantly. He turned to look down at Ariana, "And I suppose… compensation would still be in order--"

"For the injuries and dea--"

"For her, for her mistreatment." Ondolemar hissed, despite himself.

"Ah," Igmund seemed to screw up his face and relax it at the same time. He wasn't terribly invested in seeing the Imperial executed, but he hated giving the Justiciar any kind of satisfaction. Still, he knew he could argue no further. The counsel he received from Raerek throughout the day was that of serious caution. Even if he managed to have the Imperial arrested again, for whatever reason, Ondolemar would most likely return to his throne room, and to his throat. The Mer obviously had some strange attachment to this human, the reasons for which Igmund didn't really want to explore. He gritted his teeth and clenched a fist in his lap, panic slowly rising in his chest in response to Ondolemar’s intensifying glare.

"Well, consider it done." Igmund tried to say dismissively, though the last ounce of his pride was utterly shattered, "Ariana Marcellus, any and all existing bounties placed upon you in The Reach are hereby pardoned. You may freely be about my city. But, I trust your commitment to staying peaceful, and you may return tomorrow to receive your…" his voice trailed and threatened to falter as he glanced once more at the Justiciar, "Compensation."

Ariana allowed herself to breathe and her body relaxed. She would sort out all of her feelings and questions about what this all meant, concerning Ondolemar, later. For now, she let the weight of her anxiety about this fall away, and she was reminded of just how sore and exhausted she was.

"Thank you, your grace." She managed. "You humble me."

"I should hope so," Igmund uttered under his breath.

"It is the very least of what I would expect from a respectable leader, Jarl Igmund," Ondolemar then chimed, keeping his head aloft and his tone crisp, "You may not be as much of a disappointment as I thought… yet."

Ariana eyed the attending guards outside the throne room as she left, but they both remained steadfast and still with their arms folded, obscuring the bare parts of their arms. 

"That was surprisingly polite of you." Ondolemar whispered down at her as she followed him back to his make-shift office. 

"Ha, I was terrified." She admitted. "Don't ever put me on the spot like that again."  

"I had to, or else you would have never been able to return," he quickly caught himself, "I know how you often work here in the city."

This wasn't a good enough clarification, however, and Ariana's still dirty face twisted into an insufferable grin.

"Did you--?" She began, leaning against her usual stone table, pointing at him behind folded arms.

"Did I what?" Ondolemar grumbled, taking his seat. 

"Did you… try to get me out?"

He let out a sharp, biting laugh.

"Don't be stupid, Marcellus. I had been concerned over the arresting guard's behavior, but knowing you, I figured you were probably guilty of whatever crime they were detaining you for."

Ariana's smile fell and she sneered at him, her offense so overwhelming in her exhaustion that she could not retort. She looked away from him, at nothing in particular, and subtly shook her head. Ondolemar glanced at her and noted her unusually pained expression. 

"I meant no offense."

"Yet you never fail to serve it." She hissed, glaring back at him briefly before turning to look away once more.

"Did they really manage to break you in there, then? In those few days?" He eyed the dirt and blood on her studded leather, taking great care not to focus on certain curves of her body. Ariana's face contorted once more.

"No," she finally grumbled, "But you have no idea how bad it was." She paused, thinking about the orc. "I… managed to make a friend in there, though, which ended up making it somewhat bearable." 

Responses like Too bad we can't thank him, and I'm glad it was at least somewhat bearable drifted through Ondolemar's mind. He quickly dismissed them, however, concluding they were too kind. She was clearly already suspecting some form of attachment from him, and he couldn't risk giving her anymore clues. 

"Well, you're out now, and you have no more bounties, so you can go about your business as usual." He tried his best to sound as casual and aloof as possible.

"I, uh," she began, suddenly sheepish again, "Thank you for that, by the way. That was an incredibly kind thing of you to do for me." 

Ondolemar scoffed and kept his eyes averted from hers.

"Kind," he echoed, "I was doing you no favors, Marcellus, it just happened to benefit you. The Jarl is so quick to forget that I am the arm of the Thalmor in this region, and I relish in any opportunity to remind him as much." 

He glanced to note her expression. It was grim and elsewhere, exactly what he had initially hoped. She most likely believed his words for now, but despite his tiny success, he felt a nagging sinking in his stomach, seeing her so seemingly unhappy.

"I know you are exhausted." Ondolemar eventually uttered, turning to her, noting her softly trembling legs. He quickly looked away from them and up to her face and wild, matted hair. "And filthy. Goodness , Marcellus, you need to retire somewhere and clean yourself. You smell absolutely revolting." 

"You don't think I know that?" Ariana hissed, leaning forward and tightening her folded arms. She attempted to detangle the curls on the back of her head with her gloved fingers. She hadn't managed to see herself in several days, which was an extremely uncomfortable amount of time for her. She resisted the urge to retrieve her small, crack hand mirror from her satchel, however, fearing whatever kind of quip he would make about her vanity.

"My hair is so uneven," she couldn't help but whisper, painfully ripping through the knots in the back of her head.

"It doesn't look bad." Ondolemar replied, despite himself. "I mean, it looks bad right now, but not because it's short. Your curls will most likely hide any unevenness whenever they are properly cleansed and detangled." 

He caught his accidental kindness well after the fact, after he heard Ariana let out a sharp, low giggle.

"What would you know of hair?" She laughed. "You're bald."

Ondolemar found himself self-consciously rubbing his velvety, shaved head underneath his hood.

"By choice," he corrected her.

"I always found that odd, to be honest," she said, followed by him raising a brow. "I mean, most Altmer keep their hair pretty long, I've noticed. I've never seen one with a shaved head."

"It is merely my preference," he said dismissively, willing her to change the subject or leave. He found himself anxious to return to the Jarl in private before he had a chance to retreat to his quarters for the night. 

"Marcellus, you still have gold, correct? I noticed your things were returned to you."

Ariana frowned and searched her enchanted satchel for a coin purse she kept, not trusting the guards that confiscated it from her. After a few moments, she let out a deep sigh of relief, and held the small, jangling bag aloft. It must have been buried too deep for them to easily find.

"Good," Ondolemar said flatly, "You will be able to afford a bed at the inn." 

"By the Eight, I'm going," she hissed, perceiving his comments as hints to leave, which was exactly what they were. 

Ondolemar offered her a cool, yet polite good night before she stalked out of the room. He turned to his messy array of papers and furrowed his brow, wanting to dictate the nature of her promised compensation. He spied an old map he kept of the city poking out from underneath a large portfolio. He pulled it out and noted a small manor on the upper level of the residential district. If his memory served him correctly, he recalled it being vacant for some time now. The Jarl was most likely sitting on the property, prioritizing it for some noble or other high-status figure. A satisfied smirk bent Ondolemar's cheeks as he readied his usual threats and strode out of the room.

***

Ariana managed to clean herself as well as she could in the small washbasin that was included with her room. She retrieved a half-empty bottle of an olive oil mixture especially designed for hair from her satchel. Olive oil, in general, was difficult to come by in Skyrim, and was often saved for the chefs of nobility. This particular serum, however, was a product from Hammerfell, and she was able to procure it from the East Empire Trading Company--not directly , however. She had to rely on her contacts in the Thieves Guild, and often offered to pay them extra for obtaining it. She eyed her new haircut in her small, cracked hand mirror.

Yeah, this is terrible. It wasn't really; Ondolemar had been right about her curls hiding how choppy it was. Ariana was just still sore about her carefully-tended-to tresses being stolen from her in such a way. She rummaged around in her satchel for a moment, before pulling out a small, purple tincture. It was a nightshade solution she had made for quick and easy poison making while she was traveling. She remembered reading somewhere that belladonna could invigorate hair growth, and even before her hair was cut by the guard, she would often apply a small amount to her scalp after cleansing.

Despite her exhaustion, her sleep was far from restful. She tossed and turned atop her rented, hide mattress, periodically waking from nightmares she would instantly forget.

***

Ariana discretely inspected each guard she passed, unable to dismiss her violent anxiety whenever one would get near. None of them paid her any mind, luckily, as the Jarl's decree had apparently been well circulated. She made her way into Understone Keep and up the stone steps and eyed the two guards posted outside the throne room. They appeared to be different than usual. The one on the left was a tall, slim, tan woman, and the one on the right, though roughly the same height as the last, was much stockier. 

"You're grace," she began, remembering how to properly address a Jarl, "I can't help but notice the guards outside are different."

"After what happened with you, and the investigation that followed, they requested an internal transfer." Igmund said plainly, not nearly as irate as he was the night before. It helped that the Justiciar wasn't there.

"Huh," Ariana murmured, unsure yet what to make of that information. 

"So you're here to receive your compensation, as discussed last night." He said numbly, before gesturing to his steward. 

"Yes," she said before adding as an afterthought, "You are most generous, your grace."

Igmund couldn't help but roll his eyes. Just before he was able to retire the night before, he had been accosted by Ondolemar yet again, demanding that the Imperial be provided a property instead of gold, since money apparently "wasn't good enough at this point". 

Raerek produced a thick, Dwarven, metal key, and extended it cautiously towards Ariana.

"You are being awarded a local property as payment for your," Igmund sighed softly and gritted his teeth, "False imprisonment."

Ariana's eyes widened and she was unable to contain her excitement. This would save her a lot of gold in her future visits, since she could avoid the inn.

"Raerek, show her where it is on the map." 

Raerek cleared his throat and retrieved a small, worn map of the city from his pocket. Ariana leaned over it, memorizing the location the elderly man indicated. 

"Thank you so much, your grace!" Ariana was almost tempted to hug him, though that would most likely be a death sentence.

The Jarl waved his hand dismissively, praying everything was now sorted and he could be done with this nightmare.

"Is it…" Ariana's voice trailed, suddenly reminded of how barren the Dawnstar Sanctuary was in the beginning, "Is it furnished?" 

"No," Igmund let his irritation slip out momentarily, "You will have to purchase furnishings yourself. My steward," he gestured lazily to Raerek, "Can help you there." 

Ariana gave a short nod to the Jarl before turning once more to Raerek.

"TWENTY THOUSAND?" She eventually exclaimed. "What about just for a bed…?"

Rarek murmured yet another figure to her, and she found herself half-shouting once more.

"FIVE THOUSAND FOR JUST A BED?" She cursed before quickly correcting her tone and volume. She feared she would offend the Jarl, who had, indeed, been most generous. "I don't have that much on me."

"Well, don't you worry, dear," Raerek told her in his frail, aging voice, "I'll still be here when you do."

Not wanting to appear ungrateful, she offered Raerek and the Jarl thanks once more, and marched off to the Imperial strategy room.

"Well?" Ondolemar said, recognizing her mildly indignant huffing behind him. "What did they give you?"

Ariana let out a small, satisfied laugh.

"Ondo, they gave me a house!"  

He twisted around in his chair to face her and feigned surprise.

"Goodness, that is unusually generous for Igmund." He said plainly, forcing his expression neutral despite his heart swelling at seeing her suddenly beam.

"No furnishings though, and it'll be some time before I can go back home and retrieve enough gold for just a bed."

They weren't included? He thought better than to say, knowing it would be an indirect admission of his prior knowledge. 

"How much is a bed?" Ondolemar couldn't help but ask, raising a brow. He quickly regretted it, however, being unable to resist thinking about the things that could be done with her in one.

"Five thousand,"

"Stars, that's ridiculous." He agreed, despite having no problem spending much more on bedding back on the Isle.

"I know ," Ariana replied through a quiet, breathy laugh.

Ondolemar's face twisted and relaxed, as he tried to banish his impulses. 

"Ondo?" Ariana tilted her head, trying to read the expression that was partially obscured by his hood and collar.

"Apologies, Marcellus, I was merely thinking about all the work that has to be done." He suddenly stood and started out of the room. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I have something that needs attending to briefly. You can…" his voice trailed. He didn't want to offer her anything at this point, since he felt his fondness kept finding ways to make itself known. But he couldn't risk her walking past the throne room in the next few minutes.

"You can stay here, if you like, I'll only be a moment."

Ariana gave him a nod and sat atop her usual, mostly bare, stone table.

Ondolemar swiftly made his way to Igmund, noting the sudden change in guards as he passed. Upon seeing the Justiciar's return, the Jarl gazed up at the ceiling and stifled a groan.

"What's not to your liking, then?" He grumbled.

"Nothing, Igmund, I merely wish to speak to your steward."

Raerek shot Faleen the housecarl a nervous look as the towering Mer bent so he could speak quietly. 

"You will receive payment in full shortly, but you will begin furnishing Vlindrel Hall this instant."  

"Y-you understand that's twenty thousand septims. And the price is firm due to the luxury required for such a property." 

"I understand perfectly, steward, and I hope you'll maintain discretion concerning my abrupt and costly favor, lest anyone start to get the idea I'm," he shot a potent, ill look to the Jarl from the side, "Kind."  

"You're helping her with this?" Raerek remembered to whisper.

"I'm merely offering her an advance so she can finally leave me alone about this whole thing." Ondolemar hissed back. "In case you haven't noticed, she's a little obsessed with bothering me."

"Huh, the throne room is practically overflowing with generosity today." 

"Keep your voice down, damn you." Ondolemar whispered even lower, but with palatable vehemence.

"Sorry, Justiciar," the old man shakily uttered. Ondolemar glanced to Igmund from the side, who had been listening to this entire exchange. He said nothing, nor indicated any hint of intrigue. He simply wanted Ondolemar to leave. 

"I'll organize the logistics straight away." Raerek quietly continued. "Furniture should begin arriving at the property within the hour."

"Very well. I'll have the funds sent to you soon." Ondolemar murmured before straightening and marching back to his office. 

WHY , his mind screamed at him, AM I DOING THIS?  

He turned the corner and paused before he knew he would be seen by her in the doorway. 

I don't want any more reason for her to talk to me about the matter. It's dangerously awkward enough as it is. But he knew deep down, that that wasn't the entire truth. He took a deep breath, banishing his nerves, and made his way through the open Dwemer door.

Ondolemar was pleased to see Ariana still waiting patiently on her usual perch upon the unused stone table. She was busy picking flakes of dried gore off the dirty, red leather on her knee. 

"So what did you need to do?"

Of course. He softly bit the inside of his cheek as he strode to his chair and sat.

"Nothing that particularly concerns you, Marcellus." He began before finally managing a quick lie. "Earlier a courier arrived for me and I was simply retrieving the note from my soldiers."

"What was the note about?"

STARS, she's so nosy, he internally shouted, as if her bold and persistent inquisitiveness wasn't one of the many things he liked about her. 

"It’s a classified matter." He managed coolly. 

"Oh," Ariana began to pick dried blood from the studs on her bracer before remembering her new key. She had made sure to place it in one of the few, small internal pockets of her enchanted satchel, so she could find it easily. She pulled it out and inspected its Dwemer design. 

"I'm going to go check it out," she eventually said. Ondolemar prayed the furnishings would not begin arriving so soon, lest she ask any of the men doing the work questions.  

"Marcellus," he said, turning in his chair as she started for the door. He couldn't help but pause as he admired her figure from behind, before quickly forcing himself to look elsewhere, "Do let me know how it looks on the inside. I find myself most curious."

Ariana turned over her shoulder, smiled at him, and said, "Maybe you can come see it later, yourself."

Chapter Text

" Well ?" Ondolemar said over his shoulder, folding one of his report journals shut a little too quickly, and sliding it aside. "How is Vlindrel Hall on the inside? I can't imagine you've had much time to explore it properly."

Ariana worked on catching her breath after bolting up all of those stairs.

"Fur... furn..." she breathed, bending slightly to rest her hands on her knees. After drawing one last labored breath, she stood upright. "FURNISHINGS." She finally exclaimed.

Ondolemar twisted around in his seat to face her properly, raising an eyebrow.

"Well?" Ariana nearly shouted, "Did you?!"

"Did I what?" Ondolemar's face betrayed him with a small, slow smile.

"Buy the furnishings for Vlindrel Hall?!"

"Why would I do that? I suppose they were included." Despite his desire for her not to suspect his feelings, he was having a harder and harder time controlling his smile.

"Not according to the Steward! I told you that already? When I got there, they were already moving it in!" She studied his face for any reaction. She thought she might have spotted a slight tightening of his lips, as well as a brief dart of his eyes down and to the side. He forced his smile to fall.

"And what would it be if I had, Marcellus? I, for one, am more than ready to be done with this whole debacle, and I'm certain you would whine about having to sleep on a stone floor. Absolutely insufferable ." Ondolemar looked down towards his desk, drumming his fingers, a smirk threatening to return to his face. "Besides, I'm confident in your ability to pay me back... if the state of your finances are as... lucrative as you claim."

He half expected Ariana to react indignantly, but looked up at her to see her absolutely beaming. His apparent inability to predict her reactions began to make him nervous as she approached.

Ondolemar seated was almost as tall as Ariana standing, and before he knew it, her arms were flung tightly around his shoulders, her face burying itself in his tall collar, bending it awkwardly. For a brief moment, Ariana's hair, having been unburdened by the gravity of its length, bounced and twisted against his face, tickling his nose.

" Thank you so much, Ondo ." She whispered by his cheek.

This lasted for only a second, but feeling his face instantly set aflame, he hissed, "UN HAND me!" And violently shoved her off of him, sending her stumbling slightly into a nearby table. All she did was grin.

Ondolemar glared at her as he stood, straightening his collar and smoothing his robes.

"Sorry," she said.

She was not sorry.

" Anyway ," he said, the flush fading from his cheeks, shifting his weight from one foot to another, "Do let me know of the quality of furniture. If they are not to a certain standard, I would like to have some words with the Steward."

Hardly listening to his words, and giddy at the fact her embrace seemed to fluster him so, Ariana spied something odd poking through the pages of one of Ondolemar's small report journals, which was now visible with him standing.

Ondolemar caught her looking at it and slammed a gloved hand down on top of the journal, his face stone.

"What was that sticking out of your book?"

"The contents of my reports are none of your business, thank you very much." Ondolemar spat, his eyes widening in an attempt to convey indignation, though Ariana knew it to be anxiety.

"Why are you hiding it like that? Terribly suspicious." She smirked, "Is it something you don't want me to see?"

He scoffed, looking up and away from her briefly.

"Many of my reports must remain confidential, and as I stated already ," his jaw tightened, "They are not yours, nor anyone else's, business."

Ariana shrugged, her satisfied smirk failing to leave her. She suddenly remembered the potions she had purchased at The Hag’s Cure the previous night, before heading to the inn.

" Fine ," she seemingly resigned, "Whatever, it's not like I care, really."

Ondolemar took his seat, still guarding the small book with his forearm, eyeing Ariana subtly from over his shoulder.

"Anyway, I'm going to go and get to know my, uh, new abode I suppose. Will you come over to see it later?"

He turned away from her and pretended to read a loose document on his desk.

"I'll be busy." He said flatly, but she was already gone.

Ondolemar turned to scan the open doorway, making sure she was out of view. He turned back to the small journal, and quickly tucked the lock of curly hair deeper into the pages so they could not be seen.

Ariana thought she heard him curse softly to himself while she was under the effect of the invisibility potion. She stood motionless and silent at the side of his desk, waiting for the moment he set the book down.

When that time came, she snatched it, the movement breaking her invisibility, and Ondolemar stifled a shout as she bolted out of the room, him scrambling out of his seat to chase after her. Sheer, unbridled, absolutely overwhelming panic filled him as he sprinted past his two soldiers. Caris and Siriol were currently at ease together on a nearby bench, enjoying some local ale and sharing a loaf of bread. They turned to give a look at one other, neither moving from their seat, as they heard their superior bellow, "MARCELLUS! RETURN THAT THIS INSTANT!" before running down the stone stairs.

"Do you suppose he requires assistance?" Caris asked her partner before taking a bite of her bread.

"I... don't think so; he didn't ask and he often can handle himself," Siriol, the taller, more slender replied, followed by a soft chuckle, "You know how cross he gets should we make our worry for him known."

Caris sighed, dropping her shoulders, facing her partner, and giving her a look.

"We have to," She groaned.

"Yes, I suppose we do." Agreed Siriol.

The two soldiers reluctantly wrapped their bread in the cloth it came in, and set their tankards on the bench, rising to try and find their commander, though he and Ariana were nowhere to be seen.

By then, Ondolemar had pursued her out of the Keep, down a stretch of stone pathway, down yet another set of stairs, cursing at what he swore was her giggling, and into a small Dwemer ruin. He found Ariana at the end of a bending tunnel, standing on a tall stone platform. How she got up there, he was unsure, considering the steps leading up to it had been long since collapsed. She looked down at Ondolemar, eyes wide and fierce and apparently livid, holding up what appeared to be a lock of very familiar hair.

"What is this?!" She nearly squeaked.

"THAT ISN'T ANYTHING THAT CONCERNS YOU!" He shouted up at her, failing miserably to hide the desperation in his voice.

"Doesn't concern me? THIS IS CLEARLY MY HAIR! SOME OF THE HAIR THAT WAS STOLEN FROM ME WHEN I WAS ARRESTED!"

Ondolemar had never witnessed her yell this strongly, and he couldn’t help but imagine dust shaking free from the stone ceiling as her shouting echoed off of it. At this point he knew it was useless to try to lie to her. She knew it was her hair, of course she would, she had always been obsessed with it. He had to think of something reasonable to explain it, but his scheming fell flat and his heart threatened to tear out of his chest.

"WELL?"

"I order you to descend and return to me my belongings this instant ." He managed through his teeth.

"HA! You can't order me to do anything . And you aren't getting your journal back either until you explain why you had my hair tucked away in it!"

Ondolemar, exasperated, held his temples and sighed deeply. For once in his life, he could not muster a respectable answer.

"I don't know." He muttered, his eyes avoiding hers.

"What was that?" She spat.

"I don't KNOW, Ariana!" He yelled, now staring up at her fierce and wild-eyed, a slight tremble in his throat. 

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her, especially with him on the spot like this. If she were a remotely sane person, she would surely be repulsed.

Ariana was taken aback for a moment, "What, do you mean you don't kno--"

"WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY?" Ondolemar roared up at her, huffing, unable to quell his embarrassment with lies. "That, despite my station and your race and status, I do genuinely enjoy your company and conversation? That I was actually concerned by your abrupt arrest and imprisonment in the Mines? That I...that-that I..." He closed his eyes, screwing up his face as if in immense pain, struggling to release the truth, "That I... missed you ?"

Ariana's face, now beet red, was frozen in shock and revelation. Ondolemar relaxed his shoulders slightly and groaned, rubbing his forehead.

"Ondo..." she managed softly.

"Just!" He interjected, before she could say anything that would make his situation worse. "Come down already. You have me at a disadvantage."

Ariana looked around her: She spied the sloping, rocky face she had initially scaled and quickly concluded it was much too steep for her to descend. She remembered the stairs once more, and how Borkul the Beast had to carry her down in the midst of the mayhem.

"Uhm..."

"What?" Ondolemar spat, his impatience agonizing.

"I... can't."

"What do you mean you can't ? You got up there didn't you?"

"I... did... but uh... oh Sithis, I didn't realize how high up this was ."

"You have got to be kidding me!" Ondolemar folded his arms and glared up at her, his face twisting in his usual disgust.

Ariana shifted around nervously. 

"I am not," she uttered in a monotone. She continued  scanning the edge of the platform. No. She simply could not do it.

"Stop being an infant and come down already, you'll be alright." Ondolemar sighed.

She shook her head vehemently, eyes wide and lips tight.

"STARS , Ariana, do you want me to catch you?! " His sarcasm failed to register and she nodded her head enthusiastically.

Rolling his eyes and cursing quietly, Ondolemar walked closer to the base of the platform.

"I'll try to catch you if you fall, but you will climb down yourself with my report journal or so help me ."

Ariana knew she had to at least try or be forced to live the rest of her days up on the cold, stone edge. She was absolutely unwilling to return to what she knew to be the Cidhna Mine behind her. Trembling uncontrollably, she bent, gripping the edge of the platform, and dangled her legs below her trying to find good footing. She made the mistake of looking down and her heart nearly stopped. That's when her grip failed her.

She twisted a bit as she fell, and the impact was less than soft. Ondolemar's stiff mantle and buckles collided with the side of her face and they both fell painfully into the stone and gravel.

When she opened her eyes, she was on top of him. He cradled his head, which had struck the ground a bit. He could feel her weight on his waist and chest, and continued to massage his scalp as an excuse to not yet open his eyes, praying she would hop off.

Ariana gripped the chest straps of his robes' mantle as he dared to finally look at her. Her expression was full of shock and seriousness and a thousand other emotions yet to be discovered. She kept her mouth tightly shut and her eyes wide and wild, her gaze penetrating him.

"Get off please," Ondolemar whispered half-heartedly. Ariana shook her head slightly and continued to stare, tightening her grip on the buckled straps. She began to stretch her body upwards, putting her face ever nearer to his. Ondolemar's heart pounded and he was acutely aware of the warmth and softness of her body against his. He grasped her shoulders, about to toss her, when she suddenly planted her mouth on his.

He felt as if he might have died. And for that moment, he savored the softness of her lips on his, them parting to let the tip of her tongue enter, her hand now holding his jaw, pulling his face hungrily into hers. Then all of his senses suddenly returned to him. He immediately flung her off of him and scrambled backwards and to his feet, gasping. Ariana stood slowly, embarrassed, looking down at the ground. She looked up to see Ondolemar tightly gripping his face, disheveled and visibly neurotic in a way she could have never imagined him. He looked back at her, his expression intensely painful, with a hint of confusion. She couldn't help but feel a little satisfied that she managed to affect him so, but she couldn't really think at that moment. There was blood pooling in certain areas of her body that now controlled her. She took a step towards him, and he towards her, and before Ariana knew it, he had rushed to her, grasping and bending, and she was up on her toes, their lips once more fused. His embrace was somewhat painful, crushing even. Long fingers wrapping around the nape of her neck and an arm around her waist, nearly lifting her off the ground. His gloved thumb dug into the hollow of her cheek as he gripped her ever tighter, finally defeated by his need to claim her.

They paused to breathe and Ondolemar loosened his hold slowly, allowing Ariana to settle her footing. His hand lingered softly on the side of her face as the bitter sadness of defeat spread across his own. They were suddenly interrupted by familiar shouting near the entrance of the ruins.

"Justiciar!" Caris shouted, "Are you in there? My apologies for taking so long, we did not know where you went!"

Ondolemar stared bitterly towards the bent tunnel that led to the entrance. He allowed his hands to fall from Ariana, holding his index finger up behind him, indicating for her to wait. She just stood there, breathless and light, mind empty but satisfied. Cursing softly, Ondolemar made his way to the entrance to find the ancient, Dwemer door open.

"Sir, are you alright? We came to assist you as best as we could--" Siriol paused and scanned her superior, who was dirty and scratched, his mantle straps bizarrely stretched out. She also noted his breathlessness and both she and her partner put their hands on their weapons, ready to draw them.

"Did she attack you? I knew this day--"

"No, no, it's fine. She gave me quite a run but she was merely playing an extremely stupid practical joke."

His soldiers eyed him with questions they knew they didn't have the authority to ask.

"I said it's fine . It’s dealt with." He shot them his usual, intense look of warning. Overwhelming sourness filled him; he knew he must look like an utter fool to the pair. He swallowed his shame and regret and focused on making them return to their posts in Understone Keep.

When Ondolemar was sure they were gone, he returned to Ariana, finding her exactly where he had left her. She smiled up at him as he strode over to her, gently cupping her face in his hands.

"I suppose it's finally come to this then." He spoke solemnly, "It seems I could bear it no longer."

"Finally," Ariana replied softly, wrapping her arms up around his waist. This made Ondolemar laugh quietly, though the bitterness in his demeanor was impossible to miss.

"I must collect myself and go back. They must not know."

"I know," Ariana looked down and smiled again, "So will you come see Vlindrel Hall tonight?"

"I will be there shortly after nightfall."

***

Caris and Siriol's commanding officer had been in such a foul mood that evening, that they were utterly shocked when he had dismissed them early for the night. He hardly allowed them such respite, despite how uneventful their posts usually were. He was always forcing them to complete menial tasks down to the last minutes of their shifts. 

The two usually didn’t care much about Ondolemar’s personal life, nor were they terribly aware he had one. They hardly knew of his professional life, for that matter. In fact, after a few months of serving him, they were surprised to learn that he was actually the head of the Justiciars in all of Skyrim. (When asked about why he didn’t work from the Embassy, he simply stated that Markarth was where the First Emissary wanted him and refused to elaborate.) They had all been pretty isolated where they were stationed, visited by Thalmor couriers monthly at the most, and allowed to leave only for functions and important meetings at the Thalmor Embassy. Those events were even less frequent. 

At the very least, Caris and Siriol were stationed together, and planned to finally marry once their tours were completed. (Though, with the current state of things, they had been more and more unsure when that would be.) They were grateful to have each other, isolated in the wretched, cold city as they were. It was only recently that they began to even think about the social state of their commander. 

Ondolemar never quite struck the pair as someone who craved company or companionship. He was meticulous and cunning, seemingly only ever preoccupied by his reports and his status. He never spoke anything personal to them--never a warm or even mildly friendly sentiment for that matter. To them, he was nothing more than a typical cold and ambitious Thalmor officer. 

In the few years they had spent under his command, they only ever knew him to express anything like a positive emotion when he was scheming. Another known heretic to trap, a spy to snare, a Jarl to bully. He had been so good at his job in the beginning that open Talos-worshippers became scarce. 

That was, until, he heard of a somewhat old, relatively well-liked Nord named Ogmund. 

To Ondolemar, Ogmund was almost a stereotypical Nord. Proud and battle-hardened, mead-loving and tall tale telling. He surely still worshipped Talos. A tried and true Nord all the way through, of course he must. He only needed proof.

Ondolemar had his soldiers observe Ogmund for a few weeks, but ordered them to not make contact or engage with him in any way. The residents of Markarth were already wary of speaking with the Thalmor, since they had already lost so many of their neighbors to Ondolemar’s small, local Inquisition.

But Ogmund gave no clues, and Ondolemar was tired of delegating the task to his underlings, and figured if he wanted to make any progress, he’d have to investigate Ogmund directly. Caris and Siriol’s efforts had not been completely fruitless, however, they managed to log Ogmund's surprisingly consistent routine. This was something they would receive no praise for, however. 

Ondolemar had decided to go for a stroll. He walked by where he knew Ogmund lived at a very particular time of day, timing his passing by the Nord's home carefully. Sure enough, as he strode past, a large, stone door swung open and Ogmund ran right into the high elf.

“ Watch where you’re going!” Ondolemar shouted. “The likes of you should be more careful lest you find yourself in a dungeon.”

The abrupt collision was just enough to make the Nord stumble backwards, having to collect himself briefly, but that was enough. Ondolemar spied something glinting from beneath the man's course, leather chest piece. There it is.

“ Out of my way,” Ondolemar added, shoving past Ogmund purposefully, though his intended destination was behind them. Ogmund said nothing and eyed the Altmer with contempt.

Unfortunately for Ondolemar, after that encounter, Ogmund never seemed to wear his amulet outside of home again. After becoming familiar with the city's layout over the years, he concluded his home would have been quite small, and the amulet would be easy to find. The amulet, since most likely precious to the Nord, was probably kept somewhere exceptionally safe… a chest perhaps. And there wouldn’t be much room for many of those in Ogmund’s square footage.

There was just one small problem. The legality of obtaining it. Though Ondolemar personally had no reservations concerning thievery, he was bound by the Aldmeri Dominion's delicate truce with the Empire. They respected the Dominion's laws as the Dominion was expected to respect theirs. A Thalmor Justiciar sinking to petty burglary, of a heretic or otherwise, would reflect very poorly on the institution as a whole, and most certainly on himself and his reputation.

Ondolemar spent days thinking of nothing but how to get the amulet. 

One day, a short, suspiciously friendly Imperial woman came to visit, well, pester him, as she had done a few instances before. She wore tight black and red leather armor, and often carried either an Ebony or Daedric dagger. Sometimes she wore a red leather hood, sometimes she did not. The one constant was that she was annoying , boldly so. The thing about her that annoyed him the most about her was that she showed him no fear or apprehension when approaching him. He almost took it as deliberate disrespect. It seemed as if every time she found herself in Markarth, she took the time to harass the Justiciar with questions and niceties. He thought once she might be an Imperial spy, since espionage was still common despite the truce. But her armor was too unusual, and her demeanor was nothing like what he would expect from an Imperial operative. 

Ondolemar dreaded seeing the Imperial (whose name he never bothered to learn) ascend the stone steps of the Keep. He would always shoo her away, each time taking several attempts before she would finally leave him in peace. That day was different.

Ariana was taken aback when Ondolemar was the one to address her first. 

“I have never gotten your name.” He towered over her, arms folded, not an ounce of warmth in his voice.

“Oh! (I'm pretty sure I've told you my name before) but I'm Ariana Marcellus; you can call me Ari for short.” Her informality never failed to disgust him.

“Well, Marcellus, I have a proposition for you, if you are up to it.”

Ondolemar did not know exactly what her occupation  was, though ever since she announced she was no longer studying at the College of Winterhold, he assumed it was something criminal. Either she would steal for him in exchange for adequate compensation, or she would be disgusted by the proposal and hopefully never bother him again. Either way, what a relief it would be.

Caris and Siriol remembered that bizarre day as quite entertaining. They remembered the Imperial woman agreeing to commit burglary almost instantly, swearing absolute discretion, and their commanding officer's apparent excitement. They remembered the shock on his face, an expression from him they had never seen before, when she returned not twenty minutes later, swinging the Amulet of Talos around her finger. After paying her, and thanking her profusely , Ondolemar cast a spell on the amulet to glow when close to its owner. This is how he managed to finally detain Ogmund.

After that, Ariana’s visits became more frequent, and her and Ondolemar’s interactions warmed. He even started to refer to her as his friend. If this was not unusual enough, Caris and Siriol swore they could hear the two laughing from Ondolemar’s office. The soldiers remained stunned that such a proud Thalmor Justiciar would suffer, let alone enjoy, the company of such a diminutive human. But they chose not to really care and to not question it. Ondolemar was always much more pleasant to be around after his visits with her, and for that they were thankful.

None of Ariana and Ondolemar’s interactions could compare to the strangeness of that particular day, however. 

“I’ve never seen him lose his composure in such a way,” Siriol told Caris, helping her shorter counterpart out of her armor. 

“I’ve never seen him lose his composure at all.” Caris couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “I suppose we can agree that this evening was very… unusual?”

“Absolutely,” Siriol nodded, carefully untying the leather fastenings along her partner's sides. She paused for a moment, deep in thought.

“Do you get the feeling they’re… you know…?” Siriol asked softly. Caris finished the last fastening herself and turned to help Siriol with her own, the dim candlelight illuminating her reflection on her partner's gilded chest plate.

“You aren't just now figuring this out, are you? Strange to think of him having such an odd… fetish.” Disgust soured Caris's face.

Siriol chuckled softly, jolting ever so slightly from Caris's rough untying. She helped Siriol lift off the chest and back plates, but not before noticing Siriol once again very deep thought.

“I’m not sure it’s a fetish.” 

“What do you mean? It would have to be.”

They removed their chausses and sat on their beds, starting on their boots.

“Well,” Siriol paused, finding words, “If it were just a fetish, don’t you think there would have been more? Simply used and discarded?”

Caris stifled vomit. This was not something she was comfortable with imagining, but this subject had dumbfounded them for quite some time, and needed examining.

“I suppose it is odd that he treats her with kindness. (Then again the whole guard investigation thing was strange enough.) I thought that was all odd to begin with, but when you’re shut away from social interaction, I suppose one's standards fall.”

“He could have socialized with us.” 

“HA!” Caris chucked her boot, having it land near the other at the foot of her bed. “Has he ever given us a reason to believe he liked , let alone not completely loathed us?”

Siriol carefully placed her boots together by their shared nightstand, nodding in agreement, before resting her chin in her hand, once again thinking.

They maintained thoughtful silence as they changed their tunics and washed their faces and hands in a shared basin on their small dresser.

They sat together on Siriol's bed, braiding each other’s hair, ready to conclude their bedtime ritual.

“I think,” Siriol started, “I think she gives him something no one else around him can.”

“How do you mean?” Caris asked, catching herself from turning her head as her partner worked on her hair.

“I mean, he’s normally so concerned with how others see him. There’s always some Mer he must impress or satisfy. Always some Jarl or General he must contentiously negotiate with.”

“Mhm, mhm, I’m not sure I follow.”

“Then here she comes, an overly friendly, possibly insane, tiny human, showering him with favors and attention, and having no expectations of him whatsoever. You know she doesn’t give a skeever's arse about the Dominion, or the Empire, or anything else that concerns his career.” 

“She only cares about whatever is going on in her own small, illicit, probably degenerate work.” Caris finished.

“ Exactly, ” Siriol agreed, tying the end of Caris’s short braid with a small bit of leather. She turned around for her turn to be braided.

“I still don’t understand.” Caris admitted, hoping Siriol would get to some point about all of this.

“I mean ,” Siriol said, “That he can actually be himself around her. She isn’t going to judge him. And who would she be to judge? She’s a willing thief and a known murderer. He doesn’t have to perform his role when he's with her.”

Caris shuddered at the thought of what Ondolemar being uninhibited by social expectations would look like, considering the cruelty he was capable of when they were imposed on him. Still, she was a bit surprised that Siriol could perceive him as an actual, multifaceted individual with feelings. She realized that she had a hard time with that herself, considering how domineering and cold and rigid he always was. Then again, their training was never supposed to allow for that point of view. This was one of the many things she loved about Siriol: her unconventional mind.

“I think you’re right,” Caris admitted reluctantly, messily fastening the end of Siriol’s long braid.

“If I am, this is very bad,” Siriol turned around and kissed Caris on the cheek.

“It’s bad regardless, but why, exactly?”

“They’re most likely in love.”

Chapter Text

Ariana entered her new house, cautiously examining the entryway, a long, stone hallway leading into a living and dining area. Normally she would have explored each room in order, taking it in, opening up all the drawers and cabinets, getting properly acquainted with it. But today she was focused on one thing. 

She quickly found the bedroom, with a large bed with a thick hide and straw mattress and green velvet bedding in the center. She scanned the various dressers and spotted exactly what she was looking for: a large, pewter washbasin. She filled it with water that had been generously provided by the furnishers in a pitcher beside it. 

Ariana felt filthy yet again, after her brief return to the ruin. The grime of the place clung to oil on her face and in her hair. She shed her Shrouded Armor and bathed herself. They were utterly filthy and smelled foul, and would most likely take a lot of time and effort to clean. She hastily wadded them up and shoved them in a low drawer. She drew her small, cracked hand mirror from her enchanted satchel and examined her face for any lingering dirt. She smelled her underarms, and other areas of her body, ensuring they were properly cleansed.

When she was satisfied, she pulled a clean tunic and trousers from her satchel, put them on, and reexamined her appearance the best she could in the small mirror. Her clothes were somewhat old and worn, and they didn’t flatter her figure as much as the Shrouded Armor, but at least they were clean.

She sat on her new bed, bouncing slightly, testing it’s firmness. It was surprisingly comfortable, much more comfortable than her bed back at the Sanctuary. She sprawled out on the bedspread. It wasn’t quite as soft as she expected by its sheen, but it was soft enough, and very warm. She stared at the ceiling, thoughts finally beginning to flood her numb mind.

That really happened. He kissed me. He wants me. I finally have him.

She held herself for a moment, an almost painful smile cracking along her face, her skin turning hot and red. Her smile fell almost as quickly as it emerged, and she shook that happiness from her head.

What if he doesn’t come?

She rolled to her side, becoming aware once again of how her ribs and legs ached. It had been a physically exhausting week.

He probably won’t. She squeezed her eyes shut and rolled to her otherside. He doesn’t want to want you, you rammed the thought into his head and he had a moment of weakness, you whore.

Ariana sat up, frustrated with herself. She folded her legs and leaned over to hold her head. She shuddered slightly again and raised it, looking back up toward the ceiling. She noticed a small yellow spider walking along a road of silk where the ceiling met the wall.

He said he couldn’t bear it any longer. He kissed you and held you. He kissed you twice! He was clearly afraid of it, yes, hence him running after the first one. But he came back for another! You have him!

Her internal argument was suddenly interrupted by knocking on her front door. Vlindrel Hall was so large that she might not have heard it, if it weren’t for the utter silence. Ariana shot out of bed and scurried barefoot across the cold stone floor, rushing to the door. Light was no longer crawling from underneath it. It was night.

It might not be him, don’t embarrass yourself.

She paused before opening the door, and with her hand ready on the handle, she asked, “Who is it?” 

No answer. She thought she might have heard a sigh in response.

She opened the door slowly.

Ondolemar swiftly pushed by her, though carefully, shutting the door behind them himself. Before Ariana had a chance to greet him properly, he was bent over, pulling her head up to his, kissing her wildly. He stopped and pulled away slowly, leaving Ariana’s heart racing. She composed herself, placing two fingers gently up on his lips before he could kiss her again.

  Ah, yes. I have him.

“Wait,” she told him, smiling. “Here, take off your gloves. We can put them, uh--" she found a low bookshelf towards the main living area. 

Ondolemar worked at controlling his breathing, forcing deep, even breaths. In and out. He followed her, studying her appearance: An old Cyrodiilic casual tunic, worn house trousers… they didn’t cling to her like her usual leather did, but he could still see her form move beneath them. Her elbows were red and a little dry, her forearms were covered in freckles just like her face… they also bore many fine, shining scars, visible only when the candlelight hit them at a certain angle.

“Here.” Ariana finally said, sliding away a candle to make room.

Ondolemar reluctantly tugged at his fingertips. He had been confident in his kissing her, had planned it even, on his secret walk to her door. He knew no more apprehension. This was what he wanted, and he was tired of trying to convince himself it wasn’t. But after realizing he had never even seen her arms, he realized she had never seen his. 

Surely she won’t have any complaints, he assured himself, a small smile appearing. Well, knowing her, she might.

He pulled off his gloves, which served him as light gauntlets, and set them neatly on the shelf. Imprints from the leather seams still marred his skin. Ariana eyed his hands. Cautiously, she took one in hers. On Ondolemar, they didn’t look terribly large, they were relatively proportional to the rest of his body, but they dwarfed Ariana’s hands by a couple of inches in length alone. She traced her fingers over calluses and creases, eventually weaving her fingers in between his own. She tightened her grip on his hand, staring up at him, and began to tug him along. 

“C’mon,” she whispered, “This way,”

He followed her readily.

Ondolemar felt his whole body flush, all of his blood hot and sinking, when he saw where she led him: a bedroom.

“This place is actually really nice, for Markarth at least.” He said softly.

“I haven’t really looked at it all yet, but yes, I like it.” Ariana replied, stroking the green velvet bedding. “And the furniture is perfect.” She added.

Ondolemar took her face in his hands again, this time really getting to feel her soft cheek with his finger tips. He bent and kissed her again, softly and slowly this time, his fingers snaking around the back of her neck and up through her hair. Ariana reached up and began to unbuckle the straps on his mantle. She made quick work of them and slid the piece off his shoulders, along with his hood and collar.

When she reached for his braided belt, he kissed her harder, pushing her down and back into the bed. He unclasped the gold buckle himself, and the belt fell away, leaving the outer robe hanging loosely. Ariana reached up and tugged it off of his shoulders. Ondolemar stopped kissing her for a second to shake it off his arms and onto the floor, immediately returning his mouth to hers. 

He was still standing by the bed though Ariana was now completely on it, him bent over her so their faces could comfortably meet. His mouth wandered from hers, down her jaw, and to her neck, and with his hot breath quickening, he kicked off his boots. Ariana wrapped one arm around his neck, and the other around his back, pulling him closer down on top of her. He softly bit her neck and she couldn’t help but moan quietly. 

She began to pull up at his long, black tunic, raking her nails greedily up his back as she went. He stood and tore it up and off of him, bending once again to kiss. Ariana guided Ondolemar’s hand up her tunic and to her breast. It lingered there for a moment and squeezed, before sliding higher to grasp her throat while he kissed her deeply. He then paused to pull her tunic off, almost ripping it in the process. He grasped the waistband of her pants, tugging them down and off, tossing them behind him. He stood, panting, and looked down at her for a moment, savoring her naked form like fine art. He noted several more, much larger scars, as well as a small, faded tattoo near her right collar bone of what looked like a spider.

Ariana sat up and placed her hands on his hips, slowly sliding them down and toward each other. It was already prominent beneath his trousers. He hastily yanked at the fastenings, and Ariana pulled them down. He bent to finish pulling them from his ankles. Before she could react to seeing it, or touch it for that matter, he wasted no time in pushing her back onto the bed. He grasped hungrily under her waist, kissing her (now at an only somewhat difficult angle), lowering his hips in between her legs. The tip of it brushed against her inner thigh, finding the right place. Once he was inside, she let out a sharp, shuddering moan, arching her back.

This angle made it difficult to have his mouth on her, or even see much of her for that matter, due to their stark height difference. So after a few moments of this position he forced himself upright, hands stabilizing himself on her waist. He tucked his knees under her thighs and began again, harder this time. The way she writhed and twisted only made him more aggressive. How sweet was her expression, how soft and uncontrolled her moaning, how desperate her breath. She faced him with a look that could have been either ecstasy or anguish, and in that moment he didn’t care which it was.

Ariana eventually  pulled on one of his arms, trying to get him to lie down, though it took a few tries. She caught her breath and swung her legs over and around him, sitting on top. But her pace was too slow for him, and he grasped her wrists and held them down by her hips, controlling it all from below. 

“H… hold on,” she barely managed, and he reluctantly released her, growling in frustration. 

She got off, and crouched beside him on all fours, resting her ankles just off the edge of the tall bed.

“Like this,” she breathed.

He stood behind her, finding the best angle, grasping her hips, and began again. He looked down and couldn’t help but notice a large, nasty scar running down her lower back and down between her buttocks. It was a scar that could have been received in war…

But yes, this angle was much better. He could bend down and reach her shoulder, her neck, her ear, and if she managed to twist enough, even her mouth. He slid one hand around her throat and held it firmly, his thumb and forefinger supporting her jaw, forcing her head up higher so he could better reach her ears with his teeth. She shuddered and strained, but did not indicate any disapproval. 

After several more angle changes and tweaks, it all came to an abrupt, gasping end. They fell next to each other on the soft bedding, desperate for breath. 

With his eyes half closed, Ondolemar gently snaked his arm under her neck and around her back, pulling her into his chest. Ariana weakly wrapped herself around him and stroked his back, her breathing finally slowing. 

She chuckled softly, noticing small drops of sweat on his brow, wiping them off.

“ What? ” Ondolemar said between still labored breaths.

“Nothing,” she whispered with a smile, “but let’s get under the covers, it’s cold.”

“Is it?” His breath finally caught, and he was able to fully open his eyes. Goosebumps began to form under his drying sweat.

They surveyed the room silently as they settled under the green velvet. Ondolemar’s mantle, when flung away, had apparently struck a pewter vase, knocking it on the floor. His boots were at opposite ends of the room somehow, and Ariana’s tunic was nowhere to be found. Ariana used Ondolemar’s shoulder as a pillow and he brushed her now wilder-than-ever hair from her face. 

“So…” she began slowly, “Did any of this actually surprise you? My feeling towards you I mean. I can’t really say I was subtle.”

“Oh, you absolutely were not.” He laughed, “From the very beginning, it was obvious.”

“You don’t have to say it like that .” She mumbled, a small frown flashing across her face. She smiled once more nonetheless, as she traced her fingers along the fair hairs of his chest.

“But, yes, I’m hardly subtle when it comes to these things. You have no idea the restraint it took to just not state my desires openly.”

“Why didn’t you?” He asked smugly. Ariana scoffed.

“ You know why. ”

“You think I would have rejected you?”

“Yes, of course, would you have not?” The sudden seriousness in her words was not lost on him. He looked up and away from her briefly before returning his gaze.

“No,” he lied.

“Okay, but you didn’t answer my question fully. You said you knew the nature of my attraction to you from the beginning, but were you surprised by it? Did it take you aback? It didn’t unnerve you at all?”

“No, it wasn’t surprising at all, after all…” An insufferable smirk cracked along his face, as he stifled laughter, “I’m a superiorly bred Mer. ”

Ariana shoved him, and sat up a bit, resting her weight on her elbow, so she could look down at him.

“ Are you sure you want to die naked in an Imperial's bed? ”

Ondolemar could hold back his laughter no longer and it erupted. It was precisely the reaction he wanted. He pulled her down by the neck and kissed her. She rested her head back where his arm met his chest, holding him as fully as she could with her comparatively short arms. 

Before Ariana knew it, her exhaustion took her, and she fell fast asleep. Ondolemar just stared at her quietly, periodically brushing back and twisting her hair in his fingertips. 

Shame began to creep through him, from his toes on up to his ears. That ugly feeling was spoiling what had been a perfect mood. Why her? Why did it have to be her that made him feel this way? They could never have a future together…

He quickly shook such a silly notion from his head. Not the first time I've bedded an Imperial, he thought, trying to dismiss the aching in his chest. Ondolemar looked at the ceiling, noting the tiny wisps of web hanging delicately in the corners. He forced the thought from his mind. He had now, and that’s all he’d allow himself to focus on for the time being. 

The weight of Ariana’s head was beginning to make his arm tingle, but he dared not move it. He gave her one last kiss on her sleeping lips and drifted off.

***

Ariana woke before Ondolemar, horrified to discover her drool on his bicep. She wiped it away quickly with the velvet blanket, which made him stir. Her body felt sticky and exposed. She was not used to sleeping naked. 

She carefully got out of bed to search for her tunic, quickly regretting leaving Ondolemar’s warmth. The morning was exceptionally crisp, especially for early summer, and Ariana heard the steam vents in the corners of the room hiss and spit. After a moment or two of searching, she gave up. It simply was nowhere to be found. Perhaps it had ended up behind a wardrobe? She was too cold to take the time to move furniture.

Tip-toeing around to Ondolemar’s side of the bed, she quickly plucked his tunic off the floor. It smelled of his sweat, with a hint of cheap wine, which was not at all an unpleasant scent to her. Scrunching it up to find the opening better, she dropped it over her head. Ariana heard soft laughter from behind.

“You are so small.” Ondolemar smirked as he observed Ariana attempt to fold the sleeves up enough to use her hands. The pointed front and back—which only came down to Ondolemar’s knees—drug on the floor between her feet.

Ariana knew this, though she didn’t like being reminded of it.

“I… sorry,” she edited herself, “I couldn’t find my clothes. I just don’t like being naked for very long. I usually never sleep naked.”

“Shame,” Ondolemar grinned, a sight Ariana was not used to, and it made her knees weak. Careful not to trip on her new attire, she began to crawl back into the bed, which prompted Ondolemar to grab her around the waist and fling her over him, back onto her side of the bed. Kissing her deeply, his hand wandered from her waist to her bottom, from where he grasped and pulled her closer. 

Ariana pulled her head away for a moment to breathe and say, “Sorry, this will probably be the last time I sleep naked if I can help it.” He pulled her tighter against him, nothing but greedy hands and heavy breath.

“ Perfect. More opportunities for me to undress you.”

Ondolemar reached down and slid his hand up her thigh and onward, kissing her again. His fingers ended up brushing up against the large scar at the bottom of her back.

“Tell me something,” he said, “How did you get that scar?”

He ran his finger up and down its length gently. 

“Oh,” she breathed, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s a stupid story, really.”

“Tell me.”

Ariana turned slightly away from Ondolemar and he pulled his hand away from her rear, resting it on her hip.

“So,” she began followed by a short pause and deep breath, “When I was growing up at Honorhall, I’d taken to climbing up on the roof to hide from my caretaker.”

“I want to say… Gretel?”

“Grelod, you were close.”

“So you weren’t always so terrified of heights,” Ondolemar chuckled.

“No, I suppose I wasn’t very afraid back then. Anyway , after a particularly bad… beating, I went up there to cry and get away from her. But this time she followed me outside, and yelled at me to come down. I refused at first, but she started apologizing for beating me so hard, and she almost never did that. And she started talking about how she was only so hard on me because I was her favorite ward and just wanted me to be better, and a bunch of other absolute horker shit.”

Ariana took a moment, sighing deeply and glancing over at Ondolemar, who was listening attentively. She turned back away, facing the ceiling and continued.

“And for whatever reason, it worked on me, and I felt guilty and knew I had to come down. But her being there made me so nervous . She told me she wouldn’t beat me again if I came down, but I wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth, so I started shaking as I climbed down the side of the roof, and I just… ended up… slipping.”

“Hard to imagine you feeling guilt. ” Ondolemar interjected, amused.

“I’m capable of it, unfortunately ; less so now than when I was young, though.” Ariana frowned slightly, embarrassed by how much she was admitting about herself, but soothed by the thought of having someone to admit it to.

“ Anyway, ” Ariana began again, “It felt like I caught a protruding nail while sliding down the shingles and when I landed on the ground, my whole lower back was covered in blood. Grelod screamed and helped me inside. She had some of the other children help me out of my clothes and got a rag to help me wash my wound, scolding me for being up there in the first place.”

Ondolemar remained quiet, shuddering a bit while imagining how that must have felt. 

“It was actually a really pleasant week or so after that,” Ariana let out a small laugh, closing her eyes momentarily in remembrance. She peeked to the side to see one of Ondolemar’s eyebrows raised.

“I mean, Grelod had me stay in bed. I had a little break from my chores, for which I was extremely grateful, despite the pain I was in. She had a healer come to the orphanage to stitch up my wound. I remember her refusing a potion they offered her that would have helped with pain and healing, though, complaining of the cost."

Ondolemar felt a little foolish for having wept over his childhood in front of her almost a year prior, one night when they drank. His parents may have been cold, but they would have never spared an expense to ensure his health.

“How old were you?” He asked quietly.

“Twelve… or maybe I was already thirteen, I’m not sure.”

Ondolemar recalled a conversation  where she mentioned not having a childhood birthday celebrated, let alone acknowledged, since she was seven. He felt sadness welling up in him for her, which was a wretched, sickly, weak emotion, and he quickly buried it before it had a chance to reach his eyes.

“Anyway, it didn’t get terribly infected, which was good… probably because I was so obsessive about keeping it clean, and Grelod was actually providing me some soap to do so.”

Ondolemar removed his hand from underneath the Thalmori tunic that she wore, and gently touched the tip of her nose, ready to be done with this story.

“How did you get this one?”

“Oh!” Ariana felt the small, faded band of scar tissue on her nose, surprised a bit by the sudden question. “This one. Almost forgot about this one. When I was five, I tried to befriend a skeever that lived in a wooden drain behind the orphanage.” 

Ondolemar was overcome with sudden laughter.

“ Why in the world would you do that? ”

“I was tiny , I didn’t know much of anything. I thought it was cute. I mean, I had been warned about them being aggressive, but I thought if I were nice enough to it, it would be nice back.”

Ondolemar was quite taken with how endearing he found this little tale, and surprised by how well she could remember her thought processes from when she was so young. Then again, that wasn’t that long ago, comparatively speaking… another thought he quickly banished. 

“I had been feeding it some of my dried slaughterfish from the week, trying to gain its trust, and one day I decided to see if it would eat out of my hand. Big mistake, obviously, it went for my nose instead. Grelod heard me scream and came out and… killed it with a gardening hoe that she kept outside--" 

Ariana gasped and suddenly sat upright. 

“What time is it?! Won’t Siriol and Caris be looking for you by now?”

Ondolemar smiled and tugged her back down by her arm.

“Ha, no, don’t worry, I planned for this. Before I dismissed them last night, I gave them orders for the day that required them to be outside the city gates, and was adamant that I wanted to be left alone when they returned , so that I could focus on my reports.”

Ariana, not entirely convinced, was relieved nonetheless, and rested her weight on her elbow to face him, his tunic falling loose over her right shoulder.

“So that tattoo,” He started, gesturing to her exposed shoulder that bore the small, faded black silhouette of a spider, “Does it have any particular meaning?” 

“Oh,” She supposed that she couldn’t be surprised by him asking at this point. She was unsure by how much he had deduced about her by now.

“No, not really.” She lied.

“I think it might,” Ondolemar said, able to see right through her at this moment, “It’s an actual creature, small and personal, not some bold design the Nords and Reachmen wear to appear fierce. Could it be related to your proclivity towards poisoning?”

This was a detail about Ariana she wished she had never shared. He had known her for too long now, and was too smart to not figure it out eventually. 

“Someone I used to… work with used to call me ‘Little Spider' because of my poison talents. And I always kind of liked spiders, anyway.” Ariana knew she always had to sprinkle the truth in when it came to Ondolemar, or else he would never believe her. Perhaps that was too much of a clue.

“Someone,” A small smirk broke along his cheek, "In The Dark Brotherhood, perhaps?”

Yes, it was too much.

Ariana shot back up in bed, staring down at him wildly and tight-lipped.

“Oh, come on ,” Ondolemar sat up a bit, propping himself up on his elbow, smugness never leaving his face, “I’ve suspected for ages now. Someone in town always seemed to die whenever you'd visit.” 

Ariana sat motionless, still glaring at him in her alarm.

“I’m not going to tell anyone, I don’t particularly care.”

Ariana gave him no response, just turned to look over at her dagger that was still resting next to the washbasin she had used the night before. Her eyes were still wide and her breath seemed still. He began to get very nervous, remembering something she had said the night before. Are you sure you want to die naked in an Imperial’s bed? It was beginning to feel like a very real possibility. Ondolemar sat up straight, clinging slightly to the green velvet bedding, holding it firmly across his bare lap.

“I will never mention it to a single soul, I promise .” He stated severely, willing every ounce of seriousness and conviction into his voice. Ariana swiftly faced him once more, her eyes burning into his. 

“Besides,” he added, trying his very best to soften her. “The Thalmor here were absolutely thrilled by your faction managing to eliminate Emperor Titus Mede II. The Emissary threw a private party to celebrate the event.”

To her, that sounded like quite an exaggeration, and she had a hard time believing it. She looked away once again and spoke monotone, without a hint of emotion. “I suppose you’re very welcome.” 

“Ariana--"

“ Not a word,” she spat, staring back.

“ To no one, ” Ondolemar agreed without missing a beat.

“ EVER. I really don’t want to have to kill you.” She grumbled, her brow knitting upward, closing her eyes for a moment. “ I don’t think I could .” She added quietly.

“Oh sure you could . And you should, if I were to ever prove myself that disloyal to you… which I won’t.” He said, somewhat flippantly, any hint of nervousness in his voice now gone. He pulled her over into his chest in a tight embrace from behind, “My dear, I clearly don’t care that you’re Imperial. I don’t care what you are, nor what you do. You ...” He squeezed her firmly, and she cautiously placed a hand on the forearm that was compressing her chest. He whispered in her ear, his hot breath making her spine tingle, “Are mine . ” 

Ondolemar nibbled softly on her ear, her severity fell away, and she melted. Exactly as he intended. The arm across her chest slid down, his hand found his way under the tunic, and his fingers traveled between her legs. Him unburdened by never having touched her, and Ariana, now well-rested, were both eager to now perform for the other their various talents.

Chapter Text

Ondolemar and Ariana spent the first half of the day hidden away together in Vlindrel Hall. Though he had predicted his impulses would be easier to control after the first time they were sated, Ondolemar found it progressively harder to keep his hands off of her. He didn't realize just how much yearned for soft, bare skin against him. He had bedded others periodically throughout the years, but seldom spent prolonged periods of time with them, let alone committed their names to memory. They were often strangers or loose acquaintances, drinking partners and lonely dignitaries. Some were flirted with, some were bought, but all of them served the same, singular purpose: momentary physical release. 

This was different, however. Ariana was someone he deeply enjoyed conversing with, and between their physical sessions, they would lie in bed, holding one another, joking and fake-fighting and telling each other stories. When he held her, something deeply satisfying and natural filled him. It enveloped and inundated him, warming his body and his soul. And for brief moments--for the first time in ages, if not at all--he felt something like happiness; he felt whole. 

If Ondolemar let himself dwell on why he felt that way, however, shame would once again creep back in. If she were truly the reason, it would be all wrong. Ariana, as delightfully intoxicating as her personality and body were to him, was no Mer. Elven supremacy was a belief that had been ingrained in him since he was small and it had molded him. It was something he was certain--as certain as he could be of anything--was true. It was as true as his name, as true as the heart beating in his chest. It was as true as the blood of war. There was only one time this belief started to falter, and that was during the Great War, when the Dominion had suffered such heavy losses against the other, supposedly inferior races. For that brief time, his very identity threatened to dissolve. Ondolemar was nothing without his service to the Dominion, a purpose that had been assigned to him long before he could give one to himself. That feeling was swiftly quelled, however, as he readily indulged in the propaganda that swiftly flowed through their ranks.

He took great effort to keep this all buried, lest his bitter dryness rub off on her.

"Can you show me a Glamour again?" Ondolemar quietly asked Ariana, tracing a finger along her jaw. She frowned slightly, suddenly self-conscious and jumping to wild conclusions.

"Are you trying to tell me I'm not pretty?" She found herself asking, despite being aware of how irrational and abrupt it sounded. 

"Stars, no, don't be ridiculous." He grumbled, eyeing her ears. They were small and round, with only the slightest hint of an angle at the top of the cartilage. "Just the ears for now," he eventually added, "I merely want to see something."

Ariana curled her lip subtly and she narrowed her eyes. There were a hundred other accusations that flooded her mind. With a roll of her eyes and a groan, she resigned, sitting up in the bed. She shook her hands and began to tug on the tops of her ears. She winced as they elongated and pointed. Ariana was able to hold it longer than before, since she didn't have to focus her magicka on her eyes and brow. Ondolemar eyed her, trying his best to study her overall appearance rather than the pained expression on her face.

"Passable," he murmured, "Just barely."

Ariana adjusted her neck with a soft pop, and her ears were rounded once more. Deep down she knew Ondolemar would be intrigued by the possibility of passing her off as a Bosmer, which is why she showed it to him in the first place. But something about it now seemed wrong, and she found herself being offended by the proposal, though she didn't yet understand why.

"It’s painful." She grumbled. Ondolemar looked down at the bedding at thought for a moment.

"It is an Illusion spell, correct?" He asked, trying to choose his words carefully, uncomfortable at the thought of her having reason to be truly cross with him. "Not an Alteration spell?"

"Yes," she sighed, "I know what you're trying to suggest, that it's not supposed to hurt if I'm not literally stretching my ears, and I'm just altering surrounding perception." 

Ondolemar remained silent, taken aback by her accurate assessment of him. 

"But it does hurt." She added. "For an Illusion spell like this to work, you have to believe it, believe it with your whole body. Or else no one around you will."

"And for you," he said, his brows knitting slightly, reaching up to gently stroke the cartilage of her ear, "That requires pain?" 

Ariana, after a second of thought, nodded her head.

"How literal," Ondolemar uttered, removing his fingers from the side of her face and lacing them atop his belly. Ariana shot him a brief, potent glare and he was compelled to clarify. "Just an observation, I don't mean anything by it." 

Ariana tried to stay irritable, and Ondolemar noted it lingering on her face. He sat up in the bed and weaved fingers into the hair on the back of her head, pulling her mouth to his. He kissed her slowly and deeply, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. Only when he felt her tense, angry body relax and shudder, did he pull his lips away. He kept his face near hers and stared into her eyes with the softest expression he could muster.

"As I've already said," Ondolemar whispered, "I do not care what you are. I was just thinking of the practical applications. You are not a Mer…" he lightly brushed her cheek with his thumb, pleased with her now softened expression.

"Nor do I want you to be," he lied.

***

"Are you hungry?" Ariana abruptly asked, halting her story of Ancano and the Eye of Magnus short. She held her stomach, sitting up in the bed. "I have no clue what time it is, but I just realize I've barely eaten in a week. I think it's starting to catch up with me."

Ondolemar had paid no mind to his stomach and its quiet rumblings. There were other parts of his body that demanded his attention that day. But he thought for a moment, sitting up with her, before exiting the bed and pulling on his black trousers.

"Do you think the furnishers gave us any?" Ariana asked, remembering seeing barrels by the fireplace and beginning to dress.

"I highly doubt it," he said flatly, "No food was mentioned, only furniture, cushions, and things like candles and cookware." 

"I only ask because they left me fresh water." Ariana gestured to the pewter pitcher and washbasin on the dresser.

That's because I specifically requested it. Ondolemar remembered her state two nights ago, and shuddered at the thought of seeing her remotely that disheveled again.

"I suppose I should replenish my energy," he said, finally answering her initial question. He smirked and scanned the curves of her body. Ariana scoffed, but he spied the slightest hint of blush on her cheeks as she turned away from him.

"Have to go to the market, then," Ariana said plainly, and removed the old tunic she had just put on. After a moment or two of rummaging in her enchanted satchel, where it still sat in the drawer she had hidden it in, she retrieved dark mage's robes and burgundy sash. Ondolemar silently retrieved his pointed and embellished Thalmori tunic from the floor, and he and Ariana dressed.

"Come with me?" She eventually asked, intentionally knitting her brows up at him. Ondolemar sighed and suppressed an eye roll.

"Ariana, I really don't think that's a good ide--"

"Please?" Ariana was half-tempted to claw at the chest of his tunic as she looked up at him, but knew it would most likely not work. In fact, on him, she was certain it would do the opposite of what she intended. Ondolemar sighed and softly bit the inside of his cheek, looking away from her and at nothing.

"I cannot." He eventually uttered, looking down at her once more, his expression vaguely pained. "And you know why."

"I don't even know what you like, though." 

"Oh, I think you know plenty of what I li--"

"Sithis, you know what I mean." Ariana hissed, her hand once more finding a way to her growling belly. 

"Wait," Ondolemar suddenly said, a quiet, jagged sensation beginning to gnaw at his chest. Despite knowing he couldn't be seen with her doing something so obviously domestic as browsing market stalls, he was struck with the realization that he didn't want her to leave him just yet. Even if it were just for a short amount of time, he dreaded being away from her, and dreaded being alone with himself even more. "You needn't waste your gold. I know you don't have much left on you."

Ondolemar swiftly plucked his robes and hooded mantle from the floor. He organized the articles atop of the bed before starting the process of dressing in them. Ariana, unsure of what he was suggesting, but excited that he was apparently preparing to leave with her, eyed him while she hastily fastened her satchel to her belt. 

"We can procure lunch from the Keep's kitchen." He eventually clarified, momentarily sitting on the mattress to pull on his black and gold boots. He glanced at Ariana who was waiting by the foot of the bed with her hands on her hips. He gave her a small smile over his shoulder and added, "For free."

Ariana forced her excitement to fall and stewed for a moment.

"Do you want to go ahead first? I'll wait here a while before coming so it doesn't look like we're returning together."

Ondolemar recognized this to be a very sensible idea, but the quiet gnawing returned to his chest at the thought of applying it. He quickly tried to figure a safe way to exit Vlindrel Hall together, but couldn't seem to think of one. He would simply have to suffer a few moments alone.

"You needn't wait more than ten minutes." 

Ondolemar left her in the main living area, retrieving his spiked gloves from the small bookshelf just before the entryway. He cautiously peeked out of the Dwemer door before slipping outside. It was, indeed, sometime in the afternoon, and he had to blink as the bright sunlight struck his eyes. Luckily no one seemed to be on the upper stone walkway, save for a lonely guard at the far end. 

Though he was not casting any spell, Ariana's words echoed in the back of his mind as he purposefully began towards the Keep. Believe it with your whole body. Or else no one around you will. And Ondolemar forced the idea that he was returning to his post from a simple, harmless walk. 

He found himself pausing just inside the entrance of the Keep, however, his arms folded and tapping his foot impatiently. After a few minutes, he saw Ariana slowly enter. He subtly flicked his head to the side, indicating for her to follow him. 

"You weren't supposed to wait for me," she hissed up at him, shielding her mouth with a cupped hand, "Kinda defeats the purpose, don't you think?"

Ondolemar's face threatened to contort, but he merely shushed her, and hastened his pace up the stone stairs. It must have been around the Jarl's usual lunch time, because he was luckily absent from his throne. Ariana, finally making it to the top of the stairs since she was unable to skip steps as easily as Ondolemar, saw him briefly turn in the direction of the kitchen, before correcting himself, and ushering her back to his informal office.

"You stay here," he told her in a desperately hushed tone, "I will be back." Ondolemar began to leave, before turning once more, and bending his face near to hers.

"What would you like?" He uttered, his brow knitting slightly in response to his apparent disorder.

"What all is there?" Ariana whispered back, tempted to kiss him in his closeness, if it weren't for her incessantly aching stomach.

"They have just about everything," He murmured, feeling his patience wane, "Everything one could find in this miserable province, that is."  

"Just get me anything, then," Ariana said, her painful stomach eliminating her will to take the time to choose, "I'll let you decide."

Ondolemar exited the Imperial strategy room and softly closed the door behind him. After about twenty minutes, he returned with a large, rectangular wooden platter, piled high with various cheeses, grapes, two apples, and two small loaves of braided bread. A small, steaming teapot hung from his ring finger. Ariana couldn't help but note the single plate, and was both relieved and disappointed by the return of his caution. After placing the food and tea on his desk, he swiftly returned to the door to close and lock it.

"Thank you," Ariana whispered as she took a seat around the corner of the desk from his. 

"You don't have to be so hushed, now." Ondolemar said through a short, breathy laugh. "That door is rather thick." He retrieved two pewter mugs from a messy line of cups and tankards on the shelf that ran along the length of the wall. Before taking his seat, he wiped the inside of them with the pointed front of his tunic, so that they may be free from dust. He glanced at Ariana, who was raising her brows and threatening to chuckle. 

"Forgot to get a cloth," he muttered as he sat. 

Unable to wait any longer, Ariana plucked several purple grapes from the bunch and shoved them into her mouth all at once. Their sourness quickly became apparent and her face threatened to twist, and their texture left a lot to be desired, most likely from having to be in cold storage. But with her sudden salivation, her hunger was more voracious that ever, and she swallowed them eagerly, seeds and all. Ondolemar eyed her as he finished pouring the tea and chuckled softly.

"I know you're starving, b--" he began before stifling a quip about her manners. Ariana shot him a quick, fleeting glare, willing him not to continue. He set her mug in front of her and began on his green apple. 

"So those robes," Ondolemar said once he swallowed, "Are those the same ones you wore when I first met you?"

"I'm surprised you can remember." 

"I remember everything." He said through a tiny smirk, before continuing his chewing.

"Not a cloth," Ariana scoffed, before tearing a rather large chunk off her loaf of bread. Ondolemar started for the cheese before pausing with his brow furrowed.

"Nor a knife, apparently." He grumbled. 

"Oh!" Ariana began to ramble through the satchel on her hip, periodically taking breaks to take bites out of her bread. "Here," She pulled out a small, steel dagger in a plain, leather sheath, and handed it handle first to Ondolemar. He eyed it and raised a brow.

"Whose belly has that been in?" 

"No one's," She said, before being compelled to add, "Well, I mean not for a very long time. It's clean."

Ondolemar accepted the blade and removed it from its stiff leather. After wiping it several times on his outer robes, he began slicing the blue-marbled Eidar. The pair continued to sip their Aldmeri tea and eat from their shared platter. They chatted but about hardly anything in particular. Ondolemar's own hunger waned quickly, and he found himself staring at her lips as she talked, hardly listening to her words. Ariana eventually finished her tea, and when she pulled her mug away he spied a drop of it on her lower lip. He reached to wipe it off with his gloved thumb, but his fingers lingered along her cheek, and his trousers began to tighten. 

Ariana startled slightly as he grabbed her by the forearm, and she dropped her empty pewter mug on the floor with an echoing clatter. He pulled her out of her chair and to him, grasping her around her thigh with his other hand to pull her leg up and over his lap. As his lips met hers, he grasped her rear, greedily pulling her hips into his body. Though she still had to tilt her head upwards, this was a much less awkward kissing position than standing. She settled onto his lap and felt something stiff poke into her, and she knew it not to be his belt buckle. 

Ariana kissed his neck for a moment before impulsively biting it, which was something he reacted to by growling and clawing up at her robes. Quickly finding it impossible to slip his hands down her trousers with the spikes on his wrist, Ondolemar pulled his right hand up to his mouth and bit the tip of his middle finger. He tugged his arm out of it before grabbing it from his teeth and tossing it on the table. Before he could begin on his left, however, Ariana slipped her hand down in front of her, between her legs and into his lap. She stroked it from outside his tunic and trousers and he shuddered. With his still-gloved hand, he gripped the back of her head by her hair and pulled it back, so he may have his mouth on her neck. He snaked his bare fingers down and under the front her robes and bottoms, continuing until he found moisture. She grabbed him firmly then, letting out a short gasp of a moan, which in turn made him bite down firmly where the base of her neck met her shoulder. 

The sharp sinking in Ariana's belly, as well as the aching between her legs, were unbearable at this point. She began to fumble around the straps of his hooded shoulder mantle. Ondolemar broke his mouth away from her as she managed to unbuckle the first of the three. He glanced back at the locked Dwemer door, brows knitting slightly, remembering their location.

"You don't have to undress," She growled, grabbing him by the chin to make him once again face her, "I just want your hood off." Ondolemar resigned and helped her remove it, his caution currently overwhelmed by bodily sensations. Ariana clawed at the back of his neck, pulling his mouth to hers for a moment before eventually standing over his lap. After yanking off his left glove and throwing it behind her, she bent and slid her hands up his tunic. She pulled at his trousers' cord fastenings, which luckily came undone quicker than the night before, and tugged them down to his knees. Ariana then lifted the pointed front of his tunic up and looked down at it. Glancing up for a moment, she saw Ondolemar's eyes burning into hers, his breath trembling and uncontrolled. There was something in that look of his that frightened her, which was something she found utterly exhilarating. 

Ariana bent her head low and slid as much as she could of him into her mouth. Ondolemar's head tilted back as he shuddered and strained, willing himself quiet by painfully biting his bare thumb from its side. The way she worked her tongue near the base made his entire body tingle and temples ache, and after a few moments, he pulled her off his lap and up, bringing her mouth once more to his. As he kissed her, he slipped his hands up the sides of her robes and began to tug down at her trousers. Ariana kicked off one, short worn boot, and pulled one leg out of them before straddling him once more. He grasped her hips and lifted his own briefly before pulling her down on top of him. 

This exact moment was something Ariana had imagined since her very first time stepping into that room. Ondolemar allowed her to maintain her pace as she rocked back and forth on his lap, his fingers digging hungrily into her hips and buttocks from under her robes. Her pace eventually quickened, however, and she found the volume of her gasping moans more and more difficult to control. Ondolemar stopped kissing her for a moment to lick his middle finger. Despite being unable to give it much thought, Ariana wasn't quite sure why he did that… That was, until his hand made its way back underneath the back of her robes. 

Ondolemar paused at its opening, awaiting some sign of approval, lest him immediately proceeding with this idea diminish her fervor. He wanted her to tremble uncontrollably atop him, he wanted to steal the rest of her breath. He had tried this particular thing with other partners who were willing in the past, and the outcome was always satisfying. With one eager and confirming movement of her hips, he slipped the wet tip of his finger into her backside.

Ariana's breath was, indeed, stolen from her then. The sensation seemed to amplify what already overwhelmed her. Arching her back and shuddering, she now had a hard time keeping a rhythmic pace on top of him. She ended up letting out a sharp, desperate, almost whine of a moan. Ondolemar, reminded yet again of their location, placed his other hand firmly over her mouth in an attempt to quiet her. 

This ended up being practically useless, because the sudden, controlling gesture seemed to excite her further. Ondolemar found himself too intoxicated with her pleasure to remove his finger, however. He grabbed her by the back of her neck, and pulled her gasping lips up to the side of his throat, panting, "Bite down so you can be quiet." He pulled back the collar of his tunic and she bit him firmly, stifling her moans. 

It wasn't long after this that Ondolemar finished, but he wasn't completely satisfied. He had, indeed, felt Ariana quake and gasp uncontrollably, but had yet to experience the violent pressure of her own release. He suddenly stood while picking her up by her upper thighs, and set her atop the table. He mindlessly brushed away papers and the now mostly empty wooden platter, before pushing her onto her back by her chest. 

A small, "w-what ar--" was all Ariana managed to utter before he knelt down before her. 

Slightly fearing it had been too long, and that he might be out of practice, he made a conscious effort to match the movement of his tongue with the tension of her body. Her moaning was still soft, and hips only rolled and shifted subtly. With his left hand this time, so as to not spoil her with his right, he slipped two fingers inside of her.

Ondolemar's fingers were big enough to nearly fill her, and that paired with his steady movements of his tongue, she gasped and writhed atop the stone table. Ariana lifted her head to look down at him at one point only to be briefly met with his eyes staring back, before he closed them once more and pushed his face in deeper. She suddenly felt close, and grabbed a nearby leather report journal to bite, still unable to trust her volume. 

It took Ondolemar longer than he expected, and he figured that he was, indeed, out of practice. Hopefully this was something he could remedy through her. In their several, ravenous entanglements over the past 24 hours, he had not known her to fabricate or exaggerate her pleasure. Surely she would be a good partner to hone these skills with.

Ariana's legs trembled and she felt her heart beating between them. He stood, finally pulling up his own trousers before leaning over the table to kiss her deeply. She could taste the both of them on his tongue.

"Sir!" A muffled voice suddenly called from the other side of the door.

They both flinched violently, with Ariana shooting upright and Ondolemar cursing as he whirled. 

"Sir?" Siriol repeated with several, sharp knocks.

Ondolemar screwed up his face, taking a deep breath, trying to prepare a convincingly vehement tone.

"I TOLD YOU TWO I DIDN'T WANT TO BE DISTURBED TODAY!" He roared back at the door. Ariana quickly hopped off the table and pulled her other pants leg up her bare thigh, and returned her old college boot to her foot. 

"I'm terribly sorry, sir! We searched all of Karthwasten but no one knew of the potion you seek!" 

"Stars, how did they make it back so fast?" He violently whispered down at Ariana, who didn't know how to react, her eyes still wide in her alarm.

"DAMN IT, SIRIOL, I TOLD YOU FAILURE WAS NOT AN OPTION!" Ondolemar shouted back at the door. "GO LOOK AGAIN. I DO NOT FOLLOW FLIMSY LEADS!" 

"I--" Siriol began. Ariana thought she heard Caris curse from behind the locked door. "Yes, sir! Though we may not make it back before nightfall!" 

Ondolemar stalked to the door so he could stop shouting quite so loudly.

"I do not care when you come back, as long as you come back with it!" He hissed through the Dwarven metal. "Now leave me to my work!"  

Ondolemar pressed his ear to the door as Caris's tell-tale stomp faded around the corner. He let out a deep, shaky sigh, and turned back to Ariana, who had been silently waiting by his desk holding his hooded shoulder mantle. Something about how he spoke to Siriol was rubbing her the wrong way, despite her understanding his desperation.

"I hope they'll be okay." She said quietly, handing him his shoulder piece. "The road is often treacherous at night." 

"They are perfectly competent warriors, they'll be alright." He said quietly and dismissively. "We will have to wait before we return to Vlindrel Hall. I need to give them time to make it out of the city again, lest they see us."

Ariana found herself strangely satisfied by his anxiety surrounding their discretion. On one hand, it made her somewhat bitter that he would most likely never claim her openly. On the other hand, his panic at them being on the verge of discovery made her realize the power she now wielded. In her head, she knew that was ill and wrong, but in her heart, it was the thing she had wanted for longer than she'd even been fond of him. 

"So what was that potion you guys were going on about?" Ariana asked as she helped Ondolemar tidy his desk. 

"Oh," He said through a sharp, airy laugh, "It was a truth serum for interrogations."

"I've never heard of a potion like that, to be honest, and I've studied alchemy more than anything."

"That's because I made it up." He said plainly behind a smirk.

Ariana stifled laughter and shoved him in the chest.

"You foul bastard," She hissed, before devolving into low, depraved giggling, "If you ever lied to me like that, sending me on some wild goose chase through the night, I'd kill you in your sleep." 

"They are not you." Ondolemar said, straightening one last stack of parchment and portfolios before setting them with the rest on the corner of the table. "Besides," He leaned his head lower to be closer to her, and he placed a still bare hand on her collar and squeezed, his thumb massaging the side of her throat. "I happen to know you like me as a foul bastard."

Ariana shook her head softly with a smile, placing her hand on his.

"That's not going to work on me right now, Ondo, I'm," She briefly glanced at the floor before looking back up at him, letting out a single, quiet chuckle, "Sore and spent."  

"Are you suggesting I will have to wait?" Ondolemar whispered down at her behind an ever-widening smile. She nodded and maintained her tiny smirk. He was, also, sore and spent, and would have to wait some time before he could perform again. He simply took pleasure in having these kinds of exchanges with her.

***

Ondolemar eyed Ariana as she packed. He had only been able to enjoy her company for a few nights before she announced she had to return to her duties. What exactly those duties where, however, she was infuriatingly vague about explaining. 

"Why must you always rush back?" He began.

"I've been away too long now." She curtly replied, before stuffing her freshly laundered and dried tunic into her enchanted satchel.

"Why can you not be gone for very long?"

"Information needs to be exchanged," she grumbled.

"Where will you be?"

"North,"

"Where North?" 

Ariana paused her organizing of her satchel and closed her eyes, inhaling sharply.

"Where it snows year-round," she eventually mumbled.

"How specific," Ondolemar whispered, folding his arms as he sat on the edge of the bed. 

"I cannot tell you, nor anyone, where the Sanctuary is, and I'd expect you of all people to understand that." She hissed, yanking the satchel shut and clasped.

Ondolemar tightened his folded arms and softly bit the inside of his cheek, glaring at her from the side. He found himself surprisingly uncomfortable with not knowing exactly where she would be, if she were not with him. He knew as long as she was in Markarth, he would be able to find her if he applied himself. But her irritation was potent, and he resigned unless he gave her cause to linger before returning to him. 

"Sorry," he quietly managed, folding his arms, "'Tis my investigative nature."

Ariana merely sighed in response but her face seemed to soften. Ondolemar's chest tightened as he watched her fasten the satchel to her double belts.

"How long will you be gone?" He asked in a small voice. Ariana sighed once more and took a seat on the bed next to him. 

"If nothing much happened, three days at the most. If a lot happened…" her voice trailed, his sudden softness making her not want to disappoint him. "I don't know." 

I'll pray that nothing much happened, then. Ondolemar thought, unsure why he was so uncomfortable with saying it aloud. 

Chapter Text

Caris and Siriol eventually returned to Markarth from Karthwasten the following morning, utterly defeated and dreading the severity of the Justiciar's disappointment. 

"I managed to procure it myself," He told them, waving his hand dismissively, "When a new lead made itself known to me after you left." 

He glanced at the pair and noted Caris's furious expression. 

"My apologies," He added flatly, with no warmth in his voice, "For being somewhat disorganized about this matter. I was admittedly impatient for results." 

Caris still fumed silently, and Siriol's face threatened to contort. It was always extremely suspicious when he apologized to them, considering it was a rare and relatively new occurrence. And she couldn't help but feel he was desperately trying to hide something. The two soldiers accepted this without a word of protest, however, and left their commander to himself.

After ten days had passed since Ariana left Ondolemar in the city, he began to really worry. His thoughts were dismal and maddening to be alone with, and he found himself drinking more and more at night so that he might force sleep. His efforts remained fruitless, however. Before she had left, Ondolemar had slept more frequently and soundly than he had in ages, and his body still felt well-rested, despite the exhausting cacophony in his mind.

On the eleventh day, when he finally realized more drink wouldn't help him sleep, and ultimately resulted in irritable headaches throughout the day, he concluded he must do something with his body. When he had adequate privacy, he of course would give himself release, remembering how it felt to be inside her. But this was hardly enough. 

"Sir?" Siriol said to the Justiciar as he purposefully marched from his office and past her and Caris, heading for the stone staircase.

"I'm going for a walk." He numbly replied, gesturing dismissively as he passed. 

Ondolemar found himself all over the city, heading nowhere in particular. He ended up pausing at the decrepit Shrine of Talos, peeking through the entrance should he catch someone inside. His legs begged him to keep moving, however, and he eventually found himself striding past a relatively hidden alchemy shop.

The Hag's Cure, he silently noted, hesitating before the entrance. After a moment of quiet stewing, he entered the shop. He was immediately met with a slim, heavily tattooed, Breton crone, who eyed his uniform suspiciously. 

"There is no one who worships Talos in here." Bothela grumbled. "And I have herbs to mix."

"My dear lady, I am not here for that," Ondolemar coolly said, steadying his breath. "I merely wanted to browse your products." 

Bothela stifled a scoff and folded her arms. 

"What are you looking for?" She muttered.

Something to alleviate anxiety , he initially thought, before dismissing it. Another, more practical idea then came to him. 

"Do you have invisibility potions?" 

"Perhaps," Bothela gruffly whispered up at him, despite Ondolemar being the only customer present. He remembered hearing from Ariana that this particular establishment discreetly provided questionable potions. In civil society, potions that rendered the drinker invisible happened to be one of those.

"That is not an accusation," He said sternly, "I wish to make a purchase."

Letting out a ragged sigh, Bothela let her arms fall and dipped behind her counter. After a few moments of shifting what sounded like crates full of tinkling bottles, she grumbled, "What size?"

"I will admit, I'm not entirely sure." Ondolemar muttered, looking down and his brows subtly furrowing. He thought about the distance between Understone Keep and Vlindrel Hall, ignoring Bothela's impatient huffing. She began placing several, milky bottles of different sizes atop the counter over her head. Eventually she rose, giving the Justiciar a sour look.

"Which one of these will conceal an individual for," He glanced back towards the entrance to make sure no one was coming in, "Roughly five minutes of brisk walking?"

"Depends," She said, maintaining her glare, "That's a long time for a potion like this; how big is the drinker?"

Ondolemar blinked, unsure if he was willing to disclose such a thing. As far as he could tell, he was the tallest person in the city, followed closely only by Aicantar, Calcelmo, and Siriol, in that order. Even the tallest Nords he had noted in Markarth were still, at least, four fingers shorter than himself.

"Someone two fingers short of myself," He attempted, hoping the offset wouldn't make much of a difference, "But ever-so-slightly broader." 

Bothela eyed the Justiciar, quickly assessing his description. She eventually tapped the wax-sealed cork of the largest off-white bottle. 

"How much?" 

"600," The crone replied flatly.

"And how many does that include?"

"It's for one. And the price is firm. They're costly and time-consuming to mix." 

Ondolemar stifled his now visible frustration with a subtle sigh. He retrieved a hefty, jangling coin purse that hung from his belt, as well as a smaller one he kept in one of his deep pockets. He had roughly 5000 septims in total on him and did some quick math in his head. He noted Bothela inspecting the volume of his coin, and her expression was now slightly less hostile.

"How many of that particular size do you have?" He eventually asked.

***

Ariana hesitated before Markarth's entrance, inspecting the attending guard, much to his dismay. He was the same one who watched the intimidating Thalmor escort her back into the city, after she and the Forsworn tore through it. He averted his eyes, unsure why she paused to squint at him in such an accusatory way. 

"Trouble?" He eventually uttered. 

Same accent, but I'm not sure if it's the same voice. Ariana took a step closer and to the side of the guard, trying to spy the bare skin just above his hide bracer. 

"Do you mind if I see your left arm?" 

The guard sighed and lowered his round, green shield for a moment, exposing a freckled and ruddy, blond-haired arm. It's not him.  

Ariana had fumed over that particular guard while she was at the Sanctuary. She was still irritable about having to explain why she was so late returning. It's embarrassing enough for a Dark Brotherhood assassin to gain negative attention from authorities, let alone be unable to escape arrest. She eyed the guard for a second longer before making her way into the city. 

While heading to the Keep, she couldn't help but notice that almost every guard she passed went out of their way to keep distance from her. Ariana then remembered something Jarl Igmund had mentioned when he presented her with Vlindrel Hall, when she asked why the guards just outside were different than usual. 

'Investigation'...

"Ondo!" She nearly shouted, poking her head into the open doorway of the Justiciar's make-shift office, noting him absent from his usual chair. "Ondo?" She entered for a moment to find him missing from the room entirely. She located his soldiers sitting on their usual bench by the smithy. Caris refused to greet Ariana and looked away, unable to conceal her intense repulsion. 

"Siriol," Ariana addressed the taller of the two in a small voice, "Where is--"

"He told us he was going for a walk," Siriol replied coolly, before Caris couldn't help but interject.

"You leave him alone," She hissed, and Ariana couldn't help but take an involuntary step backwards, bewildered. Her mind began to reel with all the possibilities of what exactly Caris meant by that. Did they know? If they did, they would surely disapprove. Or had Ondolemar somehow ordered them to deter her when she returned? Was his attraction that fleeting? Did he grow bored from having to wait almost two weeks when Ariana had initially promised three days? She didn't want to dwell on either possibility.

"Just wanted to ask him something," Ariana grumbled defensively as she walked away.

"AND STAY OUT OF HIS OFFICE!" Caris couldn't help but shout after her. Siriol raised a brow at her partner, filled with questions that she probably already knew the answers to, but would ultimately have to wait until they had privacy. 

Ariana decided to head to her relatively new dwelling to unpack some personal items she had brought from the Sanctuary. On the upper stone walkway of the residential district, she imagined someone let out a short, nervous breath. After turning the key, she glanced behind her, unable to shake the sense she was no longer alone. After entering, she tried to swing the door shut, but it suddenly stopped, and she figured the hinges must have caught. Ariana was still a little spooked from what she tried to convince herself was just the wind outside, and slowly pushed the door closed. The hinges gave no indication of rust, no click nor squeak as they folded. Her heart then stopped, as she swore she heard the breath again, in the form of a short, barely-audible, laugh.

She was suddenly grasped around the waist from behind and screamed, flames erupting briefly from her body. She whirled to see Ondolemar, whose invisibility had broken by his abrupt embrace, towering over her, unable to suppress his laughter.

"What are you DOING, you lunatic?!" Ariana hissed, tempted to slap him. "I could have killed you!"

"Oh come on, was that not exciting?" He said through his ridiculous, stifled laughter. Ariana's face twisted and her eyes widened furiously.

"NO!" She eventually shrieked.

Adorable. Ondolemar eyed her now relatively clean Shrouded Armor, tempted to grab her again. His disposition quickly soured.

"I take it things happened," he said quietly, folding his arms, "At the Sanctuary, I mean."

Though Ariana's heart was still pounding, her outrage quickly drained, and she let out a long, strained sigh. 

"No," she admitted, "Everything was fine when I returned. I just had a lot of explaining to do."

"And it took you a week, more or less, to explain it all?" Ondolemar raised a brow, and his accusing tone made Ariana's heart pound even stronger.

"No," she grumbled, "That ended up only taking an hour or two--"

"Then why in Oblivion did you take so long?" Ondolemar tried to conceal his irritable loneliness, but found himself unable. 

"I, uh," Ariana's voice trailed and she blushed. She had not considered that he might want to spend time with her that didn't involve intercourse, "I was bleeding."

Ondolemar thought for a moment before realizing what she meant. 

"Oh," he eventually uttered, his cheeks and ears flushing subtly. He allowed a small, smug smile and said, "Well, for future reference, don't think that will deter me." 

Finally allowing the relief of her return to course through him, he took her face in his hands and bent to kiss her. Ariana snaked her arms underneath his outer robes and squeezed him around his waist. She felt something hard and rounded filling his left pocket from underneath. Her brows knitted briefly before pulling away, finally registering his words.

"That would be messy, Ondo."

"Our coupling is often messy," he chuckled down at her, "It’s merely a difference in color."

"And a difference in smell," she mumbled, compelled to correct him. GODS, he's incorrigible. Almost as bad as Lubomir. He can't be serious; he's doing this to fluster me.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Ondolemar pulled the relatively large, empty potion bottle from his deep pocket and held it by his chest to present it to her, shooting her a small grin. "Should make my coming here easier. Your influence, completely."

Ariana eyed the large, empty potion, delightfully struck with the fact he would be willing to take on such an expense to be with her. The two made their way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing articles through Vlindrel Hall as they went. 

Ariana noted Ondolemar's persistent breathlessness, and gently stroked the middle of his chest, eager now to tell him her proposition. On her long trip back from Dawnstar, she had fantasized about ways to spend time with him that didn't include the dreary, gray monochrome of the city. Before approaching the gates, she inspected a rather secluded clearing amongst the juniper and fir, obscured from the road by several large, mossy crags. She quickly concluded he would be unwilling, so as not to compromise their discretion. But now that she knew he had the means to be virtually undetectable, the fantasy arose even stronger.

"I want you to go on a picnic with me."

"What?" Ondolemar uttered through a small, breathy laugh. 

"A picnic, just outside the city. I found a well-hidden spot." 

Ondolemar slowly sat upright in the bed, raising a single brow.

"Ariana, I don't th--"

"Damn it, Ondo, I want a change of scenery. Just for a little while. I'm so sick of all the stone." Ariana huffed, leaning towards him and lifting her face to visibly plead.

"I was under the impression you like this city, considering how often you frequent it." 

"Ondo I like you. Even when I didn't have a contract here, I would come to Markarth to see you."  

Ondolemar knew Ariana would take the time to see him whenever she found herself in the city, but couldn't quite fathom that she would make such a long trip for the sole purpose of visiting him. Ariana noted the sudden, pained expression on his face: the twisting of his brows and widening of his eyes, the rigidness of his lips and them threatening to hang open in quiet bewilderment. She silently tried to make sense of it.

"Why?" He eventually uttered. 

"I thought you said my feelings for you have always been obvious." Ariana tried to raise a brow, but never being quite able to manage just one, ended up raising both. It was true that Ondolemar began suspecting very early on that Ariana desired him carnally. But it never once dawned to him it was anything more than that. 

Does she, His brain seemingly vibrated and his mind threatened to collapse in its incomprehension, LOVE me? He wasn't exactly sure he knew what love was. He had never applied that much effort in spending time with a lover, nor even family for that matter. Then again, he had voluntarily put forth a considerable amount of effort in the past few weeks. He had tried to reduce the reason to lust and simple boredom, that he merely delighted in the idea of stirring up despair and dismay for Jarl. Managing to destabilize the region further was always the true, quiet focus of his strategies, but he was bound by their need to be subtle and gradual. Ondolemar admitted to himself that he had been reckless and emotional with his threats to Igmund. Despite his fleeting revelations that his motives were based on Ariana, concerning his actions after she had been imprisoned, he was still making weak attempts at convincing himself otherwise. It would simply be too mortifying and pride-shattering if it were true. 

Ondolemar gulped subtly and bit the inside of his cheek, staring at her.

"Picnic," she insistently repeated, forcing a warm smile. She concluded the look on his face was just continued, paranoid protest, "I brought food and the Reserve. And no one will see us together, especially if you leave under the effects of one of your new potions." 

"I…" his voice trailed and something enormous and intangible seemed to strangle him. "I suppose we... can. If the area is as discreet as you claim." 

Absolutely giddy, Ariana dressed in her red and black leather and rearranged her enchanted satchel, so the food and drink would remain near the top. Ondolemar dressed a little slower, still apprehensive about the whole idea, though to him a change of scenery, no matter how near, was rather enticing. 

"I will have to retrieve another potion from where I've hidden the crate."

"In the Keep?" Ariana paused and panicked slightly. Caris and Siriol already thought him on a long stroll, but she shuddered at the thought of this becoming more complicated than necessary. She wasn't entirely sure of Ondolemar's dynamic with his subordinates, though it was obviously somewhat contentious. She wondered what kind of questions they had the freedom to ask him. 

"Ha, no, just outside, behind the brazier. I'm surprised you didn't notice, being as detail-oriented as you are. I spotted you in the distance well after I left The Hag's Cure and decided to--"

"Be a cretin?" Ariana tried to say plainly, stifled her giggling.

"Surprise you."

Ondolemar had Ariana retrieve the small wooden crate from behind one of the unlit, stone braziers just outside the manor. She counted six potions in all, not including the one he had already consumed, and silently reeled at the apparent cost of it all. 

"Place one of them in your satchel, for our return." Ondolemar muttered, grabbing two bottles and handing her one of them. 

Ariana waited outside Vlindrel Hall with the door open, watching Ondolemar slowly fade away as he drained the milky bottle. Being almost as large as a standard bottle of ale, he made quick work of it. Ariana watched the empty potion float by itself down to the floor. 

"Do not run, but hurry and take me there," she heard him whisper just next to her ear, his hot, anxious breath softly shifting her curls, "Before the effect wears."  

Ariana briskly made her way to the city gates, trying to listen behind her for his seemingly disembodied footfalls. She lingered in the open entrance for a moment, waiting to hear him step out. His visible form slowly began to return as they rushed past the stables.

Ondolemar's panic was now evident in his eyes as Ariana grabbed his hand and tugged him along and off the road. Behind large, jagged boulders and a small fir thicket, he found himself in a small clearing, peppered with blue mountain flowers and short, sparse grass. The aroma of the nearby juniper bushes filled his nose. He savored the scene for a moment before looking down at Ariana with a subtle scowl.

"Never again," he uttered, still trying to steady his breath, "That was too close."

"Oh come on," Ariana laughed, trying to quote him verbatim, "Wasn't that exc--"

"Don't," Ondolemar breathed, before a small chuckle escaped his throat, despite himself.

Ariana laid out her old, gray blanket on the most even part of the clearing. The shade of a nearby fir broke apart the sunlight into a pleasing, dancing pattern on the wool. Out of her satchel, and in the middle of the blanket, she placed a bottle of Black-Briar Reserve, two pewter tankards, a wooden platter, several apples of various colors, a large loaf of bread, a small dinner knife, a quarter wheel of Eidar cheese, and small honey pot. Ariana spied Ondolemar eyeing the bottle of premium mead.

"Go ahead, that's all yours," she smiled and gestured at the Reserve, "I don't feel like drinking today." 

As she watched Ondolemar pour his mead, the guard's face and horrible voice invaded her thoughts once more. 

"Ondo," she began softly, "Why are the guards now different outside of the Jarl's throne room?"

"Those cowards requested a transfer." He uttered, before starting on a yellow and red apple.

"That's what the Jarl said," Ariana's brows furrowed slightly, "'Cowards'?"

Ondolemar paused. Something deep inside of him still wanted to keep the nature of his involvement in the whole thing from her. 

"I did nothing to them," he eventually said, his confession welling in his chest, threatening to erupt entirely. The look on her face was so sincerely soft and bewildered, and he felt as if it would slice him in two.

"Ondo, what did you--" Ariana's voice was suddenly stern, but her expression remained the same.

"I interrogated them." Ondolemar tried to say a-matter-of-factly, attempting to suppress the memory of how he felt that day.

"Why?" She all but whispered. "And why those two?"

"Well," Ondolemar took a deep breath, figuring he must start at the beginning to avoid confounding her further. He simply could not stand seeing that particular look in her eyes, "The morning after your arrest, I spoke with the Jarl, about the guard in question's use of unreasonable force, and my concern. Much later, Siriol and Caris returned with the patrol schedule I had them obtain from the guards' barracks. Turdas's page was missing. That," he paused, letting out a sudden, breathy laugh, "Was utterly ridiculous, because the rest of the week had been identical. Markarth would have a brighter guard if they recruited trolls."

A thousand questions flooded Ariana's mind, but she was unable to choose one to release before Ondolemar continued.

"The missing page was still unnerving, however. No one should have suspected an impending investigation from myself, but I then remembered the two guards posted outside of the throne room. They surely would have heard my conversation with Igmund earlier that morning..." Ondolemar's voice trailed as he realized something. In his apparent emotional discord during that time, he had failed to investigate the actual patrol schedule further. He had initially planned on asking others if they had seen guards leave their posts during certain times throughout that day. He would never skip such a detail, but in his fervent mental sprint, and immediate suspicion of Heart-Drinker and Oakenheart, he simply forgot about it. Ondolemar quickly buried this, trying to tell himself it ultimately didn't matter. He had gotten what he wanted in the end. 

"Anyway," he continued after his brief pause, "Those were the only two who could even begin to suspect my plans. And if they had a hand in discarding said page, no matter how moronic the effort was, it would make them complicit." 

"Did you get anything from them?" Ariana was now listening attentively, forgetting her food. She dismissed her questions for now, engrossed by his recount. 

"Yes and no," Ondolemar uttered through a slight grind of his teeth, "They readily admitted to leaving their posts, the fools , but their individual accounts were surprisingly consistent. Though I cannot properly substantiate it, I suspect one of them is the one that brutalized you with his helmet."

"Wait," Ariana breathed, her questions suddenly returning to her, "How do you know he beat me with his helmet?"

Several hollow, pride-preserving lies entered Ondolemar's mind, as he paused with his lips upon the edge of his tankard. Ariana's reddish-brown eyes bore into him, and in an effort to dismiss the gut churning her look seemed to cause, he resigned with a quiet sigh.

"I…" he softly bit the inside of his cheek as his voice threatened to trail, "Witnessed it." 

Ariana was unable to immediately respond, and she felt something ill and hot rise in her gut. Ondolemar noted the subtle change in her expression. Something about it seemed to intensify and sour, and he deeply regretted not feeding her his lies. 

"I could do nothing," He said, failing to hide his defensiveness in sympathy, "It was over much too quickly." 

Ariana closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. She felt foolish for thinking that he would even be willing to help her in that situation. As he had stated once before, he most likely figured her arrest was justified, at least before he began his…

"Ondo!" She suddenly yelped, making him quietly jolt. "What were the guards' names?"

"Horgondir Oakenheart and Tyr Heart-Drinker,"

"And which one was the one you think beat me?" She leaned in closer to Ondolemar, resting her weight on her palms atop the gray blanket.

"The apparently smarter of the two, Heart-Drinker," he replied plainly, raising a brow and taking a slow sip of his mead. 

"Did you see a jagged, forked scar on his left arm?"

"I didn't note it. I was too busy studying his face."

"Do you know where he's posted now?" Ariana was unable to stifle her violent excitement.

"I do not, but I know what you're thinking," Ondolemar let out a single, soft laugh, glancing down at her from the side, "No matter how delightful I find your bloodlust, that is simply not a good idea. You don't want to give them a valid reason to throw you back in the mine," his tone briefly sobered while he quietly added, "Nor put your head on the block." 

Ariana's face contorted as she now felt herself on the verge of a tantrum. 

"You know that guard visited me while I was in there, right?" Ariana said seriously, willing her childish indignation suppressed by her scheming. Ondolemar lowered his tankard as his eyes widened. 

"What did he do?" He stared down at her now, his mind quickly shifting through several, maddening possibilities. 

"He didn't beat me again, if that's what you're asking," Ariana said, looking down and away from him for a second. She mindlessly placed a hand on the side of her left hip, "He did pierce me with a shiv soaked in magicka poison, though, before I had a chance to defend myself." 

Ondolemar spied where Ariana now guarded her hip, and he remembered it bore a small, relatively new scar. Rage began to well in his chest and he tried to force it down as one would hot sick.

"Did he touch you?" He uttered, his voice threatening to waver. She glanced up at his eyes, struck by their sudden, burning fury. Technically yes, she thought, remembering the guards gloved hand clawing up at her bottom. Though this was the reaction she had hoped for, she was surprised and somewhat intimidated by its apparent intensity.

"No," she said, finally pulling her hand away from above her small, healed wound, "But he was going to. He had me up against a tunnel brace before he was interrupted."

An icy, trembling stone dropped in Ondolemar's gut, and he gulped, willing the violent tremors to remain undetectable on his surface. He had ignored the painful tightening of his teeth around the small bit of cheek he often chewed, but he now tasted blood. 

"What were his mannerisms like?" He asked, still unsure if this guard and Tyr were one in the same, though his intuition screamed otherwise. Ariana's brows furrowed once more as she tried to find the words.

"Infuriatingly casual and full of himself," she eventually answered, unsure if that was the most accurate description, "He called me 'sweetheart' twice, and I think 'darling' another time, though this was all within just a few minutes." Ariana's lip then curled in disgust. "He wanted to make me feel small, I think."

'Sweetheart' , Ondolemar remembered that to be the same, inappropriate pet name he called Caris. His eyes grew wide and his breath fell still. Stars, it IS him.

"I have reason to believe now that Heart-Drinker is that guard. The one that beat you and tried to--" Ondolemar cut himself short, trying to quell the maddening violence the image seemed to instill. "I still have Ogmund's amulet, and it would be a simple task to plant it on him, with your help. I will have to find him first, however." 

Ariana's heart swelled and Ondolemar was caught completely off guard with her sudden, tackling embrace. He fell onto the scraggly grass just outside the edge of her old blanket, spilling the last of his mead as his tankard overturned. He allowed himself to remain where he lied, however, with Ariana's lips now on his.

"You just find him," she said flatly, after abruptly pulling her mouth away, "I want to be the one to kill him."

"There is no need for that," Ondolemar quietly said, gently placing a hand over hers, where it now lied on his chest, "Death would be too good for him, don't you think? The torture masters at Northwatch Keep are exceptionally skilled and... thorough."  

Ariana shook her head and stray curly strands tickled the Justiciar's cheek. 

"No," she eventually declared, "I want to be the one. I want to see him suffer. I want to taste his terror and helplessness. I want to see him despair and quake. I want to make him feel the same way he did me, but a hundred fold. I want to see his crippled form beg and plead pitifully before I send him to the Dread Father."  

Ondolemar bit his lip, admiring Ariana's passionate savagery. But he could not allow this, no matter how happy it would make her. It was simply too risky, and he found himself strangely attached to the concept of savoring the vengeance for himself. This was going to end up being a territorial dispute between the two if he couldn't plan it well enough. He softened his expression and gingerly brushed her hair behind her ear.

"I will find him." He eventually whispered.

Chapter Text

"Yes, sir?" Caris announced unenthusiastically, her resentment for the Justiciar as palatable as ever.

"I need you and your partner to once again go to the barracks." Ondolemar said, refilling his wine. "I require an updated patrol schedule." He turned to look up at her from his seat, and offered her a tiny smile, ignoring her visible loathing. "You may threaten them however you wish."

Caris let out a small sigh and suppressed an eyeroll.

"How far back do you want?" She all but groaned, before catching herself. "Sir."

"Same as before, a week or so at the least." 

Caris gave her commander a short nod, uttering, "Yes, sir," And stifling a scowl, she stalked out of his make-shift office. 

Not five minutes later, Ondolemar heard her shout at someone outside. 

"Why are you suddenly so suspicious of me?!" He then heard Ariana's raised voice as he made his way through the door and around the corner. "Is it because of that joke I played on him? Because if that's all it is, I already told him I was sorry." 

"You're just here to distract him!" Caris growled, small arcs of electricity beginning around her fingers. "You're a detriment to our purpose here, you insufferable, repulsive, Cyrodiilic whore!"

"CARIS!" Ondolemar shouted from the corner, before hastily approaching and grabbing her by the shoulder of her armor, yanking her away. "You forget your manners!" He hissed down at her, releasing her shoulder with a hard shove, unable to fully restrain his violence. Caris clenched her fists and huffed and puffed, averting her eyes from him. 

"I'm sorry, si--"

"Do not even start," he vehemently whispered, "You know Marcellus has become a great asset to me, as she is able to perform tasks well outside of our diplomatic limitations. You will show her at least a modicum of respect."

"Ondo, it's fine," Ariana attempted, unable to hide the horror now evident on her face. Clearly Caris suspected them. And Ondolemar openly defending her in front of his soldier would surely exacerbate the situation. But he ignored Ariana's protest, and bent, tilting his head to force Caris to make eye contact with him.

"Marcellus has alerted me to a Talos-worshipper amongst the guards, which is why I need you to fetch the new schedule. What have you done to further our efforts here lately?"

Caris dared look at him directly then, her lip curling and her own golden eyes ablaze. 

"I have done everything you have asked of me, sir," Caris bitterly sneered, "Without question, of which I now have many."

His face immediately contorted and he swiftly raised a spiked wrist before his soldier.

"Ondolemar!" Ariana's abrupt exclamation made his arm freeze midair, before he had a chance to strike Caris. He stared down at her, dumbfounded by her sudden outrage.

"Marcellus," he began, still holding his arm aloft. Caris eyed Ondolemar's spikes sourly, willing her hands rigid down by her sides, so as not to rip them off his glove. But Ariana's visible disgust only became more intense, with her teeth grinding in a way that rapidly shifted her jaw. He finally lowered his arm and looked back down at Caris, brow furrowing and unable to glare at her directly, as if suddenly contrite. 

"Go find Siriol and fetch the schedule now." He sternly murmured.

"Yes, sir," Caris responded, her mouth seemingly full as if she needed to spit. But Ondolemar paid her no mind. He and Ariana merely stared at each other as Caris stalked down the stone stairs and out of earshot.

"Ariana," Ondolemar whispered, his brows knitting and a lump forming in his throat. She maintained her disgusted scowl, however, her eyes burning up into his. She subtly shook her head.

"Please," he uttered, looking around to make sure there were no prying ears, "You have to understand. I cannot let them get away with any form of insubo--"

"So you're just going to hit her? For speaking words?" Ariana hissed back, grabbing her hips.

"It is appropriate in our chain of comman--"

"We're hard on our initiates, but we never try to make them fear us," Ariana tried to ignore the pained, apologetic look in his eyes, knowing full well the power it seemed to have over her, "It would damage the family bond. Damage camaraderie, which would ultimately harm our efforts." Ariana noted Ondolemar subtly gulp, a display she found pathetic and soft and weak, and it stabbed her in the gut. She could not allow herself to surrender, however; she was genuinely repulsed. Despite always keeping the possibility of Purification in mind, her Dark brothers and sisters were her family, no matter how distant she had been from them lately. Ariana tried to stay emotionally prepared for a day they might have to all be killed, should there be another traitor. But she couldn't bear to think of treating them with such malice in the meantime. 

"No wonder the Thalmor keep having trouble here." She eventually uttered, willing her demeanor to remain ill despite the look on Ondolemar's face threatening to break it. His eyes widened and brows knitted even higher, miserably astonished by her sudden barb.

"Stop giving me that look, damn you." She hissed up at him, her fists clenching, and her irritable resolve on the verge of collapse. 

"Ariana," he began again, keeping his voice low and steady. He was unsure how her anger would affect their time together. She had only been gone three days, as she initially promised the first time, but her absence made him ache all the same. If they had adequate privacy, he would passionately kiss her, knowing it to be the quickest way to squash her temper. But they were miserably exposed in the Keep, especially upon the upper stone walkway, and he couldn't risk even touching her.

"I'm going to go," Ariana finally grumbled, heading for the stairs.

"Wait!" He breathlessly pleaded, unable to fully control his volume. Ariana whirled and tried to remain stern, despite his desperation at the threat of her absence melting her.

"For a little while," she clarified, "I'll be back, but I want to be alone for an hour or two. Just…" she trailed and was unable to hide the soft defeat in her tone, "Be kinder to Caris. I know she doesn't like me, and if I were her, I guess I wouldn't either. She's just looking out for you, I think."

"I don't need her to 'look out' for me. You have no idea how insulting the concept of that is."

"Says the Mer who can't stand to spend more than a few days away from his human…" Ariana said under her breath, glancing to the side as she folded her arms, "Friend."  

Do not reduce yourself to that, Ondolemar thought better than to say aloud, You have no idea what you are to me. Then again, he didn't yet have a decipherable idea either. 

"Two hours at the most," Ariana tried to say seriously, though his persistent and visible pleading was beginning to make her panic, "I'll… stay in the Keep, if that makes you feel better."

"Where in the Keep?" Ondolemar couldn't help himself.

"Ondo, you're pushing it," She uttered, raising her brows. "And I don't know yet. I don't want to argue and I feel like that's what this will become if I don't have some time to think... alone." She knew better than to say, "away from you."

Ondolemar bit the inside of his cheek as he attempted to fix his expression. He straightened and forced his now aching neck aloft, so as to restore something that resembled his usual icy pride. 

"Well Marcellus," his voice was once again cool and deep, suspecting unwanted ears now trained on the two of them, "When you return we shall discuss the matter at hand. I'll have the documents by then and will need to go over them with you, so you can better assist me." 

Ondolemar saw Ariana's face finally soften as she offered him a nod. He couldn't help but stare at her longingly as she descended the stone staircase. He returned to the Imperial strategy room, resisting the impulse to hang his head as he walked. After closing the door behind him, he took his usual seat at his usual stone table. He sighed deeply and retrieved a now unused report journal from under a stack of papers. 

Ariana had allowed him to keep the lock of hair after she had discovered it, telling him something along the lines of, "So you don't forget about me when I'm gone". This alone made Ondolemar question her sanity, but he was ultimately grateful for the gesture, despite the shame and self-repulsion it still seemed to instill.

This is the sort of thing a normal woman would screech at you for, he thought, Fleeing and screaming 'Degenerate! Pervert!' to the authorities… as they should, I suppose. The weft no longer held her tell-tale scent, but he still wound it between his fingers thoughtfully, and was suddenly struck by a childhood memory.

When he was very young on the Isle, perhaps twelve or thirteen, he had gained the awkward attention of an extremely shy, same-aged neighbor. This was a time when his hair was still long and soft, before its texture changed and became unruly. He thought the girl pretty enough, with her big eyes and silky, light auburn hair. It was often worn half up, in gentle but intricate braids. Whoever would tend to her hair would wind and pin a loosened braid at the back of her head in the shape of a rose. Ondolemar couldn't remember the girl's name, but he remembered her frustrating social clumsiness. He would catch her watching him from afar, when he was outside, training with his mace against a worn target or dead tree. But whenever he would try to approach or address her, her eyes would widen and she would run away. 

This sort of silent exchange persisted for a few months, before the girl finally allowed herself to get close to him. 

"I like you," She finally uttered, hugging herself and trying to steel her nerves, "C-can I..."

Ondolemar raised a brow before spying a small knife she held. Surely she wouldn't attack him after expressing her fondness. He tilted his head, impatient for her to continue.

"C-can I-I," the girl repeated, her apparent embarrassment increasing, as her face was now completely flush, "Can I have some of your hair? J-just a little bit. From underneath. It's just… it's so pretty."  

Ondolemar blushed at this sudden compliment, and mindlessly raked his fingers through his wavy, platinum, collar-length tresses. He thought for a moment, letting his mace drag along the ground from his slack grip.

"S-sure," he eventually murmured, gathering a pinky-width segment of hair from his nape and holding it towards her, over his shoulder. The odd girl's sudden excitement warmed him, and he held still as she greedily sawed through the strands. 

"Th-thank you!" She breathed, bolting away before he could even tell her to wait.

When he returned home that evening, he had made the mistake of recounting the bizarre event to his mother.

"You let her do what?" Ardaline hissed, craning over his shoulder and snatching his hair aloft so as to inspect his nape. Her light green eyes were set ablaze as she spied the small, choppy cut. 

"Faelemar!" She shouted over her shoulder to the large, severe, bearded Mer at the other end of the room. He sat in an embroidered armchair, sipping from an ornate, moonstone goblet. "Do you know what your son has done? He let that licentious little insect from across the hill take some of his hair!"  

Ondolemar glanced at his father nervously, still unsure why his mother was so furious. Though the girl's request had been a little strange, it seemed harmless enough. He saw Faelemar slowly rise from his seat with a low, disappointed sigh. Sudden, helpless terror gripped Ondolemar's chest and threatened to steal his breath as he watched his father approach. He flinched violently and averted his eyes as the towering Mer grasped his shoulder with a broad hand. 

"That is downright disgusting , Ondolemar." Faelemar uttered. His deep voice was icy and coarse, and Ondolemar felt as if it were grinding away at his skull like a diamond whetstone. "I expect you to know better than to entertain such degeneracy."  

"W-why is it 'degeneracy'?" He couldn't help but murmur up at his father, brows knitting despite him willing himself to remain strong. If his father detected any weakness in his resolve, he wouldn't hesitate to beat it out of him. 

"Ondolemar!" Faelemar hissed, the grip on his son's shoulder tightening painfully. "You have no sense yet it seems! That girl's motives were obviously perverse. You're often intuitive, but clearly have yet to hone it in a useful way."

"Besides," Ardaline interjected from beside them, folding her arms, "You don't know what kind of potions and spells can be crafted with such a token. She's most likely trying to bewitch you." 

Ondolemar's gut churned as he tried to register their words. Perverse. He had known about sex for several years now, but was still dismally mystified by all the apparent subtext that surrounded it. And it wasn't as if anyone took the time to explain it to him. Regardless, he was dumbfounded by a simple lock of hair being "perverse" to keep. Bewitch you. This was something that hadn't even dawned on him, though he was already well-versed in alchemy and spellcasting, due to his rigorous schooling. But his mother was a shrewd and brilliant woman, and he figured if it were worth mentioning, then it was most likely a very real possibility. Ondolemar tried to suppress his sheepishness, realizing now how foolish and naive he had been. He feared his father's reaction should it be detectable.

"You will not allow such a thing to happen again. Use that brain your mother and I gave you." Faelemar said, swiftly smacking the back of Ondolemar's head, making him silently wince. He then bent so he could meet his son's terrified eyes with his own. "And beware girls who so boldly express their affections. Their motives are rarely what they seem, and they often seek to destroy you."

Ondolemar never saw the girl again.

As he grew older, he managed to dismiss his father's words. The women who were bold with their affections were often easier to bed, and as long as he held no attachment, they would wield no power over him. He knew his parents, as adamantly strict with their lessons as they were, merely wanted him to succeed. 

Look out for me, ha, Ondolemar thought, remembering Ariana's words. He poured another tankard of wine as he awaited her and his soldiers' return, As if I've needed anyone to 'look out' for me in over two centuries. How abysmally patronizing.

***

Ariana found herself lingering just inside the entrance of Understone Keep. She didn't really need the time to ruminate, just time to cool off. And time, of course, to hopefully teach Ondolemar a strong enough lesson. After fifteen minutes or so of meandering throughout that first chamber, she was tempted to return to him. He should be alone in his office now, and despite it having been only three days, her body ached for his touch. 

No, she stopped, rubbing her temples, I said one to two hours. I can't let him think I'm weak.

After a few more moments of stewing, Ariana made her way to where she remembered Calcelmo and Aicantar having been. She was surprised to find the court wizard and his nephew still in the chamber, their work setups almost exactly the same as she remembered. 

Calcelmo was standing over a small stone table, flipping through rough-looking journals with a sour expression. Ariana thought the younger Mer easier to approach.

"Hello there," she greeted the lanky elf with a polite smile, "You're Aicantar, right?" 

The hooded Altmer startled slightly and blinked. He had not heard the Imperial approach, and was not used to people addressing him first. 

"I," he began, trying to find words, "Yes, I'm Calcelmo's nephew. I help him with his research-- Wait, you knew my name?"

"You wouldn't remember me, but I came with Faralda from The College of Winterhold a couple of years back, to purchase books from your uncle. I… wandered off, though, before I could greet you two." Ariana let out a small sigh and glanced at the floor, "That was rude of me, to be honest."

Aicantar stared down at Ariana, unsure yet how to respond. Now that he faced her, she inspected his appearance: He seemed rather young, though she couldn't even begin to guess his age, considering he was Mer. He had thin lips, an almost pinched-looking face, and was very slim, as if he had yet to fill out. If he had been human, Ariana would have guessed him to be about nineteen. Then again, his thinness seemed to be accentuated by his height, which was somewhere between Ondolemar and Siriol's. 

"Faralda…" Aicantar's voice trailed, as he tried his best to recall who that was. "I'm sorry, we've had many from the College visit us over the years, I don't remember."

"Altmer, light, reddish brown hair, often worn up in two sections at her crown, about this tall," Ariana held her hand aloft, nearly a foot above her head, before smirking subtly, "And attractive... (to me at least)." 

"Sorry," Aicantar said, rubbing his chin, "I'm still not sure." 

"When we came together, she would have run off suddenly." Ariana glanced away and chuckled. "I… forgot I was the one carrying the gold to pay your uncle."

Aicantar's eyes widened slightly and he pointed down at Ariana, his social awkwardness fading.

"I think I remember that!" He laughed. "She was so polite with my uncle, then all of a sudden she shouted a name that started with an A, followed by a litany of curses, and bolted out of the chamber." 

"Gods," Ariana giggled incredulously, "Yeah, that A name would have most likely been 'Ari'," she tried to stifle a cackle, pressing her lips together as her face twisted, "Which is short for Ariana, which is me."

"Quiet down over there!" Calcelmo suddenly shouted over his shoulder. "I'm trying to concentrate!"

After a second or two, he glanced over his shoulder again, realizing he had heard another voice apart from his nephew's. He spied a short Imperial woman in red and black studded armor, sporting a sheathless Daedric dagger on her hip. 

"What are you doing here?" Calcelmo asked irritably, marking his place in the field journal with a bit of torn parchment before approaching them. "The excavation site is closed. I don't need any more workers or guards."

Ariana glanced to the side and at nothing in particular, in her confusion.

"Excavation site?"

"Nchuand-Zel?" Calcelmo practically hissed, as if Ariana should have known. "The ruins underneath Markarth?" 

Ariana, ever more bewildered, just blinked up at him.

"The wealth of artifacts I've based two human lifetimes of research on?"

"What research?" Ariana desperately wanted to understand what Calcelmo was talking about, but was a little offended by his indignance. This wasn't anything like the gentle, grandfatherly tone she heard him use with Faralda. 

"You idiot, do you not even know who I am? The most recognized scholar on the Dwemer in all of Tamriel, and you people keep bothering me!" The wizard spat. Ariana got the feeling that his frustration had been building for a while now, and she was merely the last straw. She still found herself beginning to take his tone personally, and her expression conveyed as much.

"I-I," Calcelmo softened in his immediate embarrassment, "I'm sorry, I… got too excited. I'm," he glanced back at the small, stone table, "I'm in the middle of some very," he paused for a second to let out a small sigh, "Stressful work, and I shouldn't have yelled."

"Nor called me an idiot," Ariana uttered under her breath, keeping her arms folded and glancing at the floor. She understood it on a rational level, but was feeling ill and raw.

"Again, I'm sorry," she thought she spied Calcelmo's brows knit from underneath his large hood, "How can I help you?" 

"Oh, I don't need any help." Ariana replied flatly. "I'm… waiting for something and I thought I could pay you two a visit. But you're busy and I don't want to interrupt you--"

"Again, apologies. I've been eaten up by recent hiccups in my research, but feel free to continue speaking with my nephew here." Calcelmo's brows furrowed even more and he left the pair to continue reviewing the field journal.

"Hiccups?" Ariana asked Aicantar, raising her brows.

"Well, for one, there's an unusually large frostbite spider that has taken up residence just inside Nchaund-Zel," he replied. Ariana, for the life of her, had a hard time fathoming how he and his uncle could pronounce that so effortlessly. She was still not confident in her own ability to enunciate the mouthful, and she had already heard it twice now. "She keeps ambushing our workers. We've lost four of them this month, and replacing them is getting costly. They've named her 'Nimhe', and once new hires hear of her, they demand extra coin for the hazard."

Ariana thought for a moment, looking down at the ground and knitting her brow. She still had quite a bit of time to waste, and her resolve to stay away from Ondolemar was waning by the minute. She never liked killing frostbite spiders, being as knowledgeable as she was about them. They only would attack when defending their egg sacs or when hunting. Spitting their venom had a significant biocost, since it took them an incredible amount of time and energy to make more, and they wouldn't do it unless it was crucial for their survival. If this "Nimhe" was denning in the ruins, she was most likely soon to be a mother, and would be driven by instinct to attack anyone who came near. She would also most likely be starving, considering she will not leave to hunt before the eggs hatched. 

"Have you tried offering her food?"

"She's already had plenty of food. Four of our workers in the last month, like I said." 

"Oh, right," Ariana was a bit embarrassed over forgetting that detail. Then again, she had stopped listening as carefully to Aicantar once she heard the words "frostbite spider". "That… is unusually aggressive. Even for a protective mother."

"How did you know she has egg sacs?"

"Only the females den and that's the only time they do it. They're prowling spiders. If you see males in the den with her, they're trying to mate." Ariana softly chuckled. "But they usually just get eaten." 

"You know a lot about frostbite spiders, I take it?" Aicantar offered her a small smile as he looked down at her. "That's really interesting, why do they cover their dens with webbing if they don't use it to hunt?"

"I mean, they use it to help wrap their prey, but not to ensnare them. In dens, it's mostly for detecting intruders. Their tarsus are amazingly sensitive, capable of feeling vibration through their silk from far away."

"Tarsus?"

Ariana let out another low chuckle, "Their feet."  

"How do you know all of this?"

"I… wanted to." Ariana averted her eyes, both flattered and sheepish, suddenly worried about coming off as pretentious. Then again, Aicantar was clearly an academic type, so maybe he wouldn't think ill of her. She allowed herself to elaborate. "Most of what I learned was from experience. Other things, like the words 'tarsus', 'pedipalps', 'cephalothorax', and whatnot, and about how energy-consuming their venom production is, I learned from a book I pretty much stole from at the college library. I ended up buying it from Urag in the end." 

"I'd might like to borrow a book like that. I'm not particularly interested in frostbite spiders," Aicantar visibly shuddered, "But we need to know as much as possible about them, if we want to continue our research here. Any information would help."

Ariana stifled a frown, remembering that particular book's incineration in the Falkreath Sanctuary. 

"I don't have it anymore," she muttered before brightening, "But maybe I can still help? If you think your uncle would be okay with it, that is. I don't particularly like slaying them, but I'm confident in my ability to do so. And I know where to look for hidden egg sacs. A horde of fox-sized spiderlings is the last thing you want at this point."

Aicantar's brows rose and his smile widened.

"Uncle!" He called over to Calcelmo. 

"What?" The older Mer hissed over his shoulder after violently flinching.

"She's willing to take care of Nimhe for you!"

Calcelmo paused and slowly looked up from his field journals, his expression obscured from the side by his wide hood. Instead of using the small, torn piece of parchment, he hastily flipped the book over so the stone beneath it would keep his place.

"Truly?" Calcelmo uttered, suddenly by his nephew and Ariana. She was pleased but a little startled by his abrupt change in demeanor. His excitement was apparent as a wide grin parted his bearded face. His eyes still held some nervousness, however.

"I mean--"

"I-I will pay you!" 

"I would be lying if I said I didn't want you to," Ariana giggled softly, "But I was already going to say yes."

"Fantastic!" Calcelmo breathed, tempted to grasp Ariana's shoulders. His relief was palatable. "Thank you! You have no idea how much this will help if you succeed."

Aicantar and his uncle watched the petite Imperial make her way through the large Dwemer door at the far end of the chamber. Calcelmo sighed and Aicantar shot him an anxious look.

"And what if she doesn't succeed?"

Calcelmo shrugged and sighed again, numb to the horrors that have befallen his workers and guards.

"Then I don't have to pay her."

***

Ondolemar desperately needed to distract himself for the time being. He had already drained an entire bottle of wine, and resisted opening another, knowing full well how close it was to getting out of hand. Ariana and Caris had been gone for at least an hour now, which normally felt like just a moment to wait. But his thoughts bubbled and churned like an angry sea, and he felt as if he would drown in them.

He approached the Jarl's hounds and bent, kneeling on one knee. 

"Hey there," Ondolemar whispered awkwardly, extending his spiked glove towards the friendlier of the two. He still thought that they smelled rancid, but suffered the pungence so that he might have someone other than himself as company. The dog's gray nose began to wiggle before she lazily opened her eyes. As the Justiciar's scent registered, she let out a low snarl and recoiled. Ondolemar snatched his hand away and stood.

"I am not going to," he closed his eyes briefly and inhaled, "Hurt you, you stupid creature. I was going to offer you affection."  

"Sir, they don't understand what you're saying." Siriol said softly, followed by a breathy laugh. Ondolemar startled subtly and turned to see his two soldiers approach. Siriol carried a thin stack of parchment and Caris trailed behind her, still notably irritable.

"Siriol, have you seen Marcellus?" Ondolemar blurted, before trying to recover. "I was going to brief her on the contents of that schedule," he pointed to the papers in Siriol's arms, "And form a plan for acquiring evidence on the alleged heretic."

Caris suddenly turned away from them, but not before Ondolemar noticed her dramatically look up and roll her eyes.

"No, sir, I didn't see her. But I'm sure I heard her in one of the front chambers, speaking with Aicantar."

Ondolemar glanced down, trying to recall the face to go with that name. He slowly scowled.

"That Altmer wizard?" He asked, trying his best to sound casual. "The young one? What were they talking about?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I couldn't make it out but I heard them laughing." Siriol said plainly, thrusting the papers towards her commander. Though she gave Ondolemar no actual indication, something about her tone let him think her patience was dwindling. He accepted the patrol schedule with a short nod and quiet thanks.

Ondolemar mindlessly walked towards his make-shift office, trying to review the schedule as he went. He paused halfway as he scanned the rows: There were no names. He stood in front of the Jarl's throne room, ignoring the awkward clearing of throats from inside. He furiously flipped through each of the seven pages, and was horrified to discover each guard's name had been replaced by a serial number. Stifling panic, he shot his glare up and to the side, towards the now visibly uncomfortable Jarl. Igmund shifted in his throne and let out a strained, anticipatory sigh. Ondolemar growled at him through the open doorway.

"I need to speak to the guard captain this instant."

Chapter Text

Ariana paused just inside the great Dwemer door, trying her best to pull her short hair back. As much as she tried, she couldn't seem to gather it all, and ended up tying half it up, in a short, curly puff of a ponytail at her crown. She retrieved her cowl from her satchel and slipped it over her head, tucking the loose fabric into the leather neckline of her armor. Readying her dagger, she scanned the chamber: Two stone staircases were on either side of her, though where they led seemed to have been long since collapsed. Directly ahead was a large, squared doorway, ominously adorned with an unfurled Dwarven sphere on its top edge. Ariana spied two, empty wooden hand carts, as well as several shovels, which had appeared to be tossed on the ground in haste. She saw no spider's silk, save for the tiny, delicate wisps of ones much smaller, dangling and collecting dust between crags and from the corners of the ceiling. 

Ariana held her breath and tried to listen for the tell-tale scuttling of eight giant, carapaced legs. The place was dead silent. She slowly made her way through the stone frame, carefully and gently managing each step, so that her studded leather boot would not find sudden silk. 

Through the wide passageway, she began to see broad strings of frostbite spider webbing. It slowly became warm and humid, and she heard Dwemer steam pipes hiss and splutter somewhere ahead. The thick air carried with it the characteristic smell of decay, which was sickly and sweet, and not entirely unpleasant to her. Having to take greater care now, so as to not trip a line of silk, Ariana now found herself in another chamber. The walls were covered in thick layers of silk and dust. Old prey, most of which seemed to be in the form of people and skeevers, hung from the walls. She paused just within the chamber, willing her breath silent, as she counted all the giant egg sacs that one could see: Fourteen in total, not counting the ones she was sure were hidden.

She hasn't dropped down yet, Ariana noted, looking up to the thick webs on the ceiling. She thought she spied vague movement of something absolutely massive behind the silk net. I should have just gone back to Ondo.

Before she had time to properly react, she stumbled back, tripping over sticky strands as she tried to keep her footing. The massive spider shook the chamber as she landed, and Ariana ducked behind a stone platform before hurling a fireball at the spider's eye cluster. 

Her pedipalps are huge, Ariana couldn't help but notice. They were unusually long, almost like an extra pair of legs around her fangs. Her shriveled, post-gravid abdomen quivered as she tried to swat away the flames that lingered around her six eyes. Nimhe staggered and spit her venom wildly, though she was now blinded and unable to properly aim. Ariana noted the unusually prominent crest on her cephalothorax. I wonder if she's deformed.

Ariana burned the surrounding silk so as to not alert the giant spider with her movements. Her flames wicked up the webs and burned Nimhe's tarsus, making her stomp about in a panicked circle, a display that stung Ariana in the chest. She had to finish her quickly now. Since the fire was her own, she managed to move through it relatively unscathed, and hastily thrust her dagger into the frostbite spider's head, having to consciously avoid her desperately gnawing fangs. In her disordered sympathy for the beast, Ariana found herself suddenly soaked in venom. The spider quaked and shivered, but before she crumpled, she emptied her remaining reserves onto her killer. Ariana jumped back, shouting curses and trying to shake off the corrosive fluid. She had to stand still for a moment, willing her flame cloak to hopefully evaporate the venom before it could begin to eat away at her leather. 

Ariana stood before the dying frostbite spider, watching as her legs slowly curl beneath her body. Something about it made her sad, despite her knowing it was necessary. After she was sure all the venom had burned off, she wiped the sticky ichor off of her blade against the dead spider's hairy leg. While letting out one last, long sigh, she began working on the egg sacs. 

Though it would be risky, shoving her hand and igniting them from the inside was the best bet at making sure they would burn all the way through. After she destroyed the thirteen of the fourteen she had initially counted, she found five more hidden behind jutting stone and collapsed stairs. There was one left upon the far platform, however, and as she neared it, she noticed yet another large Dwemer door behind a wall of silk. In front of the door lay a relatively fresh body, in full, Imperial-style leather armor. In the middle of his ripped chest piece was a gaping, crusted wound, most likely from one of Nimhe's fangs. Ariana eyed the corpse as she incinerated the last egg sac. In his rigid death, he grasped a crumpled piece of parchment. 

She must not have been terribly hungry yet, Ariana thought, curiosity taking a hold of her. She pried his stiff, cold fingers apart and unfurled and unfolded the paper.

Salonia,

We've been saddled with some researchers who can't go four steps without examining something and they fight about as well as you'd think... probably worse. Stromm at least has some magical competence but none of them can swing a sword. Erj and Krag seem up to something so I'll have to keep an eye on them, but Staubs assures me they're trustworthy.

--Alethius

Alethius , she silently noted, I wonder if Calcelmo knows he's died yet. As Ariana wandered back towards the excavation entrance, she glanced back down at the note.

Stromm, Erj, Krag, Staubs, her brows furrowed and she found herself pausing before the door to the Keep, 'None of them can swing a sword'...

***

"Admand," Ondolemar addressed the Legate, meeting him in his make-shift office.

"Why have you summoned me, Justiciar?" The Breton guard captain's loathing was even more difficult to conceal than the Jarl's.

"I do not know where to find you anymore, it seems," Ondolemar hissed down at him, tightening his already folded arms, "I sent my soldiers to fetch you, but you were absent from the barracks. I have waited for your arrival for almost an hour."

Emmanuel rolled his eyes and shifted in his heavy steel armor, gesturing towards the far end of the Imperial strategy room where his bed used to be.

"You would know exactly where to find me if you hadn't completely ousted me from my--"

"That is neither here nor there, Admand," Ondolemar plucked the first page of the new patrol schedule off of the stone table, and presented it to the guard captain with a flick, "What is the meaning of this?"  

"The duty roster?" Emmanuel flatly said, his raised eyebrows wrinkling his large forehead. 

"Why in Oblivion," Ondolemar hissed, "Are there no names?"  

"Each guard is issued a serial number when they begin their service." Emmanuel blinked slowly and folded his arms.

"That doesn't answer my question! Why were names clearly stated on previous patrol schedules--"

"We call them duty rosters--"

"AND SUDDENLY THEY AREN'T?!" The guard captain's correcting interruption managed to dismantle the rest of Ondolemar's patience, and he fumed down at the Breton. He did not flinch nor even bat an eye at the Justiciar's sudden volume, however, and that made Ondolemar all the more furious.

"Many of the guards," Emmanuel eventually replied, "Expressed concerns over privacy. With so many Forsworn and escaped prisoners on the loose now, they feared vengeance."

Ondolemar bit the inside of his cheek and closed his eyes for a moment, drawing a deep breath. 

"And how," Ondolemar began slowly, through his teeth, "Would feral Reachmen and fugitives possibly be able to acquire a 'duty roster' from your barracks?" 

Emmanuel glared up at Ondolemar, stifling the urge to tell him he was the reason. He wanted to make the Mer feel foolish, but he knew that it would ultimately backfire. He ground his teeth for a moment, trying to form an answer.

"It’s just a precaution." He finally uttered.

"Well," Ondolemar let out an absolutely livid, breathy laugh, "I trust you will be able to provide me with a key."

"We don't have one drawn up currently. The secretary at the barracks, he's in charge of composing the rosters and managing payroll, he's the only one who knows."

"Do you not find that dismally disorganized? What if there is an emergency?" Ondolemar violently whispered, glaring down at Emmanuel.

"We've never had a problem with it before. Everyone knows their number."

"Well when can I have the secretary compose a list for me?"

Emmanuel let his arms unfold and tilted his head, unable to suppress a tiny, smug smile.

"In a week or two, he's off duty at the moment, visiting family."

Ondolemar's face grew hot and he felt ice form in between his fingers. He slowly tilted his head before the Breton, staring into his eyes with seething hatred.

"It is about to BECOME an emergency, if you don't remedy this BEFORE then."

The guard captain scowled up at him, trying his best to match Ondolemar's burning indignation.

"I didn't know you were at liberty to openly threaten a Legionnaire, Justiciar--"

"I threaten whomever I like!" Ondolemar spat before catching himself. His face contorted subtly and he drew a deep, shaky breath. Stars, Ondolemar, you have forgotten the importance of diplomacy. You don't have anything on Admand yet. Nothing to properly persuade him with, and nothing to report to Tullius and Elenwen should he file a grievance. We can wait. It isn't as if time is of the essence. The thought of Tyr pressing Ariana up against the wall of a mineshaft with his body screamed otherwise, however. He barely managed to suppress the maddening visualization and noted the guard captain raising his brows once more.

"I will give you one week. One. " Ondolemar held up his index finger disrespectfully close to the Legate's face. "Send someone to fetch your secretary, if you have to. I will," Ondolemar stifled sick in response to his surrender, "Wait."

***

After Ariana returned to Calcemo and Aicantar, and relayed the troublesome note, Calcelmo thrusted her a rusted Dwarven key.

"Please go see if they're alright." He pleaded. "If something happened to them, I still need their field journals. My research depends on it." 

The Mer's painfully knitted brow and earnest concern softened her, and she accepted the key with a short nod, momentarily forgetting her payment for dispatching Nimhe. She hesitated on the stone bridge to Nchuand-Zel for a second, but quickly figured she could simply collect it when she returned. She liked Calcelmo and Aicantar, and she found herself wanting them to like her back. Ariana made her way back inside the excavation site, and before the silk-obscured Dwemer door. With her dagger, she sliced through the webbing and stepped through, finding the keyhole. She unlocked the door and cautiously entered the ancient, subterranean castle.

***

Ondolemar stewed at his stone table. I could have thought of something better to threaten the guard captain with, he couldn't help but think. He paused with his lips upon his tankard before finally remembering to drink. No, Ondolemar, you were being reasonable by offering him a week. Don't let your desire for vengeance cloud your judgment.

He rested the tankard on the table, still holding it firm, and gently gritted his teeth, staring at a now unused report journal. 

Why do I have such a need for retribution? Why do I see blood at the thought of another trying to touch her? He shakily exhaled and lifted his tankard up to his lips once more. Several answers swam among his thoughts, but he dismissed them, sure that they were foolish and impossible. Territorial, he reasoned and reduced, That is all it is.

"Sir?" Siriol said softly behind him. 

"Yes?" He coolly uttered, both frustrated and relieved by her interrupting his train of thought.

"Caris and I are about to break for our evening meal, sir. Do you require anything from the kitchen?"

"Perh--" he began before fully registering Siriol's words. Evening?!  

"What time is it?" Ondolemar spat over his shoulder. Siriol hesitated before answering, suspecting the reason for his sudden concern. Though he was unable to fully see her face, since he was facing away from her still, she willed her expression to be stone.

"Five thirty, sir," she answered, forcing a deep and emotionless tone. Ondolemar suddenly twisted around in his seat, desperately trying to find some hint of jest on his soldier's face. He could not.

A sharp "hm" escaped his throat as he faced his desk again. He barely managed to keep his initial reaction to this troublesome news beneath the surface, and Siriol shifted awkwardly behind him.

"Do you want anything from the kitchen, sir?" She asked him again, though her voice was deeper now, and held an ounce of coarseness. Her patience was waning.

"No," he muttered, as plainly as he could manage, stewing again, "Thank you. I am not hungry at the moment." 

Siriol quietly left her commander with a quiet, "Yes, sir", and Ondolemar's mind began to shriek at him yet again.

FOUR, He stood and began to pace the Imperial strategy room, aggressively rubbing his jaw and short beard. HOURS! He was then struck with a little detail Siriol had relayed to him earlier that day: '-- Heard them laughing.'

He eyed his messy desk, he stared at the line of tankards and wine bottles on the low stone shelf, he scanned the other table with Admand's old war map. I have to go see if she's still with those wizards.  

Ondolemar quietly slid out of his make-shift office, trying to be aware of where his soldiers were. They weren't at their usual bench by the blacksmith, and he prayed they were already in the kitchen. He simply could not suffer anymore questions. He quickly made his way around the corner, down the stone walkway, and descended the stairs, all the while glancing back to make sure Caris and Siriol were not privy to his movements. 

"Uncle is very busy," Aicantar told the Justiciar, after he purposefully marched into their chamber. His apparent ire was difficult to miss.

"Where is she?" He hissed at the younger Altmer. He stared directly into Aicantar's nervous eyes, trying his best to be imposing.

"She?" Aicantar furrowed his brow, avoiding Ondolemar's glare. This was a most interesting, albeit uncomfortable, turn of events. "You mean that Imperial who's helping us with Calcelmo's research?"

Ondolemar's face contorted for a brief moment, before he forced it to relax and become icy. 

"She's helping you, is she?" He tilted his head slightly, an ill smile threatening to bend his lips. "Well, she is supposed to be assisting me , currently, with an investigation." 

"Helping you?" Though it was unexpected, something about the Justiciar's sudden low and cold tone made Aicantar feel he was furious. He nervously glanced at his uncle to find he was silently eyeing the tall pair over his shoulder. As he pleaded to his Calcelmo with his eyes, he couldn't help but murmur, "But she seems so nice."

"Where," Ondolemar continued, now through his teeth, "Is she?"

"Inside Nchaund-Zel," Calcelmo suddenly answered beside them, "She is doing me a great favor by retrieving field journals from my workers. I fear something may have happened to them."

"And you don't think that, perhaps, something also might happen to her in there?" Ondolemar glared at Calcelmo now, the coolness in his voice threatening to waver. "In case you haven't noticed, she is Bosmer sized, but unfortunately lacks the competent blood of one."

Calcelmo scowled at him then, folding his arms. He deeply understood the Thalmor's hatred of Talos, especially as a god, but could never reconcile their apparent and irrational disdain for nonMer races. 

"She's petite, I'll admit," the wizard narrowed his eyes and tried his best to remain calm, "But she was able to kill a massive frostbite spider that's been giving us considerable trouble for a while. All by herself, no less, and without injury." 

Of course she did, Ondolemar's inner voice groaned, She's always going on about those wretched beasts. He couldn't help but pause, however, mildly confused by the thought of her killing one. Still, his sharp, apparent jealousy at Ariana giving her time to Calcelmo and Aicantar, and not to him, sliced away. 

"I'm going in to find her then." Ondolemar stated plainly, before starting for the stone bridge.

"I have not given you permission to enter my excavation site!" Calcelmo yelled after him, eyes wide and irate. Ondolemar whirled and took a few steps back towards the wizard.

"I don't need permission from anyone," He hissed, something white and grainy beginning to subtly dance around his fingers, "To go anywhere in this wretched Keep!"

Calcelmo noted the Justiciar's warning frost and glared at him, his chest rising and falling as he forced deep, even breaths. If he had been younger, he was sure he could take him, but he ultimately resigned. He gave a quick nod of his head towards the great Dwemer door before remembering to clarify.

"Touch nothing!" He hissed at the Justiciar, raising a rigid index finger. 

"I will leave it the same as I found it," Ondolemar replied through his teeth, disgust beginning to subtly sour his face, "I will touch none of your precious Dwarven artifacts. My only concern is retrieving her."  

Retrieving what is mine, he silently clarified.

Calcelmo and his nephew quietly watched the Justiciar enter Nchuand-Zel, and once he was sure he could no longer hear him, Aicantar let out a long, strained sigh.

"Yikes," he whispered.

Ondolemar found his way through the excavation site, silently cursing the dust invading his nose. He arrived in a chamber that was covered in haphazard silk, with the imposing corpse of a large frostbite spider curled up in the middle. He wasn't surprised to see numerous scorch marks along the floor. He cautiously entered the unlocked, Dwemer door at the far end.

As he meandered through the dank ruins, he took great care in making his step light and his ears vigilant. He let his effort fall slightly, once he began to see bloody streaks on the floor. A particular line of it ran directly into a lacerated, pallid corpse with pointed ears. Ondolemar nudged the body over by his pointed boot and was astonished to find eyes missing from their face. Falmer, he realized, Stars, I thought they never ventured this close to the surface.  

***

Ariana was deeply grateful she had an ample supply of potions on her. The Falmer were numerous and unrelenting, and were often in groups of three or more. Her only saving grace was their blindness. Though her capacity for stealth was better than most, her barely audible footfalls seemed to alert every Falmer she approached, which in turn, caused even more to come and attack. She was down to three healing potions now, and only one magicka potion.

She was exhausted.

Ariana still managed to find Calcemo's missing researchers, who were, of course, all slain at the hands of the Falmer. When able, she would duck away into a small room, or behind a pillar or secluded platform, to review their field journals. As the small team went deeper into Nchuand-Zel, they quickly realized they were not alone. They died trying to reactivate the underground fortress's automated defenses. Ariana then realized she had not run into a single Dwarven spider nor sphere. 

No wonder there are so many Falmer in here.  

As much as she dreaded fighting the automations on her long trek back to the excavation site, she figured it would be much more pleasant than trying to defend herself against Falmer. Like her, they readily used poisons on their blades and arrows. Unlike her, their poisons were often weak and ineffective, but they stung all the same. 

Ariana approached the area indicated in the journals, a room where the activation switch may be. She heard feral, guttural mumblings from where she hid just outside. She silently counted to six, twelve times.

Luckily for her, the room hummed with rotating gears and steam, and she managed to use the white noise to her advantage. She slowly approached the crouched, pale creature from behind. She continued to count in her head as she took each agonizingly slow step. With one swift, determined motion, she grasped the Falmer around its shoulders and neck, and dragged her serrated blade deeply across its throat. It whirled and screeched, desperately grasping at its gushing wound. But before its wild swinging blade could meet Ariana's body, she subdued it completely with a sudden burst of flame. 

After she was sure there were no more Falmer around to contend with, she reached for the ancient Dwemer switch. It wouldn't budge at first, seemingly stuck with eras full of dust, but finally flipped once she applied more strength. All of a sudden, she heard a cacophony of gears and hissing steam from throughout the ruin.

She silently followed her steps back through a sloping hallway and through the door that lead to the main, connecting chamber. Upon one of the stone towers, she saw a Dwarven sphere engaging an individual Falmer. She ascended one of the railless slopes, taking great care not to look over the edge as she went. She had only spent a short time in this particular chamber of Nchuand-Zel, and she deeply hated it, but not for the Falmer, nor the stinking, stagnant water that inundated its lower level. There is an unnecessary amount of heights involved here. The Dwemer were supposedly brilliant engineers and architects, yet they couldn't include stone railings to go with their ramps? She willed her gut not to sink as she made it to the top of her intended tower. They probably used wooden ones, she tried to reason, Or rope. I suppose they didn't really bet on disappearing and being unable to maintain their infrastructure.

Ariana had been so deep in thought as she passed through another door towards her exit, that she failed to notice a Dwarven sphere unfurl beside her. She heard its rattling wheel roll, however, but before she could fully draw her blade, the automation was struck perfectly in its gears with a long, steaming ice spike. It was then blasted with a miniature, torrential blizzard from somewhere behind her. She whirled and spied Ondolemar up the inclining stone hall.

"What," she hissed before shrieking, "ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" 

"TWO HOURS, Ariana!" He shouted back at her. "You said TWO HOURS. It has been OVER FOUR!"  

"That doesn't answer by question, you nutcase!" She tore off her cowl.

Ondolemar was usually unperturbed by her fleeting insults, considering them to be just a part of her wild personality. But in this instance, it stung.

"The last time you were unexpectedly gone for more than a few hours you were falsely imprisoned." He growled as they neared each other. He eyed Ariana as she thrust her cowl into her satchel. "Forgive me for being a little concerned."  

"Once you knew I was in here, why would you think I would be arrested again?" She spat, grasping her hips and scowling up at him.

"That," Ondolemar let out an ill, absolutely livid chuckle, "Is just an example of one of the many horrible things that can happen to you should you get distracted."

Though his concern over her wellbeing was endearing, Ariana was offended by what his particular choice of words seemed to suggest. Her eyes narrowed as she continued to glare up at him. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, hesitating as she chose her retort.

"Besides," he continued quietly, folding his arms to match hers. He averted his eyes and stared at a nearby steam pipe, softly biting the inside of his cheek, "I was told you were heard speaking with Aicantar."

Ariana's face screwed up as she suppressed her laughter behind tight lips. Her folded arms loosened slightly.

"Ondo, are you j--?"

Her words were interrupted by a sudden crack of electricity, along with Ondolemar grunting in alarm. He shot an ice spike at something barely visible behind his robes and scowled down at it over his shoulder. He then took several, panicked steps backwards, remembering that Dwarven spiders often explode in arcing lightning upon short-circuiting. He tripped slightly on his long robes with his retreat, and stumbled awkwardly before forcing himself up upright and rigid. Ariana could suppress her incredulous laughter no longer.

"Oh ' ha ha', yes, absolutely hilarious," he uttered, shooting her an icy glare, "Gods forbid I put my own neck on the line for you."  

"That seems like a bit of an exaggeration, don't you think?" Ariana strode towards him and gestured down the hall and the fresh Falmer blood that stained it. "Kinda took care of all the dangers in here… save for a few automations, that, to be fair, were all inert before I activated them." 

She took Ondolemar's gloved hand in hers and laced her fingers between his. His first instinct was to snatch his hand away, but he allowed it to remain in hers as he softened. Ariana stepped directly in front of him, pressed her body into his, and stood as high as she could manage on her toes. She reached up to his face with her free hand and gave his cheek a gentle stroke downward, indicating she wanted him to bend. After a short, irritable pause, he obliged, and their lips found each other. But Ondolemar's kiss wasn't as passionate as she was hoping, nor as she was used to it being. Fearing him truly angry with her, she slipped a hand down and behind where his robes parted, just under his belt buckle. There, she gently squeezed. 

Ariana was pleased when Ondolemar kissed her harder then, and he hungrily clawed up at her waist and bottom. Her feet threatened to leave the ground, and she pulled her hand away from where he was now stiff and throbbing, grabbing his shoulders. She leapt up and wrapped her legs around his waist, and she was instantly thrust, somewhat painfully, up against a stone wall. Though this was a rather comfortable kissing position for him, his sinking blood compelled him to lower her. He had to bend his neck once again to keep his mouth on hers, but their hips now met. Ariana felt it press into her through his trousers and tunic, between her spread legs. 

The sharp belly sinking overwhelmed her then, and she shifted her hips in an up and down motion against him, letting out a quiet, breathless moan. She fumbled with the buckles on his hooded shoulder mantle and after she unfastened the first, she paused before working on the second. She remembered just how difficult it was to get out of her Shrouded Armor. 

Ariana suddenly pulled her mouth away from Ondolemar's, frowning in her frustration. He buried his face in her neck then, kissing it before suddenly biting. Ariana's eyes fluttered briefly as she tilted her head back and gasped, trying to yank her head away so as to not completely lose control. 

"What's the matter?" He whispered in her ear through an audible smile. He licked the length of her cartilage before nibbling. "Are you afraid of another sphere or worker surprising us?"  

"Yes," she tried to say flatly, though her knitting brows and aroused breathlessness betrayed her. Ondolemar let out a soft, airy chuckle into her neck, and pulled her hips harder into his own. 

"We are all alone," he continued, willing her to melt against him, "And don't you find the possibility of being attacked by an automation exci--"

"No!" Ariana hissed, managing to quell her carnal desires for the moment. She shimmied from where Ondolemar held her against the wall, and he allowed her to softly drop to her feet before him.

"What's with you and things needing to be 'exciting' anyway?" She tried to scowl up at him, but the confused affront in his eyes made it difficult. "You craz--"

"I do not appreciate your continued jabs at my stability, Ar-i-a-na." Ondolemar suddenly spat. His eyes were wide and vehement, though his noticeable physical arousal had yet to disappear. "It’s beginning to get old, especially coming from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked, glaring up at him and digging her fists into her hips. She already knew the answer, and though she didn't really blame him for that assessment, she wanted to see if he was bold enough to say it outright. Ondolemar pinched the upper bridge of his nose and sighed as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"You think me insane." Ariana eventually uttered, unable to wait for his response any longer. He let out another deep sigh and yanked his fingers from between his eyes. His gaze was softer than she was expecting. 

"Perhaps," he quietly said, before his voice warmed and deepened, "But if you truly are, I will just add it to the ever-increasing list of things I adore about you." 

Ariana's sour look fell away, and her brows knitted, astonished by this sudden, though admittedly bizarre, praise. Ondolemar wasn't entirely sure he was being truthful, but he was pleased to see her irritation seemingly disappear. He cautiously cupped her cheeks in his hands and bent so his lips could softly meet hers. 

The pair left the ruins and excavation site together, luckily running into no more automated constructs on the way. They made their way about ten feet across the stone bridge of the wizards' chamber before Ondolemar remembered his hand still intertwined with hers. Ariana apparently remembered at the same time, and her eyes widened briefly in panic before they tore their hands apart simultaneously. Ariana let out a low, breathy laugh in her nervousness, glancing at the court wizard from the bridge. She thought she spied Calcelmo looking at them, and prayed he didn't note anything one might consider strange. 

Ondolemar strode passed the wizards, heading for the Keep's front chamber, only to pause and whirl, finding Ariana had apparently approached Calcelmo instead. He eyed her impatiently as she exchanged hushed words with the older Mer, eventually pulling out several small leather journals and presenting them to him. Ondolemar then noted the wizard's gleeful astonishment in response to something Ariana quietly said. He softly bit the inside of his cheek and began involuntarily tapping his foot, staring at them. Calcelmo then produced a medium-sized bag of coin and offered it to Ariana, who seemed to thank him enthusiastically. 

"Of course there was gold involved," he whispered down at her as she returned to him near the entrance of the chamber. He glanced back up at Calcelmo and was slightly taken aback by how the older Mer now glared at him directly. Ariana sighed and shoved the coin purse deep into her enchanted satchel.

"There often is," she grumbled.

"It is," Ondolemar paused for a moment as they made their way through the squared connecting hallway, "Understandable, really. I just sometimes wish you weren't so easily swayed by the thought of a pile of gleaming septims." 

"It’s just practical." She uttered up at him as they ascended the stone staircase together. "I get the feeling you don't know what it's like to have nothing."

"My upbringing was admittedly," He briefly chewed his usual bit of cheek again, "Affluent. But that does not mean it was easy."  

"I never said it was," Ariana whispered flatly, giving a short nod to Caris and Siriol as they passed the smithy, "You just didn't have to want for basic necessities, like food, soap, or a large enough blanket." 

I never enjoyed warmth, he thought better than to say aloud, knowing full well she had lacked that, too. His brows furrowed as he ushered her into the Imperial strategy room, closing and locking the door behind them. Despite feeling as if her childhood was much less pleasant than his, at least on the surface, he still envied her escape from it. He envied her ability to make and mold herself while she was still young. He envied what he thought to be her sheer, unbridled freedom. He dragged a spare chair to his stone table before taking his usual seat. 

"So Calcelmo said you were waiting for me to assist you?" Ariana asked as she sat in the chair Ondolemar provided her, her excitement mounting. "Did you manage to get the new patrol schedule?"

Ondolemar shook his head solemnly, still stewing about their apparently miserable upbringings. How she was able to dismiss such a subject so quickly, after it had been mentioned, was beyond him. 

"We have to wait a week," he eventually answered, remembering to pour his wine. He offered her a tankard out of habit, despite knowing she would refuse it, "They've switched to a system that only uses serial numbers, and the only one who can draw up a key for me is currently enjoying respite."  

Ariana thought for a moment, resisting the urge to shout in her frustration. She licked her teeth and glanced up and to the side at nothing, her mouth fused shut.

"Do you think they suddenly switched to that system because of you?" She eventually asked, stifling her irritation with concern. "Because of you questioning those guards?"

"I suspected that at first," Ondolemar sighed, resting his tankard on the stone and glancing at her, "But the guard captain made a somewhat valid point about Forsworn and fugitives, and I'm not entirely certain."

He noted Ariana's now raised brows and loosely folded arms.

"Oh, I still think it's a driving factor, but it may not be the only one. It's not as if Admand will readily admit it, anyway. He's not that stupid."

"So…" Ariana's voice trailed and a small smirk bent along her lips, "Why did we come back here then? If there was nothing in here you needed to run by me." 

She leaned towards him, snaking her hand up his thigh. A tiny smirk broke along Ondolemar's face then, to match hers. He glanced at his chest in the far corner, more than ready to retrieve one of the potions he had hidden inside. His smile slowly widened as he placed his hand over hers, guiding it where he wanted it.

"Habit," he whispered.

Chapter Text

Ondolemar was sure the Markarth guards and their captain were purposefully tormenting him at this point. He had waited the aforementioned week, but was then struck by the news of the secretary suddenly ill, and unable to return in a timely fashion. This was such an obvious lie and diversion that it took all of his willpower not to strangle Admand on the spot. But the guard captain being an Imperial Legate made impulsive threats risky, and it was absolute agony to hold his poisoned tongue.

"I will personally purchase potions of cure disease for the secretary." The Justiciar eventually attempted.

The guard captain shook his head, and maintained his folded arms as he leaned against the unused stone table. 

"You know full well there are many illnesses that those mixtures won't cure. They just take time." Emmanuel plainly stated. "His family said he just needed prolonged bed rest, and that's exactly what we're going to allow him to receive."

Ondolemar painfully chewed the inside of his cheek as he briefly looked up and away from the Breton. He held his head stationary, though it threatened to shake. He grasped his hips and finally looked back down at Emmanuel, once he was sure he could control himself.

"Is the secretary so ill he is unable to hold a quill, then?" He managed coolly.

"I didn't feel right to ask, so we will assume as much." 

Ondolemar inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. He imagined the bent points of his Elven mace meeting with the guard captain's face.

"I know you are getting impatient, Justiciar," Emmanuel said in response to his quiet fury, "But a week or two more shouldn't be too long to wait... Though I am now tempted to ask why you're so eager to know where my individual guards are posted."

"That is clas--"

"Yes, yes, I figured that was sensitive information." Emmanuel let his arms fall and briefly rubbed his balding head. "I'm assuming you suspect a Talos-worshiper in our midst."

"As I always."

"I know I won't be able to convince you of this, but I know for certain there are none. Each Markarth guard has been thoroughly vetted by the Legion, and Talos worship, as dictated by the treaty, is strictly forbidden." 

'Thoroughly vetted', ha, Ondolemar bit the inside of his cheek again and looked at the wall, shaking his head subtly, Unable to detect impulsive inclinations, corruption, and would-be rapists. Unable to filter honorable individuals from sociopaths. Ondolemar still thought heresy pervasive throughout the guard, since their demographic seemed to be half Nordic. Despite this, before Ariana had been imprisoned, he wouldn't bother to involve himself in their affairs. And he figured the guard captain was suspicious of this recent interest, and found himself unwilling to press the matter as harshly as he would with the Jarl. He didn't want to validate whatever Emmanuel was thinking. 

Stars, Ondolemar, don't get hung up on acquiring this one piece of information, he reasoned with himself, We can still look for the bastard. Ariana is aware of certain, visible details about him, and we both can recognize his voice. It will just take effort and discretion.  

"Very well, Admand," Ondolemar coolly uttered, now relatively calm from his rapid internal rationalization, "I am nothing if not reasonable. I wish the secretary a speedy recovery and will be pleased when I can finally meet the fellow."

***

Ariana stopped by Vlindrel Hall before making her way to Understone Keep. She wanted to change from her Shrouded Armor into her mage's robes, plotting before visiting him. She threw her enchanted satchel on her bed after retrieving the robes from it, and began to hastily tear off her leather. She cursed her apparent impatience as the armor kept snagging on her, resisting her vigorous tugging. She kept forgetting some of the smaller clasps and ties. 

Calm down, she tried to advise herself, He's most likely working now anyway. You're just going to frustrate yourself again.

After she managed to get out of her Shrouded Armor, she rolled it into a hasty wad before shoving it into a nearby drawer. She quickly dressed in her college trousers and enchanted robes, failing to pace herself. She began to exit her bedroom before remembering her boots and satchel.

Be PATIENT, Ari! Her mind screamed. She took a deep breath while closing her eyes before fastening her enchanted satchel to her belt.

After she was fully dressed, she rushed, yet again, out of the front door, slamming it behind her.

Ariana paused just inside the Keep's entryway, forcing deep, even breaths. She glanced to the left, remembering Calcelmo and Aicantar. She decided to pay them a visit before Ondolemar knew she had arrived. It was an attempt to further quiet her anxious aching, if nothing else.

"Why hello, Ariana," Calcelmo greeted her warmly, "I'm sorry I didn't get to properly thank you last week, I got the feeling you were being rushed."  

Ariana shifted awkwardly after she took a seat on a long stone bench. 

"There's no need for anymore thanks," she finally managed in a forced, nonchalant tone, "It was my pleasure, really." 

"I'm surprised such a nice girl like you would associate with someone like that." Calcelmo continued, ignoring her deflection. Ariana paused again, her heart beginning to race as she tried to find cautious words.

"He's not all that bad," Ariana couldn't help but say. She offered the Mer a small, slow smirk and whispered, "And I'm not all that 'nice', myself."

"I won't pretend to know the intricacies of your mind and motives," Calcelmo replied, glancing at her for a moment, before returning to his many field journals, "But you've already shown me you are kind. Just as he has shown me who he is, from the very first day he arrived here."

"Oh, he doesn't show anybody who he is," she blurted, growing increasingly uncomfortable with this conversation. If she had known Calcelmo would start speaking about the Justiciar outright, she would have skipped this visit.

"You think you know him pretty well, then?" Calcelmo paused once again and turned to face Ariana, offering her a slightly raised brow and concerned eyes. "Don't be so quick to dismiss first impressions, my dear. They're often very telling." 

Ariana silently dismissed this sentiment, disagreeing with the wizard's first impression of her, at the very least. His assessment of Ondolemar was a little more understandable, though she still felt it was inaccurate. 

"I'll keep that in mind, Calcelmo," she resigned, wanting to be done with this conversation, "Thank you for your advice. Makes me wish you were my uncle." She chuckled softly and glanced over at Aicantar, who was bent over the enchanting table, periodically whispering curses. 

As Ariana rose to leave, Calcelmo suddenly approached her with pleading on his brow.

"I…" his voice trailed and Ariana thought he could see a hint of blush forming on his cheeks, "I know you're going up there anyway, to the upper level, and I was wondering…"

"Yes?" Ariana asked him through a small smile, amused by his unexpected bashfulness.

"If you wouldn't mind delivering something for me?"

"You're really busy today, huh?"

"Not as much as usual, I just…" Ariana saw Calcelmo's face slowly shift from yellow to orange to almost scarlet. "I'm too nervous to give it to her directly." He produced a thin leather-bound journal from his robe pocket, and hesitated before handing it to her.

"Please, don't read it yourself," he whispered, "I'm… embarrassed."

Ariana, struck with intrigue, was tempted to snatch the book from his hands, but remembered her manners.

"You know that makes me want to read it even more, right?" She plainly said, resting loosely balled fists on her hips and raising her brows. 

Aicantar decided to chime in as he left his frustrating enchanting station and approached them.

"Oh, you're having her deliver the thing to Faleen then?"

"Yes, since you won't do it for me." Calcelmo hissed at his nephew, now thrusting the thin journal towards Ariana, who readily accepted it. She resisted the urge to immediately unfasten its clasp.

"That's because I still think you should give it to her yourself."

"You say that as if you've ever been capable of such a thing. You're much more awkward about these things than me."  

Aicantar let out a low, sharp laugh.

"Fair point," he said, rubbing his chin, "But you're so much older than I, and should be a little less of a coward about it." 

"The terror of pouring your heart out to someone knows no age, boy."

Ariana found their mild bickering extremely amusing, and was a little slow at understanding the nuance.

"Wait," she said suddenly, holding the journal against her chest, "Calcelmo, are you… in love with the housecarl?"

The older Mer froze and stared down at her sheepishly, his blush returning to his cheeks in full force. Ariana thought it looked like his face might explode.

"She's all he ever talks about," Aicantar whispered to Ariana, bending and shielding his mischievous chuckling with a cupped hand. "When he's not going on about artifacts and dead languages, anyway."  

Calcelmo raised a hand above his nephew's shoulder and subtly clawed at the air, resisting the urge to slap him. He let out a strained sigh and forced his shoulders to relax. 

"Just," he began, his face burning, gesturing to the thin book in Ariana's hand, "Please give that to her. I will pay you for this favor if it's too much trouble." 

Ariana waved her hand dismissively and offered the wizard a small, warm smile.

"It would be my pleasure." She softly told him, before marching out of the chamber.

As she made it to the top of the stairs with Calcelmo's book held against her chest, Ondolemar was beginning to walk past, presumably on his way to the kitchen. He froze and suppressed the urge to grin at her sudden arrival.

"Marcellus," he scanned her attire and gave a short nod back in the direction of his make-shift office. His face betrayed their lack of privacy with a tiny smirk.

Ariana smirked back but held up an index finger.

"Hold on, I have to give something to the Faleen." 

Ondolemar let out a quiet, restrained, but frustrated sigh.

"The housecarl?" He uttered after fully registering her words.

"Yes, I need to give her something." Ariana repeated gently, before approaching the throne room.

"Your grace," she addressed the Jarl, "May I have a word with Faleen here?"

Igmund flicked his head towards his housecarl, indicating his permission. He maintained his gaze on the Justiciar just outside, however, willing him not to enter.

"Faleen, right?" Ariana addressed the tall, armored Redguard.

"Yes?" She muttered, surprised to see a thin, leather journal being presented to her.

"Calcelmo wanted me to give this to you." 

"C-Calcelmo?" She murmured, cautiously accepting the book. She hesitated, apparently waiting for Ariana to elaborate.

"Well?" Ariana encouraged, giving her a knowing but ultimately confounding look. "Go ahead! Read it!" 

Faleen nervously glanced at the Jarl, who was trying his best to ignore them. His gaze was seemingly still trained on the waiting Justiciar just outside the throne room. She opened the clasp of the journal and began to read. Ariana saw blush gradually spread across the housecarl's cheeks, eventually reaching her ears. Faleen flipped the page and scanned the second, and had to place a hand over her mouth, her face twisting in apparent, startled admiration. 

"By the Eight," Faleen whispered, finally glancing up from the page and to Ariana, "He… he…" 

Ariana's self satisfied smirk widened into an excited grin. 

"Do you feel the same?"

"I…" Faleen's voice trailed and her ears burned in her persistent astonishment. She excitedly whispered, "Hold on."

The housecarl produced a small, spare piece of parchment and a tiny stick of charcoal from her pocket. Resting the thick paper on the back of the journal she received, she hastily scrawled her message. 

After a few moments of going between writing and pausing with a furrowed brow, Faleen handed the note to Ariana.

"Please give this to him," she whispered, brows now locked in a desperate knit, "I have to know if he's serious. I… don't trust myself with this hope yet."

Ariana grinned up at the armored Redguard and gave her a short nod.

"What was that all about?" Ondolemar quietly asked her as she exited the throne room.

"They're in love." She beamed up at him.

"Who is in love?" He whispered, raising a brow, starting back for the Imperial strategy room, expecting her to follow.

"Just wait, I'll be right back." And she quickly made her way down the great, stone staircase. Ondolemar gawked at her as she made her excited descent. 

After a few moments, she was running, a little breathless, back up the stairs to the upper stone platform. She rushed past Ondolemar, barely acknowledging him with a look, and approached the throne.

"He's coming!" She aggressively whispered at Faleen, who, despite her strict post at the Jarl's side, couldn't help but take a few, fervent steps outside the throne room. 

Ondolemar then saw Calcelmo climbing the stairs with surprising vigor. He was unsure of the wizard's age, but figured he was around a century older than himself. Showing his years, certainly, but not at all ancient.

Calcelmo rushed to Faleen and was compelled to pull back his hood. He shakily smoothed his white, shoulder-length hair, and a small smile emerged across his blushing face. He was tempted to touch her, briefly raising his hands in front of her before forcing them back down by his sides. Faleen shifted awkwardly before him, also tempted to touch him, but much better at hiding it. 

Ariana had given the pair their space, and was now standing beside Ondolemar near the smithy. 

"Where's Caris and Siriol?" She asked him, her eyes still trained on Calcelmo and Faleen, savoring their awkward tenderness.

"I sent them to inspect every guard they could find," he murmured down at her from the side, "I relayed your description of Heart-Drinker's scar to them, and they are already familiar with his voice."

"Isn't this touching, though?" Ariana whispered, giving a slight nod to the confessing pair. She let out a tiny gasp as she then saw the housecarl cautiously touch the wizard's beard. "Adorable! Look at him blush!"

Ondolemar had been making an effort to not look at the display directly. He found such a bold and public sentiment remarkably uncomfortable to witness, and he felt something begin to gnaw away at his chest. The Altmer scholar's hushed interaction with the Redguard was so seemingly pure and gentle… and uninhibited. He quickly tried to suppress what he now knew to be the source of his aching: Envy.

Ariana noted a slight head shake from above her. 

"How can you not think this is cute?" She muttered up at him, her arms now folded. "He wrote her a long poem, a poem! Declaring his love for her."

"A bit of a cliché, really." He murmured, noting Ariana's expression sour in response. 

"Clichés are clichés for a reason," she flatly grumbled, "They're compelling."  

Ondolemar softly bit the inside of his cheek, and his brows knitted slightly, staring down at her from the side. She was no longer beaming at the scene. Something about her expression made him believe she was now also struck with envy... And that his persistent, biting cynicism was the reason.

Ariana saw Faleen turn back towards the throne room, and seemed to ask a question. Her fingers were now gently intertwined  with Calcelmo's. After a brief moment, Faleen grinned and made grateful gestures to whom Ariana assumed to be Igmund, and she and Calcelmo descended the stairs together.

Ariana let out a deep sigh and relaxed her shoulders. Ondolemar couldn't help but think she stared after the wizard and housecarl longingly, and he began to dread what he thought to be her inevitable comparison.

"Do you want to have lunch together?" He quietly asked her, hoping she would brighten. 

"I would love that," she said, though her lack of enthusiasm made Ondolemar worry, "But where? In your off--"

"Anywhere you like." He said softly, reaching a hand down and behind her waist, but never quite managing contact. Ariana looked up at him then, bewildered to see such a warm, small smile on his face as he gazed back. She turned away for a moment, blushing, and thought. 

"I'm," she uttered, scheming yet again, "Actually not that hungry right now." She shot him a potent, suggestive look.

"Nor am I." He replied with a knowing smirk.

"We can," Ariana had to pause for a second to banish what she thought to be unreasonable locations, "Go back to Vlindrel Hall if you want. If you're sure you can go during the day. If you don't want to waste a potio--"

"'Tis the only pleasant place in this craggy, wretch of a city." Ondolemar softly declared. "And I needn't waste a potion. Just help me keep an eye out for Siriol and Caris." 

Ariana's eyes became round as she grinned, resisting the urge to hug him. Ondolemar felt his body relax in response to her sudden happiness, and let the hand hovering behind her waist finally fall. 

"C'mon," he uttered down at her, never dropping his carefully crafted warmth. He flicked his head briefly in the direction of the stone staircase. 

"Right now?"

Stars, she is doubting you! You are going to have to do better from now on. 

"Yes," he whispered, before ushering her down the stone walkway and descending with her to the lower level.

As they exited the Keep, Ondolemar remained vigilant, scanning all viewable walkways and thoroughfares for familiar Elven armor. When they made it to the often unfrequented upper level of the residential district, past a lonely guard that they discreetly inspected, Ondolemar felt Ariana grab him around the arm.

"Marcellus," he couldn't help but hiss, glancing back at the guard. "We are in public."

Ariana let out a strained sigh but was unable to pull away from him just yet. She rubbed her cheek on the lightly armored bicep of his robes and simply waited for him to wrench away. But he didn't. He allowed her to cling to him as they approached the small, adjoined manor at the end. She was too consumed in her desperate affection to notice Ondolemar's now scarlet cheeks and nose. 

She has yet to melt against you, he thought weakly, glancing down at her dark curls, There is still fear tightening her body.

Fleeting images of him embracing her, of him bending to kiss her outside Vlindrel Hall invaded his mind, something he quickly buried. It would surely make her melt fully, but it was far too reckless. Ariana finally pulled away from his arm and retrieved from her satchel the Dwemer key. 

Ondolemar still darted his eyes about, twisting from his exposed but rooted position on the high walkway, praying he would not spy his soldiers. When he turned back to look at Ariana, she was paused before the now slightly ajar door, frowning down at key and lock.

"What is the matter?" He breathed.

"I apparently forgot to lock it earlier." Ariana murmured, with brows furrowed deeper. "Which… is troublesome."

"Let us hurry and enter." Ondolemar uttered, once again glancing nervously around him, "I will help you look for signs of possible burglary." 

Ariana pushed through the heavy Dwemer door with a short nod, and he rushed in behind her. Just as it was earlier in the day, Vlindrel Hall was relatively quiet. The usual hiss from the pipes and vents was mostly absent, since the creeping summer warmth often prevented the heating system from activating. 

Ondolemar gently shut the door behind him and lingered with her silently in the narrow entryway, training his ears deeper into the small manor. He and Ariana could hear nothing. Without a word, they made their way into the main living area, and quickly found nothing amiss. Ariana glanced up at him and gestured towards her work room, which held an alchemy station and enchanting table, not unlike the ones in the court wizard's chamber. She then pointed at herself and then down the hall, towards the master bedroom. Ondolemar gave her a subtle nod and inspected the work room. 

He was relieved to see Ariana's old ebony dagger still held firm to a small weapon rack that hung on the wall. Her usual and messy array of tinctures and ingredients were strewn about the alchemy station, along with small, herb-stained pieces of paper that bore edited recipes. Her handwriting is surprisingly neat, he couldn't help but acknowledge, after figuring there had been no burglary. He found himself plucking a recipe off the table to read it properly. The ingredients were listed at the top in the center, just under a title that read "Paralysis Poison (extra potent)". Ondolemar was taken aback by them all being in perfect, alphabetical order. Even more astonishing, the quantities were meticulously detailed, down to individual sprigs and drops. Ariana suddenly cleared her throat behind him, making him flinch.

"Sorry," he uttered, slight blush returning to his cheeks, "'Tis--"

"Your 'investigative nature'?" Ariana finished, followed by a lighthearted chuckle. 

"Was anything missing?" Ondolemar asked, placing the recipe back down on the table.

"No, everything was exactly where I left it."

"Good," Ondolemar glanced back down at the alchemy table and thought for a moment.

"Your recipe for this poison is remarkably detailed," he said quietly, gesturing back down at the paper. 

"It has to be," Ariana said plainly, unwilling to trust his words as a compliment just yet, "It won't turn out just right otherwise." 

She stepped towards him and wrapped an arm around his waist, looking down at the messy alchemy table with him. 

"You truly are a brilliant alchemist, then." He muttered down at her through a small, warm smile.

Ariana rolled her eyes and snatched her hand away from his waist, much to his bewilderment. She quickly grabbed a crumpled ball of parchment on the far end of the table and unfurled it, presenting it to him. Ondolemar accepted the recipe and scanned it, his lips slowly pressing together as he stifled laughter. 

The original recipe, which was one for a simple healing potion, was in another's handwriting. Ariana's own hand dominated the page however, in messy, aggressive caps in the margins: " DOESN'T WORK" was something written several times, in addition to an underlined "MAKES NIPPLES BLEED" , at the bottom of the page. Ondolemar was having a hard time burying his laughter now, and Ariana sighed in response.

"See?" She said, snatching the page out of his hand. Her eyes narrowed as she analyzed it for what was most likely the hundredth time. "I bought this recipe, too, thinking it more promising than all the others. Bothela assured me it was foolproof. But they always turn into poisons. Every damn time!"  

"Is that what the 'makes nipples bleed' bit is about?" Ondolemar raised a brow and tried to keep his tone serious. The corner of his mouth twitched as he suppressed his laughter. "I was hoping that was just figurative."

"It was… not." Ariana grumbled, throwing the wrinkled recipe back on the table. 

Ondolemar found that particular visualization mildly disturbing, and the verge of his hysterics finally fell away.

"That is most interesting," he gently told her as they exited the work room together, "You are clearly skilled in your methods, if your own recipes are any indication." Ariana blushed as they made their way to the bedroom, kicking off their boots in the hall.

"I really don't understand why," She sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed, her belted sash and satchel already resting on the dresser, "Why can't I seem to mix anything other than a poison?" 

"Hm," Ondolemar hummed, sitting on the bed beside her, his hooded mantle, gloves, and belt now resting in a folded stack on the floor, "Could it have anything to do with you being born under The Serpent?" 

"I doubt it ," she said quietly, frowning slightly, "I mean, that would be ridiculous; that would almost be--"

"A cliché?" He said through a soft smile. Ariana personally found the look on his face insufferable, and resisted the urge to slap him. But her lips slowly pressed together as quiet laughter welled in her throat. It was funny. It was witty. But it was also biting, as it often was, and she was frustrated at herself for being unable to maintain her irritation.

He kissed her then, deep and slow, gently holding her jaw and neck. When he tried to pull away, presumably to make another snarky remark, Ariana grasped the back of his head and held his face firmly against hers. She wanted to claim direction. She always dissolved into a pool of herself when he'd kiss her so softly, and this time, she wanted the satisfaction of physical control herself.

Ariana swung a leg over his lap and straddled him, biting his lower lip as she pressed her hips into his belly. He growled and clawed at her waist and bottom as she aggressively moved atop him. When he was finally stiff and twitching underneath her, she pulled her mouth away from his, leaving him gasping and frustrated.

"A cliché," she said flatly, raising her brows, pleased by his breathless and wordless state, "Really?"

Ondolemar let out a short, airy chuckle and stared directly into her eyes, willing his gaze intense and imposing.

"And isn't it compelling?"

Chapter Text

Ondolemar, ill from having to spend two consecutive weeks alone, decided he might harass the guard captain yet again. Caris and Siriol were having no luck finding Tyr Heart-Drinker, much to the Justiciar's dismay. He knew they were inhibited by the need for discretion, and luckily granted them stay from his fury.

"The secretary hasn't returned ye--"

"Something is concerning me, Admand, something you said about your guards being 'thoroughly vetted'." Ondolemar remained calm and in his seat, slowly sipping his morning tea.

"They are." Emmanuel said flatly, raising a brow and folding his arms as he stood by the adjacent table.

"And yet they were so easily corruptible by the Silver-Blood's gold." Ondolemar kept his tone icy and casual.

"You know, thank you for bringing that to my attention all those months ago," Emmanuel suddenly said, letting his hands drop from his chest and placing them on his hips, "I had no clue about any of that."

Ondolemar found Emmanuel's sarcasm embarrassingly obvious, despite the Breton's deadpan expression.

"I trust you have remedied that." Ondolemar said, before adding, "Though it makes me wonder about the inadequacies of your 'vetting' process."

"In addition to physical and mental competence, we filter for things like possible disloyalty, Stormcloak affiliations, (direct and indirect), criminal backgrounds, and yes, 'heresy'." Emmanuel's tone made the Justiciar's gut churn with sudden rage. It was as if the guard captain was trying to explain something to an oblivious child.

Ondolemar's eyes widened as he stared at the stack of documents on his table. He painfully bit a miniscule section of cheek and his breath seemingly stopped. He forced his eyes closed for a brief moment to compose himself.

"I thought you said the process was thorough." He finally managed, barely calm. "And yet it couldn't filter for being easily corrupt nor unnecessarily brutal."

"The brutality thing isn't typically an issue, though I know you tried to make it one--"

"I get the feeling we have differing standards." Ondolemar's indignation finally waned enough for his usual, tiny, smug smile to return.

"Yes, yes, we're barbaric and inferior and whatnot," Emmanuel rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively, "Spare me."

Ondolemar forced a lighthearted chuckle, but the guard captain's increasing boldness was beginning to gnaw at him. 

"As witty as ever," he said jovially, though his eyes held murder.

"Ondo?" Ariana quietly asked, stepping into the room before freezing. "Sorry! I didn't know you were meeting with someone."

Emmanuel glanced at who was now a familiar Imperial, before immediately looking back at Ondolemar to read his face. 

The Justiciar's brows knitted ever so slightly, and his face softened, betraying him.

"Marcellus," he uttered, trying to maintain something like cool formality. His effort fell short, however, since her well-awaited return made his chest ache. Admand's eyes narrowed as he noted the Mer's fleeting expression.

"Will you give me a moment?" Ondolemar managed after a subtly pregnant pause.

"Of course," Ariana said plainly and nodded before leaving them.

"Uh- huh," Emmanuel murmured, mulling his tongue in his mouth. He folded his arms once more.

Ondolemar gulped subtly and forced his face to relax before turning back to the now obviously suspecting guard captain. His mind was busy screaming curses at him while he forced his usual, biting tone.

"Anyway," he said, raising a brow, trying to convey mild annoyance from the intrusion, "The guard in particular is unstable. After cross-referencing evidence from what I have gathered, and what my soldiers have gathered, I believe him to be one of the pair I questioned."

"Unstable how?" Emmanuel raised and brow and maintained his folded arms.

"For one," Ondolemar forced himself to do something casual, and filled his now empty mug with wine, "He was willing to attack me upon learning he would be questioned."

Admand remained silent.

"And second, my sources tell me he is known to abuse prisoners." Ondolemar took a careful sip of his wine, eyeing the guard captain from the side.

"And what constitutes abuse then?" Emmanuel flatly asked. "They are prisoners , and often violent ones. Certain disciplinary actions are needed to prev--"

"Rape, Admand, what kind of disciplinary actions require rape?!" Ondolemar suddenly spat, glaring up at the standing guard captain, the rage in his eyes potent and telling.

Emmanuel was rendered speechless then, and let a modicum of his calm and collected demeanor fall. He stared down at the Justiciar and let his arms slowly loosen from his chest, knowing full well he would have to choose his questions carefully.

"That," he forced himself to begin, "Is very concerning… if true. Who are these 'sources'?"

"It is imperative I keep my sources private, lest they be targeted." 

"I somehow doubt that." Admand began to pace slowly beside Ondolemar's desk. "You've been here quite some time now, and I've seen your methods firsthand." 

Disgust began to sour the guard captain's face and Ondolemar eyed him narrowly, not appreciating the apparent direction of this exchange.

"I saw you," Admand continued, now slightly through his teeth, "I saw you promise mercy to those who would feed you names of family and friends, just to turn around and persecute them too. And I unfortunately know what happens in Northwatch." 

Emmanuel stifled the urge to spit as this foul information tainted his tongue. Ondolemar gritted his teeth and glared up at him, trying to make their eyes meet. Hot sick rose in his throat as he found his words.

"Then I should hope you would never like to find yourself there." Ondolemar slowly whispered, keeping his gaze wide and intense.

"That Imperial," Admand glared at him back, forcing his voice steady and pointing with his thumb towards the door, "She's the one who was 'falsely imprisoned', right?"

Ondolemar's lips pressed together and he once again held a bit of his cheek between his teeth. 

"And you were harassing the Jarl about it, right… Ondo?"

Ondolemar's face continued to betray him with now twisting, seething vehemence. He wanted to be angry with Ariana for calling him that in front of Emmanuel. But she had referred to him as "Ondo" for so long now, and Admand wasn't, by any means, the first person to hear it. He ultimately knew he had nothing to blame but his own, briefly uncontrolled surprise at her return.

"It is just some silly nickname she has for me," he tried to say casually, though his face was still twisted in ire. He prayed the guard captain would just assume his expression further disdain for him. "Insufferable, really. And I," he managed a short, breathy laugh, in hope of making Emmanuel feel his last question was ridiculous, "Didn't go about that investigation for her. You and Igmund never fail to handle things incompetently, and I will admit, I felt the need to frame it in my reports." 

The guard captain chuckled and shook his head while rubbing his forehead. If Ondolemar had sent any "reports" concerning his or the Jarl's supposed incompetence, he was sure he would have heard about it by now. But if he confronted the Justiciar about this, he feared that he might just send them, out of spite if nothing else. Emmanuel was confident in his ability to combat the accusations, but ultimately dreaded the repercussions of an open conflict with the Thalmor. He decided to keep this personal instead.

"Uh- huh," he said again, "Is that why you made the Jarl give her Vlindrel Hall then? I can't help but feel that gesture was to keep her close to you."

"What in Oblivion are you suggesting?" Ondolemar feigned disgust to conceal his horror. 

"I think you know exactly what I'm suggesting." Emmanuel leaned close to Ondolemar, his face bending into a knowing, arrogant smirk.

"I was hoping it wasn't what I suspected, because that would be abysmally disgusting." Ondolemar finally managed to keep his voice properly cool and untelling. Then again, he hardly felt as if he was still present. Emmanuel straightened and folded his arms once more, his face softening slightly, but still holding his smugness. 

"But don't worry," Emmanuel's soft grin failed to hide his malice. Then again, he didn't want it to, "I won't tell. I personally don't care who anybody goes to b--"

"Do not continue, Admand" Ondolemar interjected, holding up a hand. His fabricated disgust was becoming more and more convincing by the second, "I just ate, and visualizing such a thing may make me sick."  

The guard captain sharply exhaled, as doubt threatened to take him. 

"I never did take you for such a filthy degenerate." Ondolemar added for good measure.

Deep down Emmanuel knew the Justiciar was capable of these kinds of things, but doubt held him firm now. He was struggling to comprehend how someone could boldly speak so terribly about a lover. He could never, even if the relationship were strictly physical, even if the partner were embarrassing. He needed time to analyze this all. 

"Well, to be fair, and not to validate your insult or anything," the guard captain forced his tone to be light and nonchalant, "There are many things you don't know about me… Ondo."  

"I hope you aren't going to start calling me that out of spite." Ondolemar plainly said, raising a brow. He remembered his wine and took another slow, restrained sip.

"I might," Emmanuel replied through a small smile. Ondolemar rolled his eyes incredulously in response, and the guard captain couldn't help but think it was for show.

"Well, Admand, it has been delightful as always," Ondolemar stood, placing his tankard on his desk before gesturing towards the open doorway, "But I have many things that need attention, and it is becoming increasingly apparent that you will be as helpful as usual."  

"I aim to please, Justiciar." Emmanuel swiftly replied with a subtle, antagonistic tilt of his head. 

Ariana waited at a stone table opposite the smithy. Siriol and Caris had not been in the mood for talking, though Caris was the only one who made it obvious. When she went to see Ondolemar, she couldn't help but feel her accidental intrusion made him panic, and she worried about the nature of the conversation he was having. She noted someone in steel armored boots stride behind her, presumably coming from the Imperial strategy room. After she was sure the individual had passed, she glanced to the right to see the guard captain approaching the great stone staircase. She was taken aback when he paused on the first step to glance back at her directly, offering a fleeting wink.

Panic began to grip her as her mind reeled with a hundred horrifying possibilities. Her first inclination was to rush to Ondolemar and ask him about his conversation with the guard captain, but she hesitated, fearing what her sudden intrusion would mean a second time.

This quiet, maddening stream was luckily cut short by a gloved hand gently on her shoulder.

"Ondo, he winked at me." Ariana uttered through her teeth as soon as he shut the door behind them.

"He thinks he knows," Ondolemar quietly replied, not quite numb, "But he has no proof. Only intuition, of which he clearly has a veritable font."

Ariana hugged him around the waist, burying her face in his chest. Ondolemar reciprocated cautiously, as if he were suddenly afraid of Emmanuel's return. 

"I'm sorry," Ariana murmured pathetically into the bottom edge of his mantle. 

"For what?" He whispered back, tightening his embrace. "You did nothing."

"You're going to think me stupid for this," she began, pulling her head away from his chest and looking up at him, "But… would it be so awful if people knew?"

Yes! Ondolemar knew better than to say aloud. He suspected she still thought of the court wizard and the housecarl.

"In Admand's case, yes," he attempted to keep his tone gentle, "He's itching to ruin me it seems. And he already suspects my interest in his guard to be based on, well…"

"Me?" Ariana noted his trailing voice and tried to stifle any visible satisfaction.

"Yes," Ondolemar whispered so softly she could hardly hear him. He held her even tighter, pulling her up to her toes by her waist. He bent to rest his face in her curls and savored their scent. 

"Your hair is getting longer," he uttered, weaving his fingers between her locks from behind.

"I should hope so. They've started to complain at the Sanctuary because I keep using up all the nightshade for my growth tinctures." Ariana said through an airy laugh. Ondolemar took her face then, tilting it up so that he may kiss her. 

His kiss was so tender that it seemed to almost hold sadness, and as he pulled away, he noted Ariana's brows knitted in concern.

"Oh," Ondolemar quietly began, remembering to offer her a smile, "I got you something."

A GIFT?! Ariana knew better than to say. She wouldn't be able to live with the embarrassment of being wrong, and being corrected by him. Still, her excitement betrayed her caution with ever-widening eyes and a growing smile. They released each other and Ondolemar walked to the wall opposite his desk, pulling out a large, flat, rectangular package from behind the other table.

"Will this be able to fit in your satchel?" 

"What is it? A painting?" She couldn't help but ask, unable to now hide her excitement. 

"Ha, no, it is more useful than that." He gingerly picked it up and leaned it against his desk, so as not to wear its plain brown wrapping on the coarse floor. "But don't open it just yet. I want it to remain a surprise, and this paper is… protective."  

"I honestly don't know if I can get it through the opening," she said, finally answering his initial question. 

"I will bring it myself then," Ondolemar moved the package to behind his table, "Tonight… though if I'm honest, I don't know if I can wait that long."

"Just tell Siriol and Caris that you and I are going out to look for Tyr." Ariana immediately suggested, her own impatience more apparent than Ondolemar's.

He let out a single, breathy laugh and began to shake his head.

"Wait," he said suddenly, allowing his eyes to widen, "That actually may work. I've already fed them the bit about you being able to perform tasks outside diplomatic limitations. If they press it, I can simply remind them. I will have to come up with a convincing story to relay before I return, however."

"Obviously," Ariana tried her best not to roll her eyes, "What did you think I was suggesting? Something st--"

"Stupid?" He finished, offering an unusually gentle smile. "Not at all." 

He rushed back to her to kiss her wildly. Normally he wouldn't risk such a thing, but something about this reasoning just felt right. Ariana clearly had a calming effect on him--when she was properly with him, that is--and he could no longer bring himself to fret about what his soldiers thought. Caris obviously knew, her palatable disdain conveyed as much, and Siriol was too smart not to suspect it at the very least. Still, they were his subordinates, and he knew they were forced to trust the decisions he made without question.

Ultimately, what were they going to do? As long as he didn't outright admit anything, if they tried to report this fraternization, his vehement denial as a high ranking official would ruin them. And he knew they were aware of that. 

Luckily, Caris and Siriol watched the pair leave without a word. Ariana, before exiting Ondolemar's make-shift office, had actually managed to stuff the large gift into her satchel, after gently stretching and tugging on the enchanted leather opening. She left the drawstring off, however, knowing she would just need to remove it again when it was time to retrieve the package.

After quickly letting Ondolemar across the threshold, noting his paranoid shifting outside the door, she paused in the entryway. 

"I," she hesitated, blushing, "I got you something, too."

From one of the small inside compartments of her satchel, she pulled a Dwemer key.

"Not as exciting as whatever this is," she patted the bag on her hip, "But… you can come here whenever I'm gone--whenever you want. I had a blacksmith make a copy." 

Ondolemar accepted the key, struck with a quiet, uncomfortable feeling he had yet to identify.

"I mean," Ariana continued, "I feel like this is your house, too, since I would have never gotten it if it weren't for you." 

Ondolemar swiftly pocketed the key, taking great care not to shift the small parcel he kept hidden at the bottom. He bent to kiss her again, in passionate, silent thanks.

"Let us hurry to the bedroom where I know you have a mounting," he said after pulling away, "I want you to open the large one before I give you the smaller."

He followed Ariana as she made her way to the back room.

'Smaller' one, her mind echoed, trying to make sense of what he meant. Her thoughts immediately fell into the gutter and she couldn't help but giggle quietly. Pfft, ' mounting'.

Ondolemar helped her pull out the large package, and gently rested it on the green velvet of their bed. 

"Well," he said, gesturing at the gift, "Go ahead."

Ariana tore into the corner and stopped, stunned by the shining, gilded frame. It was thick and embossed with delicate florals and swirls. 

"Keep going," Ondolemar whispered behind a widening satisfied smile.

Ariana tore the rest of the paper off then, revealing a grand, Elven wall mirror.

"Well?" He anxiously asked, standing over the bed with her, his hands rested loosely on his hips. "Do you like it?" 

Ariana was struck silent, holding a cupped hand over her mouth. Her continued silence made Ondolemar worry, despite him assuming it was positive. He knew her to often blurt out criticisms, and couldn't trust her reaction just yet.

"I figured you needed one," he began, before clarifying should he accidentally offend her, "I see how frustrated you get with the small, broken one you often carry. It is difficult to truly behold yourself in such a small, undeserving glass."

"Ondo," she managed, suppressing tears. She pulled her admiring gaze from her reflection and up to him, touched by his seemingly pure sentiment and warm expression. 

"Here, let me hang it for you."

Ariana watched as he carefully grabbed the large mirror, and held it up to an unused wall mount above her dresser. On another night, Ariana had already asked him to take down the mounted skeever head, complaining of its poor taxidermy quality and it being too small for the space. 

"Will this be low enough for you?" He said, straining slightly while he held the heavy frame aloft. "I tried to get a tall enough one so that I may use it also… admittedly."

"Yes, that's low enough." Ariana melted at the thought of them sharing a mirror together as they got ready. "Ondo, I love it."

"I'm pleased to hear that." Ondolemar said, admiring his gift that now hung on the wall. He paused for a moment to straighten it slightly before beckoning her. "Come here."

He held her by her shoulders and positioned her in front of him. For a moment, the pair admired their combined reflection.

"I am also pleased that you wore your robes today." He said, stretching the fingers rested on her shoulders to her throat and down to her collar.

"I always figured you preferred to look at me in my leather." Ariana said lowly through a smirk.

"It never fails to make me ache," he agreed, matching her small, suggestive smile. He began to gently tug at the laces of her neckline, and eventually pulled the open top of her robes down away from her neck, "But today, I am able to easily expose your collar, to properly frame this."

Ondolemar swiftly retrieved the small package from his pocket, making sure not to hurl his new key out of it in his excited haste. He reached around her shoulder, maintaining their rooted position in front of the mirror, and presented it to her. She cautiously held it, her mind squirming with the possibilities of what this new, smaller present might be, and why Ondolemar chose to give it to her after the gilded mirror. It must be valuable, she thought before echoing, ' Expose' my 'collar to properly frame'... Sithis, it's a necklace!

Ariana hesitated before opening it, however, struck with wondering what kind of necklace or amulet it could be. Surely not Mara, she frowned slightly, which made Ondolemar begin to silently panic, He doesn't even love me yet… at least I don't think.  

Ondolemar gingerly placed a hand over hers, and guided it so it would begin to tear the parchment. Ariana was afraid to look at it, lest her previous, impossible thought somehow be correct. 

Her body tensed before him, and he instantly agonized over the thought of offending her. He had never known Ariana to wear jewelry, and he felt foolish for believing she suddenly would just because he gifted her with a piece. He let out a quiet, strained breath, and cautiously took the glinting, yellow necklace from her hands. He slowly pulled it up to her neck, and fastened the clasp from behind.

It was a golden and moonstone bib necklace, that widened towards the center, coming to a slight, bulbous point between her breasts. The segments along her collar bones were inlaid with the same delicate swirls as the mirror's frame, but were also bordered by what Ariana thought to be hundreds of tiny diamonds. In the center segment was mounted a teardrop-cut yellow diamond, framed with a border of small, round emeralds. Directly above the massive yellow gemstone was a detailed embossment of a spread-winged eagle.

She couldn't breathe.

Ondolemar couldn't tell if her wide eyes and quiet trembling were from passionate shock or absolute vehemence.

"I'm sorry," he began quietly, in case it was the latter, "I know you don't usually wear jewelry, I just… I just thought…" In his quiet alarm, he failed to find all of his words. He noted a single tear escaping her eye through the mirror. Ariana suddenly whirled and looked up at him with desperately knitted brows and welling eyes.

Stars, she loves it!

She pulled his face down greedily, and he swiftly bent, their lips now locked in frenzied kissing. After a few minutes of this she pulled away, her eyes finally dry.

"Ondo," she began, suddenly stern.

Oh here it is, he thought.

"How much wa--"

"Do not ask of its cost, my dear, that is of no consequence."

"I just…" Her voice trailed and her heart skipped a beat, "I don't know how to give you anything like this in return."

Gifts need no reciprocation, he couldn't bring himself to say, knowing full well the enormity of his want.

"The only thing I want you to give me is you." He finally uttered, holding her face. As he kissed her again, he slid his hands down her jaw and neck, down to her shoulders, where he began to pull her robes off further. Before she knew it, her robes were off her arms and hung like a skirt at her waist. Ondolemar lifted her up by her bottom before moving her to the green velvet. Ondolemar stood before her for a moment, hastily tearing off gloves and the layers of his robes. Ariana suddenly guarded her new necklace as he moved atop her.

"What if it breaks?" She breathed.

"It won't," he chuckled, astonished by her ability to worry and melt at the same time, "It is superiorly crafted. It should survive anything you may put it through." He slid his hand up her waist, over her breast and to her throat, before laughing softly again and adding, "Short of falling into a volcano. But I don't see you, nor anyone, traveling to Vvardenfell anytime soon." 

With his free hand, Ondolemar unfastened her belted sash and pulled it down with the rest of her robes. He then slipped his fingers into her old college trousers and continued down until he found moisture. He tightened his grip on her throat, however, her new jewels digging sharply into his wrist. This made her breath and moaning more desperate and he was pleased to feel her finally and fully melt beneath him.

***

"Just a short nap," he breathed, still sticky with the sweat of their entanglement. Ariana exhaled sharply and stifled a giggle. 

"You know, if you slept at night, you might not be so exhausted after we--"

"I cannot," he sleepily uttered, "I have tried. I only can with you."  

Before Ariana could say another word, he was unconscious. She frowned down at him, trying to imagine decades of sleepless nights. She would surely go mad, but then again, she did not have his years. 

I still don't know if he loves me, she thought, gently holding her new necklace atop her bare collar, But he WILL. Mark my words…

"I will have his heart." She whispered to herself.

This turned out to be a poor choice of words, because the image of her slicing open his chest and yanking out his literal heart invaded her mind.

No, no, no, no, she squeezed her eyes shut in a futile attempt to banish the image. She silently counted to six, twelve times, but the image remained and the thought grew ever persistent. She counted to twelve, six times.

But the distressing thought repeated itself along with her counting. It continued to intensify as Ariana was hit with the overwhelming sense it was an impulse, as much as she didn't want it to be. She forced herself out of the bed and swiftly plucked Ondolemar's tunic from where it lay on the corner of the bed. Continuing her mental counting, and willing herself to not starting beating on her skull, she made her way to the large bookshelf in the main hall. 

Ondolemar woke thirty minutes later, and found her reorganizing her many books on the floor.

"What are you doing?" He softly asked, followed by a quiet, lighthearted laugh. 

Ariana flinched and glanced over to see him standing shirtless, wearing only his black trousers, a short distance behind her. Though she was embarrassed to be caught performing this only somewhat calming ritual, she forced her tone plain and light to match his.

"Just felt the need to finally put these all in order, that's all." She said, placing the books on the shelves exactly in the order they had been before.

Chapter Text

"I think we should back off for a little while." Ariana quietly said, noting Ondolemar's frustrated expression. He had hardly spoken to her as she sat with him by his stone table, and spent most of the time fervently reading old documents. Emmanuel Admand's professional history was largely uneventful, but the Justiciar found himself reading the pages over and over. He was searching for anything that could possibly lead him to something he could spin negatively for a report. Ariana's words finally registered after a moment and he looked up at her, tilting his head.

"Why?" He uttered. "Are you not eager to--"

"Ondo, they're clearly afraid of you, and are maintaining an abundance of caution." She said flatly, attempting to raise a single brow but instead raising both.

"All the more reason I must press harder."

"I don't think that's going to work in this instance," Ariana quickly held up a finger to tell him not to interrupt, as his mouth began to open, "This isn't really a legal thing, as much as you're trying to turn it into one so you can control it." 

Ondolemar raised a brow but said nothing, praying she would elaborate despite beginning to get offended.

"But as much as you press, I think the guard captain is going to press back harder. And I can't help but think this is getting more complicated than it needs to be."

"It will be no more complicated than I can manage, Ariana." He said, somewhat reluctantly placing the old document back on the table. His defensiveness wasn't lost on her.

"And I don't doubt that, but I do know that once a mark is on to you, it's wise to give them space. Give them time to get complacent and let their guard down."

Ondolemar barely managed to suppress an eyeroll, and his eyelids fluttered subtly. He simply could not see how this and her assassinations were remotely comparable. He was well aware of her continued desire to kill Heart-Drinker outright, but was still scheming on how to get him into Northwatch Keep instead. Not only would it prolong the guard's suffering, it would be a great embarrassment to the guard captain and the Jarl.

"Ondo, if I'm honest, I'm a little worried this is going to drive Tyr out of the Hold. I'm surprised he hasn't left already."

"Oh, I somehow doubt he would leave. He's the type to be having fun with this. And if he does, or is forced out by Admand, I will simply extend my investigation. I may be strictly posted here, but my reach is not bound by jurisdiction." Ondolemar's tone was flippant and dismissive, and it made Ariana desperate to prove her point. 

"And if it's true that he's having fun, then let's give him time to get bored." Ariana forced her voice to be deep and confident, and her gaze to be potently stern. "If he gets bored enough, he might start getting reckless. People like him thrive being on the verge of discovery."

Ondolemar rubbed his chin and averted his eyes, exhaling sharply. 

"I suppose he finds it exciting." He murmured, struck with a quiet, unpleasant feeling. Ariana couldn't help but let out a soft, breathy laugh.

"Speaking of which…" her voice purposefully trailed as she placed her hand on his knee and slid it up his thigh. He saw a slow, mischievous smirk bend her lips. 

"Ariana, the door is still ajar!" He viciously whispered.

"I know," she whispered back, barely audible and smiling even wider. But before he could move her hand away, she was already under his tunic, tugging and stroking through his trousers. Ondolemar hesitated with his hand on hers and shuddered quietly, forcing himself to take deep and even breaths. Ariana maintained eye contact and tightened her grip. 

An incredibly quiet whimper escaped his throat then. Absolutely mortified by his uncontrolled vocalization, he finally managed to yank her hand away.

"Oh com-"

"Do not say it," he breathlessly uttered, though his lips threatened a smile.

"Anyway," Ariana said quietly, satisfaction still spread across her face, "I was going to end up using my mouth, but now I'm not sure I'm in the mood for that. Now or later." 

"You really delight in torture, then?" Ondolemar shakily murmured, trying to will what was twitching between his legs soft. 

"Maybe you can get me a job at Northwatch Keep." 

Ondolemar let out a sharp, low laugh, though his throat still trembled and his heart still raced.

"Go to Vlindrel Hall," he tried to say seriously, "I will get one of my po--"

"No, not yet," Ariana quietly interrupted him, "Calcelmo gave me a key to the museum and I was planning on checking it out before leaving here."

"Then I will see what my superiors say about allowing an Imperial to be a Thalmor 'interrogator'."

Ariana erupted in low, deranged giggling for a few seconds before managing to suppress it. She rose from her seat and slowly started for the door. Ondolemar tried to force a stern expression, but as his scheming swiftly returned to him, it was replaced by a slight, creeping smirk.

"Wait," she said, pausing with her hand on the handle, "Why aren't you trying to get me to stay?"

"I am perfectly capable of tolerating a few moments without you," Ondolemar forced his tone to be biting, but his expression betrayed him as Ariana turned to offer him a glance, "I'll be here."

"Fine," she said, forcing her tone to be irritable, though her expression also betrayed her, and Ondolemar gave her a short nod. After she left, he waited at least ten minutes at his stone table, eyeing his chest in the corner.

Ariana inspected the glass cases that held the artifacts, many of which matched those she had already come across in her travels. She perused the information plaques posed by each case, trying to absorb as much of the information as possible so she might have something to talk to Calcelmo about... Or better yet, to impress Marcurio with. 

The single guard who had been meandering throughout the exhibit had left after a few minutes, apparently uncomfortable with who he knew Ariana to be. Even if the petite Imperial were to smash a case or steal an artifact, the guard thought it would be too much trouble to bring her in, considering recent events. As the guard left, the door seemingly caught in its hinges, eventually shutting on its own. If anything happened when the supposed mage was in there, the guard was more than willing to accept any wrath Calcelmo would offer him. It was preferable to dealing with the Justiciar.

Ariana found herself disappointed in the museum's seemingly scant array of antiquities. There were many empty cases, with plaques that read "Donations Are Appreciated". She felt guilty for thinking the exhibit boring, as if Calcelmo had the capacity for telepathy. Then again, he was an old and accomplished mage and scholar, and he very well might. She sighed softly and began back for the door, trying to think of sincere praise to relay to the court wizard. As she passed a stone column, she was suddenly pulled into a corner from behind. Ariana let out a sharp, weak scream, but managed to stifle her flames as a very familiar spiked glove firmly covered her mouth.

"Shh," Ondolemar whispered, slowly dragging his left hand away from her lips, down her chin, and to her throat, "It takes two to play this game, my dear." Ariana let out a small, breathy laugh as Ondolemar tore off his right glove with his teeth above her head. He lifted a knee between her legs, hoisting her up off of her feet so he could better slip his now bare hand under her robes and into her trousers. 

Holding her firm against him, with his hand at her throat and arm across her chest, he spread her, and quickly found the right place. Her breath quickened and she threatened to moan. He twisted his still glove hand around and pushed a finger into her mouth. She was tempted to bite him, but the aching between her legs was rising and her uncontrolled gasping prevented it. She was weak. 

When Ondolemar felt Ariana's entire body tense, and heard her breath threaten to stop, he yanked his hand out of her trousers and settled her on her feet. He walked around her to face her properly, as she bent with tight fists digging into her thighs. After she caught her breath, she straightened and glared up at him with a small, frustrated smile.

"Bastard," she breathed, "I was so close."

Ondolemar eyed the middle two fingers on his bare hand before offering her a smug glance from the side.

"I suppose I could use my tongue..." Maintaining eye contact, he slid the sticky, glistening fingers into his mouth. He cleaned them slowly, making sure she saw his long tongue occasionally dart between them. "But I'm not sure if I'll be in the--"

"You!" Ariana almost shouted, glaring and raising her index finger, but never dropping her playful smirk. "Are going to regret starting this."

"I am not starting anything," Ondolemar gave his fingers one last lick, and stared at them thoughtfully for a moment. He pulled his glove back on, "You were the one who decided to frustrate me without a locked door, and I just wanted to return the favor."

"I'm pretty sure that door is locked," Ariana raised her brows and gestured to the museum's entrance, "Hardly counts."

Stars, what is she planning? Ondolemar began to worry but forced his smug smile to remain. No, you can't let her fluster you... or else she'll win.

***

Ondolemar had ultimately followed Ariana's advice, ordering Caris and Siriol to halt their city searches and granting the guard captain stay from further harassment. But when she had to be gone, he was now dreadfully bored. He would add short, daily notes to his logs, he would take walks about the city, to the Shrine of Talos, and to Vlindrel Hall. He enjoyed being there at night, even if it were without Ariana. He would shed his robes and lie in their bed in just his tunic and pants, despite his persistent sleeplessness. Using the washbasin, he would shave his scalp and maintain the short beard on his chin in the large, Elven wall mirror. Ariana would often leave him a case of Black-Briar Reserve next to one of the bookshelves in the main hall, for which he was extremely grateful. He would drink and read at the main hall's stone table, savoring the scent of his mead and the fireplace as it twisted and melded in his nose. It was the closest he felt to being at home in ages.

But this lack of directional plotting and mental stimulation still wore on Ondolemar. He would frustrate himself, remembering he must suppress the urge to call on the guard captain. He found himself tempted to visit the court wizard and his nephew, but knew full well that they loathed him. Any interaction would be strained and unpleasant, no matter how courteous he forced himself to be. He also dreaded the possibility of seeing the housecarl with Calcelmo. They often dined together on the upper level of the Keep, and whenever Ondolemar caught a glimpse of them, witnessing their gentle, unrestrained, public affections, he felt frost strangle his chest.

Ondolemar knew not to try with the hounds again. They certainly didn't like him, and unlike people, they couldn't be reasoned with nor persuaded with words. Perhaps it would only take time and ginger patience for them to come around, but the Justiciar felt he possessed neither.

One day, as he was exiting the kitchen empty-handed after finding nothing terribly appetizing, he was viciously tugged by his wrist by something unseen towards the Jarl's quarters. Ondolemar had an excellent sense of smell--which Ariana would often joke about it being related to the size of his nose--and he could tell it was her. She must have freshly bathed, because the tell-tale scents of her usual lavender soap and nightshade scalp treatment quickly found him. 

He was utterly perplexed, however, that her increasingly fervent tugging had not broken her invisibility. This conundrum distracted him just enough that he mindlessly stumbled towards where he was being dragged, which was a wide hallway before the Jarl's grand, personal chamber.

"Ar-i-a-na," Ondolemar eventually whispered, glancing behind him hoping no wandering guard was in view, "I cannot be here, the consequences would actually be worse for ME than they would be for you!"  

But his words were ignored, and with all of her strength, Ariana pushed him against a wall by his hips.

"And how are you still invisible?!" He hissed desperately, now feeling her fingers under his tunic. He was unsure if she was still standing, because he fully expected for her to put a finger against his lips. That's when he felt something warm and wet surrounding him between his legs. Before his instant, sharp belly sinking could overwhelm him, he noted his tunic tucked up and around his belt, and himself seemingly exposed. His absolute horror was quickly replaced by aching temples and weak knees.

"This is going too f-far," he barely managed, his hands unwilling to pull her head away, though his mind screamed at them to do so, "I-if… if…" But his eyelids fluttered and he forgot how to speak.

Ondolemar shakily glanced back down the hall, praying the shadows were deep enough to conceal him. He looked down at just the right moment to see Ariana suddenly visible, and looking up at him with his entirety down her throat. Her right hand tightly grasped his base as she pulled everything back and tight. She immediately lifted her left hand, making it glow intensely with swirling, dark blue, before she was invisible once more.

Is she? He had a hard time forming coherent thoughts as he melted into the wall, Stars, she must be wearing the necklace you gave her! But any further verbal thought was now squashed, and he was forced to bite his hand as his desperate gasping threatened to turn into moans. After a few more minutes, he shuddered and ached, his entire body going rigid and his temples tightening. A coarse whimper escaped his throat despite his best efforts, and Ariana finally released him. 

She flashed into view once more before she recast the spell. His head was suddenly dragged down, which he was still too weak and gasping from his release to resist. He met her invisible lips and could taste himself on her tongue. 

"I thought you didn't know how to cast invisibility." He finally managed through quiet, strained breath.

"I've been practicing," she whispered back, "It's much easier than it used to be. I think I was just overthinking it."

I'm sure wearing a necklace bearing an Illusion enchantment probably helps, Ondolemar knew better than to say aloud. He had debated with himself on whether or not he would disclose it, but ultimately decided not to should it offend her. She was already resistant to practicing--let alone showing him at this point--her Bosmer illusion. But his mind now held a tiny shred of peace, knowing she could hold the form for longer, if there was ever a need. 

Ondolemar tried to stuff himself back in his trousers, though he had yet to go soft. It proved difficult, and after a moment, the sharp belly sinking started to return. He reached in front of him to find Ariana no longer there. Tucking himself into the waistband of his trousers, he silently cursed his arousal's inconvenient persistence and her sudden disappearance.

"Ariana?" He hissed, but heard no response nor footfalls. He cautiously made his way out of the short, wide hall back towards the kitchen. He took each step with great care lest he suddenly come across a curious guard, or worse, Igmund himself. 

Ondolemar found her in his office, fully visible, sitting on her usual, mostly empty, stone table. She offered him a wide, absolutely unapologetic grin. He pointed at her, and kept intensely stern eye contact as he slammed the Dwemer door behind him. He had brief difficulty turning the key as he finally noted her attire.

"That," he uttered, gesturing to her Shrouded Armor, "Is  cheating."

"I was unaware there were rules to this." Ariana giggled softly, raising her brows and leaning back on the table. She rested her weight on straight arms angled behind her. "Besides, I'm pretty sure you're done."

"I'm not so sure that I am." He breathed, shifting his stance so it would slip out from his waistband and become apparent. 

"You know," Ariana began, tilting her head and allowing a small smirk across her lips to match his. She stared between his legs, "I altered these before I returned," she briefly tugged at the leather on her hip, "To make it easier for me to relieve myself on the road, if nothing else." 

Ondolemar was now slowly bending over her, smirk widening and his eyes wild and intense. Ariana noted his quickening breath and swiftly placed a leather boot up on his chest to halt him.

"But I'm not going to tell you where the clasp is."  

He let out a short, airy laugh and placed a hand on her knee, slowly snaked it up her thigh and to the soft, worn leather of her buttock.

"I know that isn't the only reason." He muttered. He slipped his other hand behind her head and held her firmly by her hair. 

Ariana pushed her foot deeper into his chest but never looked away nor dropped her smug smile, despite the pounding now in her chest. She grabbed him by the straps of his hoodless mantle and pulled, forcing him to bend further, his ribcage still held firm against her foot. 

"Maybe I also wanted to touch myself when I'm out and about," she murmured, "Thinking of you with me, in a dark alley, behind a tavern, outside of a brewery, waiting for a mark..."

A low growl escaped Ondolemar's throat then and he tightened his grips on her hair and bottom.

"How amazingly filthy," he all but whispered, slowly lowering his face to hers, "Indelibly obscene, incurably profane …" 

His face was now directly over hers, and he snatched her head back by her hair, catching a glint of something golden behind the neckline of her leather. She let out a small gasp despite her trying to maintain her biting confidence.

"Do continue," Ondolemar breathed.

Ariana slapped him then, with full strength, across his cheek. Another growl escaped his throat as he immediately pushed her onto her back with the weight of his body, forcing her foot to slip away from his chest and under his arm. He pulled his hand away from the back of her head and grabbed her throat, squeezing tighter than he ever had before. He aggressively kissed her, before his mouth eventually wandered along her jaw down to her ear. At this angle atop the table, he was already bent in a way where his hips could easily meet between her legs, all the while keeping his mouth on her. With his free hand, he clawed up at her bottom to her thigh, pulling her leg up and around his waist.

Feeling Ondolemar press into her through his robes and her leather, Ariana gasped and arched her back. He loosened his grip on her throat as the sting from her slap waned, and eventually let his hand glide down her collar and to her breast. It lingered there as he kissed her neck, before moving further down to grab her hip. He yanked her onto him then, suddenly biting her.

Ariana could take it no longer. Despite his recent release, she could tell he was again at his fullest, and would hopefully brutalize her in the way she often craved. She slipped a trembling hand down to her lower belly, where she knew the new clasp to be. 

***

It was time for the midday meal, and Siriol, as she often did, decided to ask the Justiciar if he wanted her to bring him anything. She paused before the Imperial strategy room, her knuckles hovering over the Dwemer door. She was completely frozen as she heard incredibly faint gasping from inside.

He's not even trying to hide it anymore! She couldn't help but think, her gut churning and quiet panic welling in her throat. I mustn't tell Caris. This continued disappointment would kill her. She would be compelled to do something she would deeply regret.  

She glanced to behind her and to her left, noting Caris standing by their usual bench and eyeing her impatiently. Siriol pretended to speak through the door, and followed it with a short pause and a silent "yes, sir". She started back for her partner then, absolutely horrified to see Caris approaching. When they met, uncomfortably close to the Justiciar's make-shift office, Siriol grabbed Caris by her arm and began to tug her along towards the kitchen.

"He said he wasn't hungry," she tried to say casually, though her voice held a hint of impatience, "Let us go ahead ourselves, I'm starving."

"Hey, save the manhandling for tonight , " Caris grumbled and yanked her arm out of her partner's grip, a smirk bending her thin lips. Siriol forced a quiet, lighthearted laugh, though she failed to make her eyes match.

The chef and his assistant escaped the kitchen in response to the soldier's sudden arrival. Caris paused by the table with her hands on her hips, her face twisting subtly.

"Was Marcellus there?" she eventually asked, raising her brows, her tone holding a hint of her usual anger. "I unfortunately didn't notice if she entered with him." 

Siriol froze with her hand hovering over a crate of horker jerky. Yes, her mind immediately wanted to answer. She loathed lying, figuring it unnecessary in most instances. And she felt it ultimately more respectful to trust an individual's ability to handle the truth. But she knew Caris too well for that in this particular situation.

"I wouldn't know," she quietly managed, though she wasn't completely confident it was convincing. 

"He's getting much too comfortable with it, if you ask me" Caris replied, her tone quickly souring. "He's supposed to be better than this."

"Well, he's not." Siriol almost spat, forgetting her jerky and turning to face her. "And I'm not sure why you're having such a hard time accepting that."

"I cannot accept such a thing, and you know that!" Caris hissed. "A Justiciar cannot be this way!"

"Well, he is!" Siriol had a hard time stifling her volume, and impulsively slapped the table. "And I don't blame him at this point! Imagine how horribly lonely either of us would be here alone!"

"WE ARE NOT AT ALL COMPARABLE!" Caris shouted. Siriol glanced to the closed kitchen door, willing no one to enter. "It's like you're suggesting you would court one of the hounds should you find yourself as lonely as him!"

Siriol, immediately regretting her tone, let out a heavy, strained sigh and approached Caris. She gingerly took her shoulders, feeling her partner's body relax slightly from her touch. 

"I know you don't care about this as much as I do," Caris grumbled, averting her eyes, "You never did…" She mindlessly placed an armored hand atop her partner's on her shoulder. "I'm grateful that you did so, but I still wonder why you bothered to enlist with me in the first place."

"Love, you know I would follow you anywhere." Siriol whispered, slipping her fingers underneath the armor on Caris's cheeks. She kissed her slowly and gently, taking great care not to scratch her cheek with her armor. She was tempted to remove her gauntlets, but she couldn't bring herself to pull away just yet.

***

Ariana lay in bed, wearing Ondolemar’s black, linen tunic. She stared at the ceiling, noting the increasing amount of spider webs along the edge of the wall. She knew it was sensible and hygienic to sweep these kinds of webs down, as they were quick to collect dust and grime. But considering the persistent, ragged silk throughout the Sanctuary, it simply didn't feel like home without it. Luckily Ondolemar didn't seem to notice them, or if he did, he didn't mention anything. 

She sat up slightly, watching him stand in front of the mirror, shirtless, sliding a silver straight razor up his throat to his jaw. She mindlessly straightened the diamond and emerald necklace along her collar and cleared her throat.

"When was the last time you grew your hair out?" She asked, remembering to keep her tone soft so he wouldn't jolt with such a sharp blade against his throat. She silently counted as she vividly visualized such a thing.

"To what length?" He asked plainly, carefully continuing his shaving.

"Any length," Ariana shrugged despite knowing he couldn't really see her at the moment, "Anything other than shaved. I'm just curious, I know bald is your preference."

"Well," Ondolemar paused to wet and wipe the blade, "The last time it was longer than shaved was during the war. There was seldom time for personal grooming, and it would often grow out to the width of my thumb or more."

"How long would that take?"

"I don't know exactly, but not long," he said, "I have to shave my scalp twice a month, and within a few days there is already stubble... not unlike my face." 

With a few more passes of the blade, Ondolemar was finished, and wet his face in the washbasin before drying it with a cloth. Once he was sure the straight razor was wiped completely dry, he replaced it in its leather case and put it in the top drawer of the dresser. He glanced back at her as she sat up in the bed, propping herself up from behind with her arms. He admired the subtle, glistening sweat on her exposed collar, as his tunic fell loosely around her shoulder. He felt the delicate dew was perfectly complemented by the gemstones and gold around her neck. He crawled over to her from the foot of the bed and pulled her face to his for a kiss.

"I like how stubble looks on your face, honestly," Ariana gently stroked his cheek, and he tilted his head to let it fall into her palm, "Though I also like how this feels."

Ondolemar held her hand to his face, closing his eyes and drawing a deep, quiet breath. After a moment, he fell into the bed next to her, and she draped the green velvet over him.

"Have you ever grown a full beard?" Ariana asked, lying back down and facing him, using his outstretched arm as a pillow. "Just curious."

"Once," he answered quietly, "And I instantly hated it. I do prefer some facial hair, but definitely not a full face of it."

"Why not? Again, curious." She felt compelled to clarify. "I don't have a preference or anything."

"Ha!" Luckily Ondolemar was in a very good mood that evening, and not inclined to read too much into her questions nor take them personally. "I ended up looking exactly like a certain person, minus the uniform coloring."

"Uniform coloring?" Ariana already figured he was referring to his father, which was a subject she knew he loathed above all else.

"My chin is the only place where it is completely white. Elsewhere, as with the hair on my head, it is interspersed with other colors: random strands of dull red and light brown."

"That sounds really pretty, honestly."

"It is not," he let out a sharp but airy laugh, "I assure you."

"Well, I'd like to see it," Ariana said plainly, before once again clarifying, "Just once."

Ondolemar smiled and quietly scoffed, looking away from her briefly, but ultimately said nothing.

"Have you ever had it long?" She asked, tracing a finger along his collar bone thoughtfully.

"Not since my youth, back when the color was consistent, and the texture still fine." With the arm that was underneath her head, he stroked her shoulder from behind. 

"When did you notice it change?" 

"Somewhere between fifteen and twenty," Ondolemar murmured, his brows furrowing slightly, "I don't recall. My memories from that far back are becoming increasingly elusive."

This wasn't entirely true, though he certainly wished it was.

"Hm," Ariana hummed softly, glancing down at his bare chest, noting a few, faint red strands amongst the white, "I really don't have a preference, but maybe you would be warmer here if you allowed it to get long again. A lot of heat does escape your head."

"That's what the hood is for."

"Yes, but you're still cold in the winter."

"Why do you think I had it lined with fleece?" He gestured to his hooded shoulder mantle resting on the nightstand behind him. "That is not standard issue."

"I suppose I understand," Ariana huffed quietly, stifling the urge to remind him that he's still often cold, despite the fleece, "I mean, I'm attached to my long hair, despite it getting hot on my head in the summer, as you're attached to yours being shaved, despite the cold." 

Ondolemar thought for a moment, blankly staring at nothing in particular. 

"When was the first time you decided to shave it?"

"Around the same time as it changed," he answered numbly, willing her questions to distract him from his ever-increasing recollection. But they only seemed to intensify them.

Maybe a few years before, he couldn't help but mentally clarify. 

***

Ariana spent the majority of the following morning silently thinking about Ondolemar's hair. As much as she wanted to see what it looked like long, if only for a little while, she knew deep down he was too stubborn to oblige. She was aware enough, in recent years, to know her apparent obsession with hair was due to people fawning over hers when she was young. Though, in hindsight, their sentiments were shallow, she was unable to shake the strong, self-affirming feeling she always gained from them.

Though they were objectively more meaningful, she always had a hard time with compliments that concerned her character. She greedily accepted praise for her physical appearance, considering she would actually put effort into it. But when it came to her being kind, or helpful, or "good", she was tempted to argue with the person. Ariana found herself more willing to receive these sorts of comments from Ondolemar, however, despite them making her heart painfully skip. He seemed to not be the type to throw them around with wild abandon, and she felt them more meaningful coming from him… Especially considering she was no Mer.

Ariana reluctantly packed, despite knowing full well it was time for her to return to the Night Mother. Why she chose her to be Listener, she was unsure at this point. Perhaps she recognized something in Ariana that was special, or the potential of her power. Deep down, she felt these things to be true, but often kept it buried, knowing most others would never be able to perceive it. If others didn't see it, nor acknowledge it, how could she be completely sure it was true?

She bid a long, passionate farewell to her Justiciar. 

Upon leaving Markarth, just outside of the city gates, Ariana was suddenly met by a breathless courier. 

"Ariana Marcellus?" He gasped, trying his best not to bend and huff. 

"Yes?" She asked slowly, narrowing her eyes. She folded her arms defensively, regretting her honest answer as her suspicion mounted. The courier hastily thrust a hand into his dirty, worn messenger bag, and produced a somewhat crumpled envelope.

"Thank the N… Eight," the courier breathed awkwardly, remembering his location, "The destination was so vague."  

"Who is it from?" She grumbled, folding her arms, unwilling to accept it just yet. The courier shrugged, still trying to force his exhausted breath calm.

"Someone in Cyrodiil, is all I know. I picked it up from the post in Whiterun." She could tell by his tone and body language that he was growing impatient. "Wish I could tell you more."

Ariana snatched the letter out of the courier's waiting fingers and maintained her cautious glare. She wasn't used to receiving correspondence, and when she did, it was usually a threat or it bore some horrible, soul-shattering news. She lingered by the city stables, watching the courier as he entered the city, most likely to make more deliveries. She inspected the ink on the dirt stained envelope. On the front, in a strangely familiar scrawl, read in black ink, "Ariana Marcellus, Markarth (?), Skyrim". Ariana chuckled softly to herself at the parentheses and question mark. She flipped the letter over and her eyes gradually grew wide. The envelope was worn and clearly passed through the hands of many couriers on its journey. It was sealed with now flaking red wax, something she was only accustomed to seeing on official mail or those from nobility. Despite its wear, the monogram was still decipherable, and the beating in her chest quickened and intensified. 

The cracked seal read, "HM".

Chapter Text

Ariana carefully broke the seal and unfolded the paper inside.

Ariana,

My name is Vendhal Marcellus, though that surname was not always mine. Your grandmother let me have it when we married since I never had a family name of my own. As far as I am concerned, you are my last living descendant. Your mother died giving birth to you, and her mother died soon thereafter of drink. 

Your grandfather, (not me, your mother's father), died as well, and now there is no one left but me... (Not that I liked that s'wit very much. Can't say I miss him.) I wasn't sure you were still living, but I got wind of a Marcellus with a residence in Markarth. I don't know if this letter will find you, or if it will be you that it finds. If you will really be a grown version of that tiny, extremely loud newborn I was forced to give away the night your mother died. 

If it is you, and you wish for a home and family, (though I don't know how much of a family I will be), know that there is a manor for you in Cheydinhal. It's falling into disrepair and, if I'm completely honest, I can't manage it by myself. It's just too big. 

I'm not one for meeting new people, but I wouldn't mind if you came to visit at least.

Your grandfather, 

Vendhal

Ariana had a hard time focusing on the words, since the concept they seemed to relay was foreign to her. She read the letter again and had to remember to breathe. The handwriting was incredibly familiar, but she currently lacked the document to compare it with. When she was out of view from the city gates, she summoned Shadowmere, and began in a determined gallop northeast.

***

After Listening and relaying prayers to the Night Mother, Ariana went straight to her private chamber, which she hardly slept in these days. She still, however, used it to store her most precious items, one of those being her mysterious family journal. She spent almost an hour comparing its handwriting to the letter. It was exactly the same, though she didn't want to allow herself hope just yet. She flipped back the the first page and scanned the messy family tree, trying to find the name that the letter was signed with. After a moment or two of skimming the entries and branches, she found it at the very top, at the very beginning.

He's still alive? She initially thought, though she already figured why. A Mer then. Probably Dunmer; he did use the word s'wit. Ariana was only mildly familiar with Dumneri names, and wasn't entirely sure how many were on the tree. There were a handful she suspected to be, but tried to remain conservative in her assumptions. If all of the names she suspected were, it would be… a lot.

Though it would have been sensible to sleep, as she often did after returning from Markarth, her mind wouldn't allow it. Her head burned and buzzed with questions, and there were only two people she knew who could possibly answer them. She bid a hasty and short farewell to her Dark Brothers and Sisters, much to Nazir's confusion, and rode off southeast.

It took her a bit to circumvent the Throat of the World, as it often did, as she bypassed it to the north. Her fatigue began to wear on her body as she finally entered The Rift. Her mind was still reeling, however, and she impulsively halted the undead mare just out of Ivarstead. She stared blankly into the distance, remembering the reddish tint to her brown eyes, the slightest, hardly noticeable point to her ears, her instant proclivity towards fire and her slight resistance to it, her preference for spicy food…

Maybe all those names that look Dunmeri ARE! Ariana had to remember to keep moving. It was already night.

Luckily, the particular Bosmer she needed to visit in Riften was most active at night. And she prayed he was in the Rat Way instead of wandering and stalking the wilderness in his larger, less friendly form. The Dark Brotherhood's connection to the Thieves Guild allowed Ariana free entry into the underbelly of the city, which served as their base of operations in the province. She quietly slipped by the Bee and Barb, knowing full well Marcurio would be deeply offended by her not visiting him first, but she could not suffer her questions unanswered for another minute.

"Ari!" Lubomir boomed across the Ragged Flagon, seeing her tell-tale red and black before she had time to spy him. They approached each other and the Bosmer greeted her with a hug followed by a sharp shove to her shoulder.

"I missed you, you little psycho," Lubomir eyed what he thought was a glint of gold behind the neck of her leather, "Are you still spending all your spare time with Tall and Yellow, then?"

Ariana blushed briefly and softly held her concealed necklace through her armor.

"You know I am," she said through a smirk, "I'm a little hesitant to show you what he gave me, though, knowing your… tendencies."

"I knew you were wearing gold under there!" Lubomir almost squealed, reaching for her neckline. Ariana swiftly rose her index finger in front of his face, igniting the tip like a candle. Lubomir froze and his lighthearted smile threatened to fall.

"If you touch it, I will incinerate you," she warned. Ariana gently pulled out the gold, diamond necklace, carefully adjusting it so it would lay flat on her leather. She glanced at a hooded Bosmer woman who sat on a wooden bench alone, reading. "And I don't want to murder you in front of your mother."

"Our mother."

"Your mother."

"You are not still mad ab--" Lubomir began, before he finally noted how fine the piece was. "ARI!" He started for it, nothing but wild eyes and greedy fingers. Ariana slapped his hand away, rolling her eyes.

"How much--"

"He won't tell me."

"Ooohhh, Ari, you really have him have him, don't you? Jealous," he continued to stare at her neckline, praying his hands would behave, "Wish I had some massive man showering me with jewels."

"I'm sure you're more than capable of snagging you one," Ariana forced her tone to be casual. Deep down she didn't appreciate him reducing her and Ondolemar to that, "But I really need to talk to you and your mother."

***

14th of Heartfire, 4E 175

Eviana was Miranda Marcellus's youngest child at twenty-three. She was also the last living. Miranda's eldest son died as a teen, after trying to prove his strength in the Arena. Her second eldest, a daughter, also died young, as an Dark Brotherhood initiate, ultimately failing her first contract. Her second youngest, another son, died in his service to the Empire in the Great War, which had yet to end, but rumors of a treaty were now being spread. 

For the better part of the year, Miranda noticed her daughter gradually isolated herself in her room and eating more. When Eviana would emerge from her chambers, she held herself awkwardly and would wear ugly, baggy, though presumably comfortable clothes. Miranda could tell she was gaining weight.

"It’s okay, Eviana, I know we all grieve in different ways" she would tell her, less-than-gently, "But I cannot stand to see you so disheveled. We can tailor your clothes and buy you some new pieces, but you simply cannot be seen looking like such a peasant."

Eviana would respond by glaring and grumbling curses before retreating back to her quarters. 

On this particular night, however, upon rapping on her daughter's door, Miranda found the replying tone somewhat pained and fearful.

"I-I'm not h-hungry!" Eviana attempted. "I w-want to be l-left alone!"

Miranda let out a sharp "hm", but decided not to press it. She was already weary of Eviana's apparent and increasing disdain for her, and didn't want to push her away further. Though desperate for some sort of connection with her last living child, Miranda forced herself to be patient, willing her wine to aid her. 

"She doesn't want to come down, Drarthes," Miranda addressed her husband as she took her seat across from him.

"I wouldn't be surprised if she's picking it up from your grandfather at this point." The Dunmer grumbled, picking at his steak with a silver fork. "I still don't see why he can't eat with us. He's done it a few times before, and he doesn't have to talk."

"It's just his way, dear, we've been over this," Miranda took a hefty gulp from her goblet, "We're never going to make sense of it, so we just leave him be. He's--"

"Yes, yes, 'he's been here the longest'," Drarthes continued to stab at his steak, seemingly displeased by the lack of proper seasoning. "Bet he'd agree with me over the chef on how to properly prepare food, though."

Miranda scoffed softly, and the pair sat in silence as they finished their evening meal. 

When only a few pieces of roasted carrot remained on her plate, she noticed a tall, dark figure slip out of the door that led to the manor's basement.

"Arielle!" She hissed at the silent, attending servant. "Fetch Grandfather Vendhal a plate!" 

The lanky, black-robed Dunmer flinched at his great-granddaughter's sudden volume, to which she responded with a quiet, "Sorry!"

Vendhal wasn't terribly hungry. He had initially decided to brave the dining hall to ask about Eviana. He suspected her state, but felt the need to keep it a secret with her, knowing full well how Miranda would react. His careful preparation of words as he ascended the staircase exhausted him, however, and it would take some time before he was able to speak.

He sat at the far end of the room, in a maroon, velvet chair. When Arielle, the Breton servant, offered him a full plate of steak and roasted carrots, he couldn't bring himself to accept it. He was old enough now to know it would be the polite thing to do, but this was his house, and he waved her away dismissively, keeping his eyes averted. He heard Drarthes let out a ragged sigh from the table, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

After a few more minutes, Miranda stood and declared she was going to check on her daughter again. Vendhal figured he could just ask about Eviana when she returned. Drarthes remained at the table, periodically glancing at Vendhal. His fleeting glares held obvious contempt, but it was lost the older Dunmer, who was simply uncomfortable with being perceived at all.

Miranda suddenly shrieked from the second story, her anguish echoing throughout every hall of the manor. Arielle bolted up the stairs then. Drarthes shot up to standing, and Vendhal sunk further into his seat, dreading whatever further volume would follow.

Miranda stumbled down the stairs and stomped back to the table, her arms soaked up to her elbows in blood and violent tears gushing from her eyes. She was followed by the servant, who held a stained, wailing bundle. 

"SHE'S DEAD!" Miranda cried, her flooded eyes wide with fury. She swung her arm behind her and pointed at the bloodied, linen-wrapped newborn, "Because of THAT!"

I should have assisted her then, Vendhal couldn't say aloud, quietly resting his forehead in his hands, If I had only known it would come tonight.

Drarthes was stunned by this sudden, horrible news. Before any emotion could reach him, however, his mind fervently whirled with possible culprits.

"Is it that Legate's?" 

"WHO CARES?!" Miranda screamed, her aggressive trembling becoming more apparent by the second. "He never bothered to marry into this family, nor did he RETURN. He can't claim her!"

"Her? Did Eviana manage to give her a name?" 

"'Ar-i-a-na,'" Miranda managed bitterly, "But what does it matter? It ha--"

"I know, I know, we have to get rid of it. We cannot let a bastard live in these halls." Drarthes was, by no means, calm, but Vendhal found himself preferring his volume. 

"Ma'am," Arielle uttered, the newborn finally quiet and still against her breast, "What are we to do with it?"

"Into the river with it! And be quiet about it!" Eviana's mother spat at the young servant, who nodded fervently, pulling the sleeping baby tighter against her chest.

"No," uttered a deep, gravelly voice from the corner of the room. It would have gone unnoticed if it hadn't been a voice they were so unaccustomed to hearing. 

"Grandfather?" The teary matriarch gasped, "But... why? You know it must be done!" 

"Must it be done, though?" Drarthes grumbled. "We can just give it away, like what has been done in the p--"

"No," Miranda's face twisted and her hot tears returned, welling and burning down her cheek, "That thing took my last child away. I want it dead."

You would let your grief end our line then? Stupid woman. Vendhal, yet again, couldn't say aloud. He rose from his chair and made his way over to them, his face stone and eyes averted. He took the baby from the servant's arms and cradled it awkwardly. Mild panic briefly flashed across his face as the child stirred from the exchange, threatening to wail. But she luckily remained quiet, sleeping against his chest. 

He gave a short, stiff nod, though he wasn't sure why. 

"Ah, yes, fine, you do it." Drarthes muttered, pinching his temples and sighing. "You have always blended with the shadows better than the rest." 

So Vendhal would. Or at least he thought he might, he wasn't sure. He was uncomfortable with every aspect of the evening. He wasn't really sad for Eviana. Disappointed by the turn of events, maybe, and annoyed by the drama of it all, but he was numb to his descendents dying by now. The babies always struck a nerve, however, and he wasn't ready for another to die, not yet. He'd rather take the child himself, if only for a few moments, to give his mind time to prepare for its demise. 

He sat by the bank of the river-like lake that snaked through the city, the baby still luckily slumbering in the grass beside him. She was so quiet that he hoped maybe she had already died, so he could be done with it all. 

Out of his robes he pulled a thin, leather-bound journal and a pencil. The first page read "House Marcellus" in black ink and fancy script, (he was still proud at how carefully and neat he had written it). On the second page was a family tree, less neat, but still somewhat organized and legible. It had been continually edited and added to for over 150 years. With the pencil, he drew a line down from Eviana, and scrawled the name "Ariana", along with the date. Beside her name he wrote "The Lady'', before glancing up to the sky. Though the faint light of Cheydinhal partially obscured the starlight, he spied another, subtly undulating  constellation above. He crossed out "The Lady'' and wrote beside it "The Serpent''. Later, he would copy the new entry in the larger, official tome he kept safe in his basement.

The child then began to wiggle and whine. 

Panicking slightly, he shushed her, and thought that now would have to be the time. Surely the rest of his family thought he would have done it by now and scurried back down to his basement to escape anymore interaction with them. The thought of drowning her made him squeamish. He had no reason for it, considering the atrocities he had committed, often nonchalantly, in his life. He resented this attachment he was apparently forming. 

They always die, he silently told himself, Might as well get it out of the way, might as well have control over it.

He placed the soiled linens over her face, readying his hand to bear down and smother her still and quiet. That's when he heard a small boy's voice call to his mother on the street. 

"Mummy? D'ya hear that baby cryin'?" 

Vendhal quickly abandoned the infant in the grass, who was now screeching beneath the cloth. He cursed to himself, ducking behind a nearby bush. 

Why is there a child on the street this late at night?

He saw a hooded elven woman and her small son, no older than three, investigate the cries. It was too dark to see the tone of her skin, but she was too golden appearing to be another Dunmer, a little too tall to be a Bosmer, but much too short to be Altmer. Her son was very small and brown, so Vendhal assumed them to be wood elves, despite the woman's height.

"Mummy, it is! It's a baby!" Shrieked the boy, crouching down by Ariana, pulling the cloth off her face. "Ew, it smells!" 

"Please stop shouting, Lubomir, it is very late--but goodness, yes, it's a baby," The woman said plainly, bending to pick up the newborn, shushing and rocking her, "I wonder whose it is..." 

Vendhal's stomach churned as the woman looked up at the Marcellus manor. He knew she would knock on the door. He knew she'd ask them about the baby. He knew they'd found out he didn't do the deed. Maybe they would kick him out? No, he wasn't really worried about that, he simply dreaded the thought of being forced to explain himself. 

He stepped out into the moonlight and approached the stranger. 

"Oh! Is this your baby?" Galathil asked plainly. "Were you looking for it--" 

"It can't stay. They'll kill it." He managed to utter, glancing back up at the mansion. Galathil couldn't quite read his tone. Perhaps there was none. She didn't know how to respond. 

"Please take it. I'd rather not see it die." 

She glanced down at her boy, who clung to her legs. 

"I'M not taking it! I can't take care of a baby, I already have my hands full with this little one!" She tried shoving the baby back towards Vendhal, who quickly stepped back. Ariana screamed from the jolt. 

Vendhal's eyes were wide as he shushed them, and shone like pools of blood in the moonlight. They were looking directly into Galathil's now, and a sickening shiver ran along her spine. 

"Wh--what am I to do with it?" 

Vendhal's gaze softened and he released his uncomfortable and intimidating eye contact. He merely shrugged.

"I dunno," He muttered after a moment, "Just take it away from here. Care for it, give it to an orphanage, I don't care. Just please take her away from here. I cannot..." His voice trailed and he was no longer able to speak. 

Galathil just stared. 

"Mummy, I don't want it, it's stin--" 

She bent swiftly to pop Lubomir on the bottom, and he fell silent. 

Vendhal turned to leave before halting himself. He thought for a moment, retrieved the small book from his robes, and thrusted it towards the woman. She cautiously took it and tucked it under her arm. 

"First I have questions--" 

Vendhal shook his head vehemently and gestured to the book he had just handed her. He was done. He could interact no longer and slipped back into the shadows, leaving Galathil standing on the grassy bank with her son and this new, strange baby.

Vendhal slipped through the bay doors on the back end of the manor. He cast a small magical light as he descended the stairs into his study, before shaking it out of existence as the candlelight finally reached him. The lighting was warm and dim, just as he preferred it, and he was finally safe from unwanted interpersonal exchange. By one of his messy tables, lied a silent, skeletal, undead hound, and he gave its skull a swift pat before taking his seat. He wanted to make the entry in the large, wine-red, leather tome before he forgot anything. He was very easily distracted by his personal research and conjuring, and the book on the corner of the table--a detailed encyclopedia of decomposers--threatened to tear away his focus. At the bottom of the plain, line-connected family tree, and in the neatest, fanciest script he could muster, he inked in Ariana's name, the date, and her sign. Creeping satisfaction took him as he realized he didn't have to enter a death date just yet. 

Chapter Text

The family journal had attempted to detail certain, odd traditions in the Marcellus family, but the paragraphs were rough and smudged and a little incoherent. The only thing Ariana was really able to get from it was the original matriarch's strict concern over reputation. The author also seemingly expressed loathing for this, as he would scribble in the margins things like "I don't know why she cared!" and "The house was successful anyway, and we were already viewed as odd for continuing the intermarriage tradition!" Ariana was stuck with the feeling that everything the family did was to honor the founders of the house: Una Marcellus and Vendhal. 

From what the family tree suggested, Una was an Imperial alive during the Oblivion crisis. Vendhal was most likely a refugee from Morrowind, since his (approximate) year of birth was well before the Red Year, and his birthplace was listed as "Blacklight (?)". 

If you didn't like the direction the family was doing, why didn't you speak up, Vendhal? But Ariana already figured the answer. There was one, relatively useless page toward the end. It bore only one sentence, though the size filled half the page: "I miss her so much still."

This was the most thorough she had ever analyzed the journal. She had read it cover to cover many times before, but never in this context, nor with this level of emotion. Ariana found herself trying to review it as she rode, eventually having to stop as looking down made her head hurt and stomach churn. After some time, she would mindlessly pull out the book again, only to be met with the same sensation.

Lubomir and Galathil were of little use. They relayed to her, more or less, the same story they had before. Lubomir, after reading the letter, then tried to form better details, but Ariana dismissed them as exaggerations. It had been dark, and Lubomir had been so small when he allegedly met Vendhal. 

"He was insanely tall," he said.

"He was only a hand taller than me," Galathil corrected him, "Please remember you barely came up to my hip back then."

A hand taller than Galathil was still significantly taller than Ariana, considering the Bosmer woman's own mixed heritage. 

"Are you going to see him, then?" Lubomir had asked, leaning over his mother and towards Ariana on the bench. "Can I go with you? He was so scary, but I want to see him again. That night is burned into my memory forever."

Ariana nodded, though her eyes still held doubt. She was, indeed, compelled to follow the request at the end of the letter. She had not agonized over the issue of her lineage for some time, but she felt the obsession returning, stronger and more gripping than it ever was before. But if she were honest with herself, the letter had been vague, certainly not as detailed as she would have written it. Hope was still one of her greatest fears, and suspicion her most reliable defense.

"Meet me in Falkreath in a week, so we can begin," she eventually told Lubomir, offering him a half-hug while still guarding her necklace, "Pack for at least a month of travel."

"Falkreath?" Lubomir raised a brow.

"It will be quicker for me to get there from Markarth. And I want some time to plan with you before we cross the border."

"Ah, you have to bid farewell to him, then." Lubomir chuckled softly. "Well if I'm going that far west to meet you, why can't I just meet you in Markarth? I'm itching to see Vlindre--"

"No," she interrupted, instantly stern. She quickly fixed her tone and expression to avoid encouraging him. "Ha, no. That's unnecessary. Please just meet me in Falkreath. By the stables, if you can."

Ariana tried to organize the information on her gallop west, just in case it may lead to another revelation. Though it felt significantly less safe than the Sanctuary, Markarth was like home now. Still, her frequent crossing of the entire province was extremely exhausting, and she napped on the undead mare's mane as she finally passed into the Reach.

Ariana arrived in Markarth sometime past midnight, and made her way straight to Vlindrel Hall, hoping he would be there instead of in the Keep. She found him in their bed atop the covers, reading one of her books, his half-full tankard resting on the nightstand beside him. 

"I didn't hear you come in!" Ondolemar raggedly whispered after startling. He tossed the book beside him, clearly not caring if he kept his place. Shooting out of bed, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her up on her toes. Her kiss held sadness, however, and he slowly lowered her after a moment. He knitted his brow, gazed down at her averted eyes, and gently stroked her cheek.

"What's wrong?" He uttered. Ariana forced her eyes back up to his, but she could not fully shake the dread they conveyed. 

"I just had a lot to do," she murmured, unwilling to relay the unfortunate news of her long journey just yet.

Ondolemar held her tight against his chest and wove his fingers through the curls on the back of her head. Bending to rest his head on hers when she was flat on her feet was always a struggle, but he managed anyway. It became apparent by their time together that this soft gesture was calming to Ariana, though it was something he had no experience with prior to knowing her. His sharp belly sinking had already begun, as it often did upon her return, but he suppressed the urge to grope her. Her body was still tense against his, and he knew full well it would sour her already serious mood.

"What is wrong?" He pressed again.

"I," Ariana's voice was muffled against his black linen, "I received some news."

"Bad news, I take it?"

"No…" her voice trailed as she pulled away from him, and unfastened her satchel. She eventually whispered, "And yes."

***

"You still have yet to tell me why you must suddenly travel to Cyrodiil." Ondolemar inevitably and irritably uttered, placing his now empty tankard upon the stone table. He eyed Ariana as she went about the main hall, organizing papers, carefully folding and placing them in an inside pocket of her enchanted satchel. She then rushed over by the fireplace, and began rummaging in a barrel. After pulling out an armful of apples, she paused by the table, looking at Ondolemar and letting out deep, strained breath.

"That's because you're going to argue with me about it." Ariana said plainly, before letting the apples roll out of her arms and onto the table. She inspected each piece of fruit before shoving them into a roughspun sack. After counting the intended amount and spinning the bag and tying it at the top, she shoved it into her satchel.

"You say it as if you already know you shouldn't go."

"I have to, Ondo, I have to figure this out , damn it."

"I don't even know what 'this' is!" Ondolemar hissed, leaning forward in his seat and slightly over the table. Ariana stopped and looked up and away from him, her face contorted in her frustration. She feared him thinking her foolish, following such a flimsy lead. He would surely reiterate the letter's vagueness, and dismiss the matching handwriting in his persistent suspicion. For these reasons, she had been unwilling to share it with him, nor even mention it.

"I," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "I might have fam--"

Ariana's reluctant admittance was suddenly cut short by loud banging on the door. She and Ondolemar swiftly faced the entrance, before looking at each other once more. Ondolemar's irritation was quelled momentarily as mild horror flashed through his eyes, matching Ariana's. 

"Who in Obl--" he began under his breath, before Ariana vehemently shrugged, the panic intensifying on her face. They both flinched as the stranger knocked again, seemingly more adamant.

"Quickly," Ariana whispered at Ondolemar, who had already risen from his seat, taking great care not to shift the chair legs audibly, "Go in the ba--"

"I will wait in our quarters." Ondolemar murmured seriously, giving her a short nod before retreating down the hall to the bedroom.

Ariana watched him as he left, making sure he was out of view before making her way to the door. She swung it open and gasped, met with a familiar Bosmer on the other side.

"Lubomir!" She couldn't help but shout. "What in Oblivion are you doing here? We're supposed to meet in Falkreath!"  

"I was in the Hold on a job and I," Lubomir let out a soft chuckle, "Wanted to see your place. You're always going on and on about it when you visit us, and I couldn't resist."

"You idiot, I am not alone!" Ariana remembered to whisper.

"Oh, is Tall and Yellow here, then?" Lubomir smirked and kept an infuriatingly conspicuous volume. He held on to the strap of his quiver as he tried to lean around Ariana to peek inside. She shushed him emphatically, resisting murder. 

"Yes!" She hissed, "And he would be furious if he knew I had told anyone about him, so keep your damn mouth shut!" She sourly eyed Lubomir's usual summer attire, which only consisted of a fur and hide fauld, a belt, and worn leather boots. 

"Oh don't worry, Ari, I don't know anything." He flippantly replied, waving his hand. He pushed by her and into the entryway. 

"Why do you always have to be half naked?" Ariana almost whimpered, stopping Lubomir with a gloved hand on his bare chest before he could make it to the main hall. She briefly forgot her volume, "It’s going to make him jump to conclusions should he see you."

Lubomir's amusement suddenly fell, however, as he looked up and behind Ariana's shoulder. 

"And what conclusions ," she heard Ondolemar coldly utter behind her, "Would those be?" 

Ariana closed her eyes and drew a deep, shaky breath. After she reluctantly turned, she saw Ondolemar had managed to quickly dress in his robes, so as not to be seen there in just his tunic and trousers by a stranger. He hadn't bothered with his hooded mantle, however. Noting his burning suspicion, she inhaled once more, preparing to spew as much information as she could at him before he could interrupt her.

"This is Lubomir. He's the one traveling with me to Cyrodiil. He was supposed to meet me in Falkreath," she glared over her shoulder for a second, "Before we made our way southeast. But apparently he's a nosy bastard and wanted to see Vlindrel Hall for hi--"

"You have told me of him before, but you failed to mention he was the one accompanying you." Ondolemar kept his accusing tone low and icy, and slowly approached Ariana and the intruding Bosmer. 

The Justiciar inspected Lubomir's appearance: He was on the taller end for a wood elf, though this was only about five fingers taller than Ariana. He noted Lubomir's half-bare athletic physique and scars. He had thick, shiny, dark auburn hair, just longer than collar-length and half-pulled up in a ponytail at the back of his head, and he kept his facial hair very short, though it was still noticeable from a distance. Piercing each of the Bosmer's earlobes were small, worn claws, though which animal they came from, Ondolemar was unsure. He wore dark blue pigment across his nose and long-lashed eyes, which only served to accentuate and brighten them. The paint came down into sharp points under Lubomir's cheekbones, and Ondolemar then noticed a finger-width line of it running down the middle of his lower lip. His lips were full and looked soft, and were quickly forming into a small, insufferable smile.

He's handsome, Ondolemar thought, softly biting the inside of his cheek. His jealousy then quickly rose as he remembered some of the things Ariana had suggested about Lubomir's personality.

"Oh you've told him of me, have you?" Lubomir leaned closer to Ariana, raising a brow and offering a fleeting wink. 

"I told him," Ariana began through her teeth, trying to communicate visceral threats with her glare, "That your mother cared for me when I was very small."

"Is that all you told him?" Lubomir's mischievous smile widened into a soft grin. Ariana's face quickly contorted and she shoved him away by his chest with both of her hands, flames briefly flashing from between her fingers. 

"Not the fire , Ari!" Lubomir nearly whined, recoiling dramatically as if she tried to mortally wound him. This would have made Ondolemar laugh if it weren't for his mind's gnawing questions. 

"Are you not going to ask who I am?" Ondolemar hissed down at Lubomir before shooting Ariana a potent look, which she tried her best to ignore. 

"Let's just go sit at the table or something!" She yelled in her rising panic. "So I can explain everything?!" 

Ondolemar averted his cool glare from Ariana back to Lubomir. 

"You heard her," He murmured down at the Bosmer, flashing a small, malicious smirk, "Or are your ears suddenly filled with cotton?" Ondolemar swiftly grabbed him by the strap of his quiver and began to drag him along in the direction of the table. Lubomir laughed softly in an attempt to hide his nervousness, and found himself nearly thrown down into a chair. 

"Oh, you're the type that likes to manhandle people, I see." Lubomir chuckled while giving the Altmer a look. He reached for a loose apple Ariana had left on the table and maintained eye contact and a smile as he slowly took a bite. Ondolemar's face twisted slightly as he stared down at him, astonished by his bold and obvious flirting. He then glanced at Ariana, who was shakily taking a seat across from them, trying to steady her breath. She looked up at Ondolemar and noted his raised eyebrow.

"Lubomir, shut up." She said flatly, resting her elbows on the table and massaging her temples. Ondolemar remained standing by the table, however, folding his arms and glancing between the two impatiently. 

"Well," he began, addressing Lubomir once more, suppressing the urge to tap a foot, "When Ar-- Marcellus mentioned she would have assistance on her journey, I imagined more than one person, preferably for hire."

"Oh," Lubomir said with a bit of apple still in his mouth, patting the small satchel attached to his belt, "Yeah, it won't be just me, don't worry." 

"What are you talking about?" Ariana leaned over the table and hissed. Lubomir hastily swallowed his bite and held up his index finger, licking his lips briefly and maintaining a wide, smug smile. He then plunged his hand impossibly deep into the small bag on his belt, and began pulling out a green, thorny staff, ending in a blossom of unusually thick and waxy red petals. Ariana's eyes became round and she slapped both of her palms on the table.

"You brought that?!" 

"Of course, I bring him everywhere."

"WHAT," Ondolemar suddenly shouted, "In Oblivion ARE YOU TWO GOING ON ABOUT?!" He was miserably dumbfounded by this current exchange, and offended it apparently included him so little. This Bosmer's obvious and close familiarity with Ariana was maddening. 

"The Dremora this summons," Lubomir said plainly, as if that was the only answer Ondolemar wanted.

"First of all," Ondolemar raised a finger and chuckled softly to will his confused temper controlled, "Why do you have no questions for me?"

"Ondo," Ariana began in a low voice, knowing full well where this was going. Her gut was already in knots, and it now threatened to rupture. 

"What questions should I have?" Lubomir asked, darting his eyes between Ondolemar to Ariana several times, unsure why he was asked in the first place. Ondolemar ground his teeth in a way that made his jaw raise and lower visibly beneath his skin. 

"Ondo!" Ariana shouted, slapping the table once more before Ondolemar could continue this particular line of questioning. She couldn't trust Lubomir to convincingly hide what he knew, with his lack of fabricated inquiries making it apparent. This unbearable tension was going to worsen if she didn't just come clean.

"Are you going to translate this for m--"

"He KNOWS!" Ariana practically wailed, anticipatory tears beginning to well in her eyes. Ondolemar glared at her furiously, knowing full well what she meant.

"He knows what, exactly?" He attempted coolly, on the off chance it wasn't what he knew it to be. 

"About us, damn you!" She tried her best to steady her now wavering voice, but it proved difficult. She was unsure how much of a betrayal Ondolemar would consider her loose tongue. "He is safe, I trust him with this. He may be an idiot but he isn't going to out you, please."  

Lubomir stayed silent at the other end of the stone table, slowly continuing to chew his apple while keeping his eyes averted from the pair. He found their sudden intensity very uncomfortable.

"You," Ondolemar uttered through vehement breath, "Told--"

"YES!" Ariana shouted, before her tone weakened and quivered desperately, "I couldn't help it, Ondo, you are all I ever think about when I'm away."

Ondolemar's brows knitted slightly, despite himself, and he bit his cheek and swallowed. 

"Who else?" He murmured seriously, lowering himself into the empty chair around the corner from her.

"Just him and Marcurio," Ariana whispered, holding her face in her hands, unable to look Ondolemar in the eyes just yet. "They're the friends I've known for the longest, and I trust them with my life. Besides," Ariana drew a deep breath, willing her eyes to remain dry and sitting up straight, "Neither willingly go near any Thalmor, so it's not like they'd have anyone of consequence to share it with."

"Yeah, I don't care who anybody fu--"

"SHUT UP!" Ariana and Ondolemar shouted at Lubomir in unison. Lubomir jolted slightly, but dismissively shrugged, and continued to nibble at the core.

"Why didn't you let me know there were others that knew?" Ondolemar turned back to Ariana, speaking softly now. His vehemence seemingly fell away to make room for concern. He was tempted to hold her hand, but hesitated due to their lack of privacy. 

"Because you would react exactly as you did, if not worse." Ariana said flatly, raising her brows.

"If you had just been honest and forthright and… and… Do you not trust me?" Ondolemar whispered, trying his best to ignore the Bosmer's awkward shifting at the other end of the table. Something she said about Lubomir and Marcurio was beginning to bother him. ' Trust them with my life'... 

'Them'.

I don't trust you to not respond so angrily, she thought better than to say aloud. It would merely result in another train of questions and accusations, and she was already deeply embarrassed about having this discussion in front of an audience.

"I thought you wouldn't trust me." Ariana eventually uttered, glancing at Lubomir, relieved to see him looking away and seemingly inspecting the Dwemer architecture of the hall.

"Ar-i-a-na," Ondolemar whispered, emphasizing every syllable. He gave her a look to convey he thought that sentiment was ridiculous... despite it being accurate.

"By the gods," Lubomir groaned, "Are you two done? When are we going to head out? If I had known I would be walking into a lover's quarrel, I wouldn't have come."

"You shouldn't have come anyway!" Ariana spat across the table. "And we wouldn't have had to talk about this at all if you weren't here!"  

"Well you shouldn't have made this place," Lubomir gestured vaguely at the hall, the smugness never leaving his face, "Sound so enticing th--"

"So that staff," Ondolemar interrupted before Ariana and Lubomir could remind him of how many conversations they had that he could never be privy to, "Is that what I think it is?"

"Depends what you think it is," Lubomir said through a smirk, stroking the length of the Rose before resting it atop the table.

"If the memory of my studies still serves me, it matches written depictions of the Sanguine Rose." Ariana knew Ondolemar's tone was accusatory, but Lubomir would most likely mistake it as intrigue, and panic began to rise again in her chest.

"Yep!" Lubomir chimed in response, admiring the staff, before holding it aloft once more. "You want to see what it does?" 

"You already said it summons a Dremora, so I absolutely do not." 

"Oh, c'mon, he isn't so bad. A bit of a stick-in-the-mud for one supposedly from Sanguine's realm, but I guess that's why the Prince was willing to spare him to begin with." Lubomir glanced at Ariana from across the length of the table and added, "You remember him, don't you, Ari?"

Ariana's eyes widened and she kept her mouth fused shut. She shook her head, but not as an answer to his question. 

"How can you forget him?" Lubomir said before unfortunately adding, "You kept trying to steal the Rose away from me after Sanguine left us, once you knew what it did." 

"Wait," Ondolemar interjected, raising a hand and inhaling sharply, before turning to Ariana. She glared at Lubomir, silently cursing his loose tongue. "You met Sanguine? You met a Daedric prince?"

Unfortunately Lubomir answered before she had a chance to carefully choose her words.

"Yeah, he gave the Rose to me , though, since she was such a grumpy bore about the whole thing." 

Ariana's eyes became round and livid and she tilted her head at him, silently gesturing across her throat with her thumb.

"Oh, come on, Ari, I know you had fun that night." 

Ariana suddenly shot out of her chair, it falling over behind her. She wanted to crawl over the table and strangle Lubomir to death, but quickly stifled the impulse, noticing Ondolemar's eyes on her and one of his brows raised. 

"What night?" He uttered slowly behind clenched teeth. His mind whirled with hundreds of possible answers, each one infuriating. But Ariana's silent, dramatic threats only seemed to amuse and encourage Lubomir, and he answered for her again. 

"We met Sanguine at the tavern in Whiterun, back when she was still studying at the College of Winterhold, and back when I was a Companion. He was disguised as a Breton named Sam. He convinced us to play a drinking game with him."

"Lubomir I will ki--"

"Anyway, it quickly got out of hand and we apparently lost consciousness. We ended up waking up here in Markarth, in the Temple of Dibella of all places."

"Ariana, I thought you said that book-fetching trip was the first time you had been to Markarth." Ondolemar suddenly glanced at her, folding his arms and raising his brow once more. "And I thought you haven't been drunk since you were an adolescent."

"I don't count that time!"  

"She was so hungover, she had to keep her eyes closed as we left the city. I had to guide her along, she  was so angry." Lubomir chuckled softly. "Anyway, after we ended up cleaning up all the messes we apparently made the night before, we found Sanguine and he named me his champion. He then gave me back my memory of the night, so I could remember it fondly. And I can assure you, despite her still insisting the night was awful, I do remember her having the time of her life--"

"LUBOMIR, SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH! I TOLD you I never wanted to be reminded at all of this!" But Ondolemar was already highly suspicious of her adamant pleas and shushed her, leaning closer to this remarkably indiscreet Bosmer. Lubomir assumed this to be fascination, however, rather than the terrifying edge of violence Ariana knew it to be.

"She woke up cursing and shouting, desperately trying to hide behind columns, ordering me to find her clothes--"

All of a sudden, Lubomir found himself out of his chair and slammed into a nearby wall by his throat. His stiff, Dwarven bow and quiver dug painfully into his bare back, and he felt the sting of impossibly cold frost wrapping around his neck. 

"G-goodness," he barely managed as Ondolemar held him aloft, his light green eyes burning through his, "You are so strong."  

"ONDO, DROP HIM!" Ariana shrieked, frozen in place and grasping the sides of her head.

"A-and tall," Lubomir forced a smirk as he glanced down to see his feet dangling quite aways off the stone flooring. Ondolemar loosened his grip on his neck, supporting Lubomir's remaining weight by his waist.

"Are you suggesting," He leaned in close to Lubomir's face so as to whisper in his ear, "What I think you're suggesting?" 

"That Sanguine had us fuck in the Temple of Dibella and we made a huge mess?" Lubomir plainly replied, instantly regretting his honesty as Ondolemar tightened the icy grasp on his throat once more.

"I-I have n-no desire to d-do it again!" Lubomir sputtered helplessly, his face becoming tight and red. "Ari's l-like a s-s-sister t-to me, and we would h-have n-never if it w-weren't f-for the Prince's in-influence!"

"Ondo, please!" Ariana pleaded from across the table, finding herself still unable to intervene. She kept telling herself she liked him this way, surmising it proved his passionate devotion to her. But she loved Lubomir as well, and hated the thought of him possibly dying at the hands of her lover because he was simply being himself. 

"O-oh no," Lubomir eventually uttered, a small smile invading his otherwise terrified expression. He shuddered and strained, and attempted to glance down at himself, but ultimately failed to move his head. 

"Sithis, Lubomir," Ariana uttered, spying what he was trying to indicate and pinching the upper bridge of her nose, "Just go ahead and kill him, Ondo, I can go to Cyrodiil by myself." 

Lubomir forced a pained grin, staring at the Justiciar.

"I-it s-seems you have g-given m-me an erection."

Ondolemar glanced downward before dropping the Bosmer on the floor. Lubomir laughed weakly and looked up at him, holding his sore, frost-bitten throat.

"Could have bought me a drink first," Lubomir was amused to see the imposing Altmer blush and avert his glare briefly, "Before pinning me up against the wall like that, what did you expect?"

Ondolemar looked down at Lubomir incredulously, where he still slumped against the stone wall, raising a single brow.

"Oh come on," Lubomir's persistent chuckle threatened to devolve into breathy cackling, "You're so big and strong. I would have been all over you if you weren't some bloody Thalmor."  

"Ariana, you cannot go with," Ondolemar gestured down at Lubomir, "This!"

"Ondo, he really is like my brother," Ariana's breath was now calm and her legs were finally able to move. She strode over and helped Lubomir up on his feet by his elbow, "And I love him dearly, though he is often insufferable, " she quickly pinched and twisted his bare love handle, making him wince.

Ondolemar ground his teeth but eventually resigned with a small sigh.

"I am not comfortable with this." He couldn't help but remind her, folding his arms and shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"He is a skilled hunter, and I don't want to pack food that may quickly spoil." Ariana glanced behind her to the few apples that still littered the stone table. "And I know you wouldn't guess it by looking at him, but he is also very skilled in combat, and I trust him to help me defend myself, should the need arise." The brief image of Lubomir's hulking beast form flashed through her mind.

"He is clearly a lecher--"

"Oh he's that way with everybody,"

"Not you," Lubomir couldn't help but add, flashing her a small grin, "Not anymore, anyway, I know you would murder me."

Ondolemar sighed deeply and let his arms drop, knowing full well he was not going to be able to persuade her otherwise. If he tried to outright forbid her from leaving, as he had been tempted to do, he might drive her away completely. 

"Fine," he eventually uttered in his defeat, before being compelled to add, "Lubomir, my… apologies, for my violent behavior just now. I'm sure it was embarrassingly apparent that I cannot suffer the thought of another touching her." 

"And I thought Ari was possessive," Lubomir muttered, before his hip was met with Ariana's pinching fingers again. 

"I know I am forced to trust you with this," Ondolemar continued, his brows knitting slightly. Ariana wasn't sure if he was now speaking to her or Lubomir, "As I, myself, cannot be the one to go." 

The Bosmer's smile widened, and as he inhaled to respond, Ariana preemptively grumbled, "Lubomir, shut up."

After she was sure Ondolemar was genuinely contrite, and wouldn't go at Lubomir's throat again, she reluctantly left the pair to continue her packing. They sat at the table in terrible, awkward silence.

"That satchel on your hip," Ondolemar began, pointing around the corner of the table to Lubomir's leather belt, "It carries the same enchantment as Ariana's?"

"Ha, yeah," Lubomir started on a second apple and had a hard time not speaking with his mouth full, "After years of begging Marcurio, he finally made me one. Had to find him a black soul gem, though."

Ondolemar tried not to sneer at the Bosmer's manners.

"You don't follow the Green Pact, I see."

"Mum didn't raise me on it, no." Lubomir mumbled before eventually swallowing. "Then again, she was never a typical Bosmer. My grandfather was an Altmer, her pa, though I never met him. It's why she's still taller than me." 

Ondolemar tried to listen to his answer but could not stop analyzing the events of their recent conflict. 

"Based on what you told me earlier, I get the feeling you aren't a fan of the Thalmor."

"Oh," Lubomir swallowed and looked down at his half-eaten apple, "Don't take it personally or anything, I just haven't had the best experiences with them." He let out a short, breathy laugh. "To which you've just added. "

"Your sudden physical arousal begs to differ." Ondolemar offered Lubomir small, knowing smirk. 

"In case you haven't noticed, Ari likes to talk--"

"As do you, apparently."

"And she knows I like to talk about sex, and she may have mentioned once or twice how apparently... talented you are. And I can't help but imagine things."

Ondolemar glanced to the side and blushed briefly. 

"You know," he uttered, keeping his eyes somewhat averted, "If I weren't already spoken for by your dear 'sister', I would have ruined you. You wouldn't have been able to sit or walk properly for days."

"Be careful threatening me with a good time like that."  

"Well, I'm glad to see you two getting along." Ariana suddenly said as she returned from the bedroom. She had luckily not heard a word of their conversation. "At least I hope that's what's going on here."

"He's being surprisingly tolerable." Ondolemar replied a-matter-of-factly. 

"Good," Ariana fastened her enchanted satchel to her belts as she shot Lubomir one last, threat-ladened look. 

"Lubomir, may I have a minute alone with Ariana?"

"Are you sure you don't want several minutes?" He suggestively replied, raising his brows. But Ariana was already shooing him away from the main hall, and ordered him to wait outside. 

When she was sure he was gone, she turned to find Ondolemar waiting for her where the entryway met the main living area. He pulled her close and held her tight, softly kissing the top of her head.

"Is there any way I can still convince you to stay?" He whispered down into her dark curls. Ariana drew a deep breath and looked up at him, her brows knitting in response to his sudden softness.

"You were never going to be able to," she murmured, "My mind is made up. I'm… sorry."

Ondolemar bent to kiss her slow and deep, snaking his fingers up the back of her neck and through her hair.

"I figured," he breathed after pulling away, unable to hide the pain along his brow. 

"I should be gone no longer than a month." She tried to comfort him, but deep down she knew that would be an agonizing amount of time to wait. They seldom spent longer than a week apart, and that was bad enough. 

"Should everything go according to plan," he corrected her grimly. 

"Don't worry, with Lubomir around, it should."

"I will never be unburdened by my worry for you, especially concerning this. But you've made it clear how important it is to you, and even though I don't fully understand it…" Ondolemar's voice trailed and threatened to shake, and he softly bit the inside of his cheek. "I know you are mine."

Ariana stood higher on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"And I know that I love you." She whispered, before pulling his head down for another kiss. But Ariana's words seemed to stir something in Ondolemar, something terrifying and beautiful all at once. This was the very first time she had uttered those particular words to him and his stomach churned and his chest threatened to burst. He wasn't entirely sure if his own mother had ever said that to him, at least with any meaning. He kissed her wildly now, pulling her face hungrily up into his as he bent, his brows knitting painfully as tears threatened to well. He pulled away slowly, taking time before finally opening his eyes, not yet ready to be met with her gaze. He grasped her shoulders, unwilling to let go of her just yet, and rested his forehead against hers.

"I love you, too." He breathed.

Chapter Text

Stars, why did I say that?! Ondolemar paced the main living area of Vlindrel Hall. That wasn't the least bit true. 'Love' isn't even real. He aggressively rubbed his chin and remembered the mead by the bookshelf. Isn't it real, though? He hated himself for thinking. Is that not just some stupid thing mother (father?) said to try and make you strong? He overpoured his tankard and resisted melting down in response to the spilled mead. And why are you so suddenly concerned if your words were 'true' or not? He slowly brought the tankard to his lips, and shakily sipped off the overflow. It would kill her if she knew I lied about something like this.

"Ha, On- do- le- marrr," he muttered to himself, rubbing his forehead, "You are over thinking thiiis."  

His legs wanted to run out the door after her. If nothing else, her presence helped halt his dizzying, internal stream. He remained rooted by the bookshelf, however, trying to steady his breath.

She is a weakness, Ondolemar silently admitted, before draining half of his tankard, But you've known this, haven't you? And you still allowed it to happen. He remembered his hooded shoulder mantle then, where he left it in their bedroom. He knew it was only a matter of time before his soldiers began wondering where he was, or worse, came looking for him. 

I spent six figures on that necklace I commissioned, he picked lint out of his hood before slipping it over his head, A hefty price, even for myself… Is that…? He was somehow having a hard time with the first buckle, and was hesitant to look in the mirror, lest he catch a glimpse of his own eyes. No, he was in front of the mirror now, despite himself, noticing the first strap was twisted. He avoided his own gaze as if his life depended on it. It was merely to keep what is mine. She melted fully. She will always return now… Was it worth 127,000 septims, though? Surely the same effect would have been possible with a more affordable piece…

Ondolemar went back and forth with himself like this for a few more minutes before he made the mistake of glancing up at his reflection. His brows were knitted, his eyes were wide but his gaze was frail. He recognized it to be himself, but not as he was now. His eyes were the difference. Still lemon scleras and chartreuse irises, still white lashes and deep-set lids… But they were young again. And they were afraid.

He made sure to take the entire case of mead with him before he made his way back to the Keep.

***

Ariana approached the carriage driver outside of the Markarth stables, producing a small coin purse from her enchanted satchel.

"We're not going to ride on you know who then?" Lubomir asked her from behind, raising a brow and holding his hips. 

"No, I want to be able to relax and talk to you." Ariana said plainly, trying to climb up on the back of the carriage. She struggled attempting to lift a foot to the step, which was up to her chest. Lubomir came up from behind and pushed her up by her bottom, and she stumbled into the back of the carriage. She huffed and whirled, stifling her embarrassment long enough to offer him an arm up.

As the carriage driver flicked the reins and began east, Lubomir leaned in close to Ariana's ear.

"I know you care about him," he whispered, "But your relationship with him seems exhaustin--"

"YOU'RE exhausting!" She immediately hissed. The large map she was now holding threatened to crumple. "You know what? Don't talk to me unless I address you first, at least till we reach Falkreath. I'm really not in the mood for you to offer opinions on things you know nothing about."

"Fine," Lubomir grumbled after clicking his teeth, "I just won't talk ever aga--"

"I would be so lucky!"

Lubomir frowned and folded his arms. He looked away from her and back at the shrinking, stone city. He looked up to the midday sky, which was blue and cloudless. He glanced at the carriage driver, trying to catch a hint of his features, should he be handsome. He eventually let out a long, ragged sigh.

Ariana kept having to look up from her map, as that same, gut-twisting sensation came from jostling about in the carriage. Lubomir sighed yet again, but this time more adamantly.

"What in Oblivion is wrong with you?" She asked, irritation still on the edge of her voice. Lubomir kept his arms folded and remained silent, staring off into the distance. After a moment, he let out yet another, dramatic breath.

"Lu-bo-mir," She said slowly and sternly.

"I thought you didn't want me to talk ever a--"

"Sithis! That is not what I said." Ariana slammed the map into her lap and resisted slapping him. "I just don't want you to talk about Ondo. I know him attacking you and all was… bad. But then again so was you obviously trying to embarrass me in front of him!" She let out a long, strained breath. "And I don't want you to think that's all he is..." Her brows furrowed and she softly ground her teeth. She quietly added, "And I'm already missing him."

Lubomir let his arms loosen and resisted yet another sigh. 

"You mind if I talk to Kevin, then? Can't stand to ride without conversation."

Ariana gestured emphatically towards the silent carriage driver, pressing her lips together into a tight line.

"Oh, right," he murmured, furrowing his brow, "Not like he ever wants to talk, anyway… One of these days, though. I will convince him."

Ariana's irritation finally fell, and she giggled softly into her gloved hand.

"I am not here for that,'" she said in a raspy, matter-of-fact tone.

"'Who do I need to kill?'" Lubomir added, attempting the same impression. 

"Honestly, I wouldn't mind seeing him again." Ariana quietly said. "But I hope we don't need him."

"We very well might," he said, "I fully expect the Jerall Mountain pass to be full of frost trolls."

"Trolls are nothing as long as you don't let them sneak up on you." Ariana raised her brows and twirled a small flame in her fingers, taking great care to keep it away from Lubomir's face.

"Yeah," Lubomir muttered, mildly serious and giving his jaw a quick rub, "I tend to forget about them being so weak to flames."

"That's because you refuse to utilize them." 

"You know I have rotten luck with fire, Ari."

***

Ondolemar barely noticed his ascent up the stone stairs. The only thing that he seemed to perceive were the mead bottles jostling and tinkling in the small crate he carried. And to him, they were deafening.

"Sir," Siriol softly addressed him as he passed. But he could hardly hear her.

With the Dwemer door locked, and the crate of mead now quiet on his stone table, the distressing internal diatribe resumed.

'Perpetual child', that's what Arden called you when she threw the ring in your face. She was right, apparently. It's not like you loved her, either. You only proposed because she was half-Bosmer, and it would make father furious.

Ondolemar didn't bother fetching a tankard as he uncorked the bottle he began on in Vlindrel Hall. 

That was something some stupid, rebellious teen would do… not an eighty-year-old Mer…

He drained half the bottle as quickly as he could, though it proved difficult due to its narrow neck. He opted for a tankard then.

'Perpetual child', Ondolemar's mind echoed, Always concerned with what I want, and seldom what is good for me, it seems. He eyed the contents of his tankard, suppressing yet another epiphany that now threatened to erupt.

I do NOT love her, he tried to force this thought to be louder than all the rest, but the mental volume fell short, She has become my wine. His incessant chewing of his cheek was becoming painful, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He glanced to his less than satisfying case of wine in the far corner of the room. Though she is apparently much more effective.

Ondolemar was making quick work of his mead now, and his face flushed. He had to remove his hooded shoulder piece simply so he could breath. He eyed an unused report journal partially hidden under a stack of papers.

Yellow diamond and emerald to represent my skin and eyes… a reminder of who she belongs to…

"Stars!" Ondolemar hissed at himself, slamming a fist on the table. "Why are you agonizing over this?!"

She is your only friend. The answering thought felt invasive, and he was tempted to strike the side of his head to banish it. But he knew if it were truly his first thought after asking himself such a thing, it was most likely the truth. 

"I can make others."

Haven't you tried? She's the only one who has stayed for any amount of time.

"Yes, well she is insane."

As are you, apparently. And aren't you thankful that she is? In case you haven't noticed, you aren't exactly pleasant to be around…

"Sir?" He heard Siriol say from the other side of the door. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, I heard you speaking another."

Ondolemar's initial horror was dominated by a young voice in his mind screaming, COMPANY, COMPANY, COMPANY, COMPANY.

"I was speaking to no one," he said over his shoulder, in the most emotionless tone he could muster, "Are you imagining things again?" He added for good measure. "What do you want?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but a courier arrived and said this letter is urgent." Siriol was trying to keep her muffled words audible, but was having a hard time keeping herself from shouting. "May I come in?"

Ondolemar reluctantly rose and unlocked the door. When he opened it, Siriol couldn't help but scan his flushed and sweaty appearance. She tried to spy a certain Imperial she suspected to be in the room, and was surprised to find the Justiciar alone. Ondolemar found a crisp envelope thrust upon him then, sealed with golden wax embossed with the official Thalmori seal. He paused in the doorway, barely acknowledging the stiff parchment in his hand. 

"Sir?" Siriol cautiously whispered.

"You may come in," he said plainly, remembering to look up at her. He noted her hesitating just outside the doorway as he turned back to his table, "I insist."

Siriol reluctantly entered and stood awkwardly by the adjacent stone table. She eyed the case of mead on his desk.

"You may sit," Ondolemar uttered, his brows knitting subtly. He glanced at her from the side to see her looking at the crate. She cautiously sat in a nearby chair.

"Do you," he paused for a second, trying to fix his trailing and weak voice, "Want a bottle?"

"Is that mead?" Siriol couldn't help but ask, though she instantly dreaded it being perceived as rude.

"It is a very good mead." He allowed the tiniest hint of a smile and raised a brow. He plucked an unopened bottle from the crate and offered it to her.

"Sir," she breathed, unable to hide the enormity of her bewilderment, "That is remarkably generous, but…"

Siriol glanced back at the door, and then to the untouched mail he seemingly discarded on his desk. Looking back up to the Justiciar, she caught a hint of offense in his eyes. She cautiously took the bottle then, and held it in her lap.

"Thank you, sir," she breathed. She hesitated before gesturing to the letter and added, "That was marked urgent."

"Oh, right," Ondolemar uttered, breaking the golden seal. He took a deep gulp from his tankard and cleared his throat.

"May I be dismissed, sir?" 

"Aren't you curious about what this says?" He said plainly, unable to admit he didn't want to be alone.

"I suppose, sir." Siriol quietly answered, though she'd much rather leave.

"Hm," Ondolemar eventually hummed, scanning the document, "Unfortunate."

"What is unfortunate, sir?"

"The Legion is finally moving against Ulfric Stormcloak. Intelligence has informed them he will be traveling south of Helgen on the 17th, with only a small band of companions. They plan on ambushing and executing him the same day."

Siriol held her bottle of mead between her thighs and rubbed her chin.

"I suppose that is unfortunate."

"Well, maybe not just yet," he said quietly but plainly, refilling his mead, "We obviously cannot intervene. But the First Emissary will meet with Tullius in Helgen to ensure there is no trial, and the execution is followed through… In hopes that will further inflame and embolden his followers. This civil war has already weakened the Legion, though naturally not as much as we'd like." 

"I wonder why that was marked urgent, then," Siriol's brow furrowed and she stared down and to the side.

"I just needed to be made aware," Ondolemar sighed, taking another deep sip of his mead, "To ready orders for the other Justiciars, should there be a need. It is only two days out." 

"Well I will leave you to your preparations, sir," Siriol stood and Ondolemar resisted the urge to shout at her to stay. She paused in the doorway before exiting, remembering the bottle in her hand.

"Thank you again, sir, for the bottle." She said in a small voice, over her shoulder. "T'was very kind."

***

Ariana and Lubomir browsed the scant array of shops in Falkreath, purchasing extra potions, though Ariana already brought plenty. Lubomir purchased a package full of venison jerky, his favorite, and several bottles of ale. Ariana noticed him eyeing a sapphire and silver amulet resting loose atop the counter of the general store. She gave him a hard, twisting pinch on his hip, knowing full well he was tempted to steal it.

Upon exiting the open gates of the misty, dreary town, Ariana debated with herself on whether or not she should already travel south, across the border. She was used to navigating mountains, whether they had a carved out pass or not, but eventually figured it would be better to cross into Cyrodiil farther east. Despite it being the land of her birth, she found the thought of it foreign and frightening. She didn't want to traverse it more than she needed to on her way to Cheydinhal.

Ariana forced her pace slow and steady. Though Shadowmere seemed to be tireless, she was not. In further attempts to conserve her energy, for the next two nights, she decided to camp off of the road, much to the dismay of her impatient and distractible companion.

"Let's stop in Whiterun." Lubomir suddenly said.

"Why?" Ariana asked over her shoulder. "That's out of the way at this point. And we already got spare supplies in Falkreath."

He huffed from his mount behind her on the undead mare.

"I know, I know," Lubomir remembered to keep an arm around her waist as he was tempted to fold them, "I just wanted to see how Farkas was doing."

"He's not still mad at you for the... night, right?" 

"Knowing him, he might be, but I felt the urge just now. And the guards there don't seem to recognize me anymore." Lubomir's face contorted as he remembered the one thing he regretted about Sanguine's night. Just outside the gates, he transformed into a hulking, bipedal wolf-like creature, after excitedly slurring, "Hey Ari, look what I can do now!" The guards, as did the rest of the Companions, did not take kindly to this display, and he was forced to avoid the city for nearly a year. He remembered huffing and hiding by the Honningbrew Meadery as Ariana had been forced to deal with Ysolda alone, and the ring they apparently stole from her. 

"You miss him." 

"I loved him, Ari." Lubomir uttered behind her. "Still do, I think, though the missing part isn't as bad anymore." 

"If my reading of this map is correct," Ariana suddenly said, smoothing the large piece of parchment on top of Shadowmere's mane, "We should be just along the border, though we still have a little ways to go before we reach the pass." She glanced back at Lubomir who had been gradually pressing his half-bare body into hers over the course of a few hours. "Are you not cold? The elevation has been increasing for a while now."

"For the last time, Ari, I do not get cold." He grumbled, though he made sure to follow it with a quiet, lighthearted laugh. "Besides, in case you haven't forgotten, it's summer."  

"It’s not going to feel like summer once we're in the mountains, you idiot. You better have packed some furs."

"Farkas wasn't the only reason I wanted to stop in Whiterun."

Ariana halted Shadowmere then, resisting the urge to elbow Lubomir in the ribs.

"Why didn't you pick some up in Falkreath?"

"I forgot." He said flatly and slightly muffled in her shoulder, before chuckling softly. "That and I do not get cold."

"Sithis , Lubomir," Ariana had to remind herself to keep the undead mare moving, and gently kicked her sides, "You are not a Nord, no matter how much you try to be--"

"It’s because I'm a werewolf, Ari."

"That is not a thing."

"Isn't it? The rest of the Companions didn't seem to have a problem with cold, either--"

"Yeah, and they were mostly Nords."  

"I thought you didn't like opinions from someone who knows nothing about the thing?" Lubomir murmured through an audible smirk. Ariana's elbow twitched backward then, making Lubomir giggle and recoil. She managed to stop it from making painful contact, however, dreading the possibility of dragging Lubomir into another mood.

"Yeah, whatever, you don't get cold because you're a 'werewolf', " she eventually grumbled, "You can wear my furs in the pass. I can always stay warm with my flame cloak." She added under her breath, "Then again, I have the sense to travel fully-clothed."

They continued to ride, mostly silent, for the next hour or so, passing no one on the road save for the occasional deer or hare. Ariana paused by a fork, looking south to the rocky, unkempt entrance of the pass. There was a hole in the ground by a small tower of stacked stone, presumably where an old directional post had been. 

"I don't like how quiet it is here," Lubomir whispered, releasing Ariana's waist long enough to pull his bow over his head. Trying to balance on the horse with his thighs, he tightened the bowstring. "All the birds have stopped."

"Lubomir, look down the road!" Ariana breathed, flicking her head towards several sets of blue and chainmail armor in the distance. She unfastened her dagger from her hip, though she prayed she wouldn't have to use it. She turned Shadowmere quietly into the pass entrance, hoping the large crags would hide them from the approaching group. 

As they turned a curve in the incline, Ariana and Lubomir both sighed in relief, figuring they were at least out of view from whomever was on the road. Neither knew quite why they dreaded meeting nor passing the group, but they both apparently shared the same, sudden apprehension. That's when Shadowmere was struck in the chest with a steel arrow.

The dark mare reared and whinnied, making Lubomir fall off despite him desperately clawing at the saddle to prevent it. But he was young, light, and spry, and despite the painful, rocky impact, he was up on his feet, an arrow already taught in his bowstring. Ariana had fire readied in her left hand, and shushed Shadowmere as she and Lubomir darted their eyes about, trying to find the arrow's source. An archer rose from a pocket in the cliff face, but before he could release another arrow, Lubomir caught him in the throat with his own.

That's when the flurry began. Ariana was struck twice, and Lubomir once. Shadowmere was hit numerous times, since she was the largest target. A horrible, ghostly hiss of a cry escaped the horse, and she shuddered and fell, bringing Ariana down with her.

A high-pitched "NO!" erupted from Ariana's throat then, as she saw her fallen horse melt into a bubbling, black abyss. Her shrieking echoed off the craggy walls on either side of her, and rocks loosened and tumbled away from their perches. Lubomir grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her back toward the road. He shouted something along the lines of, "We're surrounded!" And Ariana finally noticed several armored soldiers blocking the pass before she whirled to run with him. The arrows lodged in her shoulder and hip sent lightning through her back and leg, but her adrenaline just barely kept her moving. She had no time to retrieve a potion, and Lubomir forced the hand gripping her studded bracer to glow amber, numbing her wounds.

"Get the Rose!" Ariana yelled. She glanced behind them, wondering why the soldiers did not pursue, nor shoot at them again.

Lubomir let go of her arm, but could not reach into his satchel. There were two more arrows stuck in his chest from the battle that now raged in the road. His eyes were weak and terrified, and his face twisted painfully as he turned to Ariana to gasp, "Run."

Lubomir's body shuddered and heaved, his joints breaking and reforming. His skin erupted with thick, wiry fur and his anguished grunting became fearsome growls. The arrows piercing his chest were pushed from his thickening skin and long claws replaced his fingers. His mouth and nose elongated into a snarling maw of sharp, dripping teeth. A terrible, otherworldly howl then echoed off the mountains.

But Ariana could not follow his desperate command. There were still enough Legionnaires standing to possibly subdue Lubomir, even in this form. They had already slain most of the traveling Stormcloaks, save for four of them, that now lied bound and face down under steel-greaved knees. The Imperial soldiers on the road were now met with bloody claws and gnashing fangs. Ariana heard the ones who had attacked them in the pass shout from behind, and they were, in turn, met with a torrent of flames. 

It was difficult to sense everything that was going on around her. She had not been up against this many since her escape from the Cidhna Mine. Then again, she had more people fighting on her side then. She vaguely noted Lubomir snapping and clawing behind her, accompanied by desperate screams and the sickly, wet sound of tearing viscera. The four archers in the entrance of the pass broke apart and attempted to flank her, knowing her flames would be difficult to aim in so many directions. She noticed one of them dip an arrow in a small, dark blue bottle, and rescinded her flames long enough to cast invisibility. 

Panic gripped Ariana as the archers then trained their sights on the hulking beast attacking their fellow soldiers. She counted to six, but could not hold her concentration long enough to do it twelve times. Trying to remain calm as she held her now exhausting invisibility, she poured poison from her satchel onto the blade of her dagger. She didn't bother trying to muffle her footfalls however, not that the nagging, painful arrow still in her hip would allow it. The nearest archer was suddenly pierced under her arm, an exposed area between armor pieces, and immediately fell rigid and still. The soldier was alive, but woefully paralyzed, and it would still take several minutes for her to bleed out from her now gushing artery. Ariana was forced to cast her invisibility again, and did the same to the next two archers.

Lubomir's furry, red back was stuck with arrows like a pincushion, and as the smell of blood inundated his snout and mouth, his lust for it increased. He paused to messily consume the heart of a fallen soldier, not caring if he swallowed bits of his leather chest piece in the process. Ariana was compelled to assist him, leaving the final archer alone for the time being. She knew he was still him while in this form, though he had warned her that after enough blood touched his tongue, his sentience would begin to slip away. 

Her invisibility was becoming extremely tiring, but she forced it steadfast, nearing the now three remaining soldiers engaging the werewolf. With a quick dip and swing of her blade, she sliced into the back of one of the soldier's ankles. Her magickal stealth fell fully then, and she was unable to muster it back. Lubomir took no time in tearing apart the now stumbling soldier, managing to swipe another away and up against a tree at the same time. The impact was so forceful, the flung soldier could not rise. 

Panicking yet again, noting the archer from the pass--the one with the bottle of magicka poison--eyeing her, Ariana bolted for Lubomir's torn belt and satchel on the ground. The tell-tale sting of magicka poison struck her side then, and she let out a ragged cry as she yanked the Sanguine Rose out of the impossibly small bag. With one determined flick of the staff, a swirling red and black vortex appeared out of thin air, and a horned, dark gray and red head poked out of it.

"The greatsword, then," the Dremora uttered in a terrifying and coarse multitude of voices, before emerging from Oblivion and lunging towards the nearby archer. In one, seemingly effortless swing of his blade, the archer who had just hit Ariana was sliced in two from the waist. 

"DAEDRA!" Ariana heard someone shout, though she couldn't be sure at this point. She was on the ground, clutching Lubomir's satchel, and her vision began to blur. She heard the rattle of new steel boots, presumably reinforcements. Fear could no longer well in her chest, however, as her vision continued to dim. She vaguely noted the Dremora shout and Lubomir let out a sharp whine. She knew she had to do something or else they were done for. Ariana tried to will flames before remembering her stinging side. She tried to make her legs lift her, but the arrow in her hip kept her leg locked. She tried to push herself up by her arms, but her pierced shoulder failed her. Remembering her own potions then, she fumbled with the flap of her satchel. But before she could reach her hand in, a blunt force struck the top of her head. A sword pommel, was her last coherent thought before everything went black.

Swirling and dizzy, and thinking she must be in the Void, she was suddenly lifted on great wings. Cold scales dug into her bare skin and fire filled her throat. The desperate screams of battle were gone now, but one voice still remained. It was in a tongue she did not recognize, but her heart understood. It spoke to her over and over, the same thing, booming and whispering all at once: "Soon, my sister."

Ariana felt the familiar itchiness of a roughspun tunic across her breast. I'm still in the Mine, aren't I? Splinters from old wood poked into her thighs through her ill-fitting trousers. It was all a dream, then. That guard must have really given me a beating in that tunnel. She was unable to open her eyes just yet, and tried to make sleep take her again, so that she might return to her long dream. Her hip, ribs, and shoulder ached, and the throbbing in her skull resulted in a rhythmic jostling, as if she were being tugged along in a mining cart, up an incline. Probably need to give me another potion.

She heard an unfamiliar voice plead in front of her and to the right, though his words were far from her at the moment. Echoing Uraccen, the term "new blood" came to mind. She then heard Lubomir's voice shout some distance from her left.

"Ari!" He yelled desperately. "Are you alright?!"

This was followed by another voice, sternly bellowing, "Shut up or we'll muzzle you, dog!"

Ariana's eyes slowly opened then, revealing towering firs and large boulders moving along and to her right. Seated directly in front of her was a surprisingly calm, fair-haired Nordic man.

"Hey you," he addressed her, "You're finally awake."

Chapter Text

"You were trying to cross the border, right?" The Nord asked. "You and the werewolf?"

Ariana slowly blinked. Her ears felt as if they were full of blood, and the sloshing in her skull threatened to make her sick. Though the details of the unexpected skirmish were foggy, they were returning.

"We were trying to visit my grandfather." She managed out of her sore, dry throat.

"You walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that horse thief over there." The Nord, later known to Ariana as Ralof, flicked his head to the man seated to his left. Who he indicated was either a Nord or Breton, Ariana wasn't entirely sure. He had patchy, thin facial hair and mouse-brown hair that hung lank by his jaw. His steel-blue eyes were wide and he was visibly trembling. 

"Damn you Stormcloaks." He hissed. "Skyrim was just fine until you came along. The Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, that horse could have taken me halfway to Hammerfell by now." The man kicked his bare foot across the splintery floor of the carriage, tapping Ariana in the shin. 

"You there," he said in a somewhat hushed tone, "You and me? We shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

Ariana remained silent, but just enough of her fear fell for anger to take its place. She suddenly realized why she had been so apprehensive about passing the blue-clad group.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." Ralof uttered seriously, though the horse thief apparently ignored him.

"Why are we in prisoner rags and not you?" Ariana grumbled, her voice still weak from dehydration. She gave a short nod to the horse thief.

"The Empire wants to make an example of us." Ralof replied. "I'm surprised they didn't take the time to pick the armor off our dead and force you in them."

"And what's wrong with him?" The horse thief gestured with his foot to the gagged man on Ariana's right.

"Watch your tongue," Ralof spat, "That's Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

Ariana then stared at the prisoner to her right. She had not fully noticed him before, possibly due to his silence. He was an obvious Nord, tall even when sitting and broad. He had thick, dark blond hair that was partially pulled back by finger-width braids. He had a sharp nose, strong cheekbones, and a serious, burning glare that was focused on nothing in particular. On his shoulders, he wore a thick mantle of furs and bear claws. A length of coarse fabric was wound around his head and mouth, gagging him. 

"You," Ariana uttered, her vision yet again blurring, but not from exhaustion nor her injuries, "You…"

How the Stormcloaks talked about Imperials (and other races), and how they insisted Skyrim was "for the Nords" deeply bothered her. She couldn't help but take it at least somewhat personally. Skyrim was the only home she had ever known, after all, and she did not take kindly to someone suggesting she shouldn't be there. Ondolemar had his own frustrating opinions on race, of course, but she found them somehow easier to deal with, considering he never once suggested she didn't belong. It certainly helped that she loved him. 

She wasn't at all loyal to the Empire, nor any form or concept of government. Her willingness to assassinate the Emperor was evidence enough. But something about Ulfric Stormcloak struck a nerve, and though she never talked to anyone about it, she found her hatred for him welling. Not necessarily for his actions, but for what they meant.

Madanach's face flashed through her mind, as did Braig's, as did her other, fellow escapees. The Forsworn were the scorned natives of the Reach, ousted from power from Ulfric himself. She never really knew about what happened in the Reach before her time in the Mines. She never bothered to learn about it, but she now felt rage rising in her for them as well.

"YOU!" She growled. "Why did they even bother gagging you? You didn't 'shout' the High King to death."

"WATCH YOUR TONGUE!" Ralof then shouted, though his demand fell on deaf, livid ears.

"That was just some story you and your followers circulated to make you seem powerful, wasn't it?" Ariana could not control her quiet, trembling rage, and leaned towards Ulfric's shoulder. "To make you seem 'godlike'..."

Without turning his head, Ulfric glanced down at her then, his gaze potent but unreadable. 

"I SAID, WATCH YOUR TONGUE!" Ralof roared, swiftly kicking Ariana in her knee with a hide and iron boot. The impact against her bruised leg felt like it would make it break. Despite this pain, Ariana still tried to shoot out of her seat. Her attempted retaliation was cut short, however, as the chain around her waist became apparent. 

"HE ISN'T TIBER SEPTIM!" She screamed at Ralof before turning back to Ulfric, "YOU AREN'T TALOS! No matter how hard you're trying to be!" 

"SHUT UP BACK THERE!" Yelled the carriage driver, directly to the left of Ariana. The horse thief's trembling returned and he darted his eyes between his three carriage mates.

"If they captured you," he croaked, glancing at Ulfric in particular, "Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

But before anyone could answer, Ariana's knee was again met with Ralof's boot, in response to her spitting in the direction of his king. She instantly regretted it, not for it being a crude gesture, nor the strike to her aching leg, but because her mouth was so dry, Ulfric sadly remained unspoiled. 

"I am going to kill you," she muttered through her teeth, glaring at Ralof, and digging her calves into the carriage bench in an attempt to guard her knees. His gaze fell cool, however, and he clenched his teeth, making a jaw muscle subtly flex underneath his skin. He glanced at the now approaching stone walls, before returning his eyes to Ariana's.

"Sovngarde awaits us all."

***

Being the supposed day of the execution, Ondolemar now awaited the inevitable swiftfoot courier. These types of Thalmor couriers were few in numbers, as their skills were difficult to hone and heavily relied on inherent talent. They were only utilized for the most important news, and Ondolemar knew if everything transpired as it should, he could receive a report on it the same day.

Yes, yes, she is my 'wine', His internal conflict persisted, though it now felt easier to manage, And just like my wine, I become ill without it… without her. Foolish.

He waited at the stone table that was exposed on the upper walkway of the Keep. The pewter platter with his lunch remained mostly untouched before him, and he kept his eyes trained on the stone staircase.

I know what love is, he allowed, though he still wasn't entirely certain. The lack of easy answers was wearing on him. It is waiting.

Ondolemar refilled his tankard from the last bottle of Reserve. Still unable to bear the thought of seeing them together, he prayed his presence at the table was enough to deter the court wizard and housecarl. It was time for the midday meal, and they often shared theirs together where the Justiciar now waited.

It is agony.

Thinking for a second that the courier arrived, he leaned back in his seat to better see the figure. But Calcelmo emerged behind a stone column as he ascended the stairs, and Ondolemar straightened, so that maybe he would be noticed. His gut sank and he could not look at them directly, spying Faleen exit the throne room and weave a steel-braced arm in the wizard's. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them approach their usual table.

Stars, they must be too busy looking at each other. Ondolemar rubbed his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. His skull seemed to hum, and he eventually heard a quiet, "oh," beside him.

"You may have the table," Ondolemar coarsely whispered, standing and taking great care to keep them out of his direct view. He swiftly corked and tucked his mead bottle under his arm, and grabbed his tankard and still-full plate. Siriol had been kind enough to deliver him a freshly cooked venison chop, and a carrot, leek, and cabbage medley. It was all now cold, however. 

"Justiciar," Calcelmo said, trying to think of something polite to say, but falling short. Since the incident in Nchuand-Zel, the wizard tried to avoid him. He couldn't help but feel Ondolemar was now trying to avoid him as well , and seemed to have particular difficulty with eye contact when he was with Faleen.

"How is your friend?" The wizard eventually asked, halting Ondolemar mid-turn.

"Whom do you speak of?" The Justiciar grumbled over his shoulder, though he already suspected the answer. 

"Ariana, obviously." 

Ondolemar stared and the floor before him, tightening his grip on his tankard. He took a deep, shaky breath, willing it to be silent. But Calcelmo saw his back rise and fall, and gently cleared his throat.

"I wouldn't know at the moment," Ondolemar managed, "She is on a journey."

"I trust you've been treating her well." Calcelmo wasn't sure why he said this so quietly, as if the Justiciar's discretion was remotely his concern. Perhaps he dreaded the possibility of this interaction becoming more uncomfortable than it already was.

A potent silence then followed, with Ondolemar frozen in his position facing away from the couple. He vaguely noted his soldiers on their usual bench by the smithy. They were still, but he couldn't quite tell if they were looking at him. Surely they were too far away to hear this exchange. He thought he saw Caris lean in to whisper something in Siriol's ear, shielding her mouth with her hand. But he was unwilling to offer them a glance to confirm it, lest his eyes be revealing.

"I hope that I am." Ondolemar breathed before stalking off to his make-shift office.

***

"Lubomir!" Ariana shouted past the driver's shoulder, figuring him chained in the front carriage. "Are you okay?!" 

"I said SHUT UP!" The armored driver spat over his shoulder. His exclamation drowned out Lubomir's shaky, trailing answer, and Ariana got the feeling he may have been crying. 

"You shut up," she immediately hissed into the soldier's ear, before noting the passing walls of Helgen. Lubomir avoids this place. She thought. It's where his father abandoned him…

The first time she found Galathil in the Rat Way, Ariana was tempted to outright attack her. She couldn't recognize her behind her hood, the memories of her face being vague regardless. Ariana recognized her voice, however, and it filled her with incredible longing... then rage.

"I doubt that you will, but," Ariana addressed her, low and tight behind her teeth, "Do you recognize me?" 

The half-Bosmer slowly looked up from her book, already irritated by the apparent ire of this stranger. Galathil was very good with recognizing faces, it was essential to her craft, but was having a difficult time with Ariana's. That was until she noticed the odd, reddish tint to her eyes.

"Ariana?" Galathil breathed, her book now slack in her hands. "Is that really yo--"

"Why?!" Ariana hissed, fire waiting beneath her skin.

"You must understand," she pled, "I had to--"

"It could have been anywhere else! Anywhere!"

Galathil had gone on to tell Ariana about Lubomir's father. They had never married but remained as partners for decades. Galathil quickly got attached to Ariana, and despite her being a very difficult baby and toddler, was entertaining the idea of raising her completely. But Lubomir's father, who she made sure remained nameless in her recount, loathed the concept.

"'You said you would get rid of her after the first month!' He'd say, 'Then you said it again in a year! We cannot keep her!' He said Lubomir was a strain on his own, but he suffered it because he was his son." Galathil paused and gritted her teeth. "I should have slapped him then, or worse." 

Ariana couldn't remember Lubomir having a father at all, but dismissed it as the fogginess of her memory. "It’s not like he was around much," Galathil said, "He had his own work to tend to, and we would regularly spend weeks apart." On the nature of that work, she refused to elaborate.

She then told Ariana about plans to meet in Helgen, where Lubomir's father had apparently purchased a storefront with an attached living space. There Galathil could build a clientele and Lubomir could have a consistent home, no longer forced to travel from city to city. Because her craft carried with it a certain taboo, they planned on keeping the front of a barbershop/beautician. Lubomir's father refused to meet them there if Galathil didn't first get rid of Ariana.

"You're a co--"

"Yes, I was a coward, I do not deny that." Galathil's brow furrowed as she glanced at her lap, before stating plainly, "I was also an idiot. Taking the headmistress's name literally. And to be fair, upon meeting her, she was polite, and did seem kind. At least on the surface. I thought I was doing what was best for us all."

Ariana remained silent, with an ill, unknowable feeling dominating her anger. 

"He met us in Helgen, just as he said, but he had lied about the property already being purchased." Galathil's voice continued to lower as her bitterness rose. "I was furious, as you'd expect. I said some things to him that I normally would never say. And then he struck me, something he normally would never do. Lubomir obviously started crying, you know how he was back then--"

"Still is, honestly."

"Yes, I suppose," Galathil let out a single, breathy laugh before continuing, "But that was the only reason I didn't kill his father on the spot. For the sake of my son. He shouted at Lubomir then, to stop his crying, which of course only made him cry harder…"

Galathil then reluctantly detailed Lubomir's father storming off, his cursing, and his insults. They had waited before the empty storefront they had been promised, unable to enter since the property was not theirs and they lacked a key. Galathil consoled her son on the steps for what seemed like hours, before finally making it to the inn. His father never returned.

"Why didn't you track him down?"

"I wasn't sure I wanted to at that point, but we remained in Helgen for many years after, should he ever return. Lubomir wouldn't have forgiven me if we didn't." Galathil muttered, clenching the book she was still holding. "Which was also stupid… in hindsight. I couldn't really practice my craft as I had hoped. Not there. The Nords were too wary of such a thing, and the town was small. It simply lacked the population to attract those who would be interested. I was forced to work as anyone else would to make ends meet. It… became very stressful." She sighed and glanced towards a door beside the bar on the other side of the Ragged Flagon. Ariana figured Lubomir was in the cistern. "I wasn't a very good mother. He ran from me at sixteen, though I suppose you already know about that."

"I didn't know it was sixteen, but I was very surprised to find him in Whiterun of all places. He was already twenty-two."

"Hm," Galathil uttered, "I was under the impression you two met again shortly after he left. Finding you was the first thing he told me of when he spoke to me again. I couldn't be sure it was really you , though. You know how he exaggerates."

The two spoke more of Ariana and Lubomir's early childhood, of her discovery in the grass, and of the strange Dunmer who demanded she be taken. They spoke for what seemed like hours, and Ariana's anger eventually waned, though her resentment remained.

"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening." A voice in front of and to her right shakily uttered. Ariana tore her desperate gaze from the carriage in front of them and saw the horse thief trembling and holding his head in his bound hands. Ralof now luckily ignored her, seemingly placated by her silence.

"What's your name?" He asked the horse thief.

"L-Lokir,"  

"What village are you from?"

"Why do you care?" Lokir hissed, tearing his hands away from his face momentarily.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." Ralof gently answered. Ariana felt hot sick rise in her throat, and turned to look back to the carriage in the front, trying to spy Lubomir.

Helgen was a relatively unassuming village. Apart from the stone Keep, many of the buildings were simple wood and mortar, and more or less looked the same. But today it was alive with soldiers and gawkers. Ariana heard the voice of a child somewhere behind her.

"Who are they, papa?" The boy asked. "Where are they going?"

"You need to go inside, little cub." The boy's father immediately answered. He was trying to keep his voice calm, but Ariana could hear the panic it held.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."

"Get inside." His father almost shouted. "Now."

"Yes, papa…"

Ariana turned to try and see the child, but he had already retreated into his home. Good. He doesn't need to see me turn the streets into a tinderbox. But when she tried to test her flames, she couldn't even muster an ember from her fingertip. Why does the Empire always use such strong magicka poison? This is ridiculous.

The carriage came to a sudden halt then, upon a nearby soldier yelling, "Whoa!" 

"Get these prisoners out of the carts." A stern, deep female voice then shouted. "Move it!"

"Why are we stopping?" Lokir trembled.

"Why do you think?" Ralof let out a quiet, airy laugh. "End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting." He then calmly followed Ulfric off the back of the carriage.

"No! Wait!" Lokir refused to budge from his place on the carriage bench after the chain around his waist was released. Ariana was tempted to lunge at someone, anyone, once she felt her own fall away. But she knew that, without her flames, it would ensure her demise. "We're not rebels!" Lokir flicked his head towards Ariana before being drug out and onto the ground by the impatient carriage driver.

She glanced back at the other cart to see Lubomir already off of it, holding his face. He wore the same prison rags as she, but different binds. Hers were merely rope, wound many times around and between her wrists. Lubomir's shackles were made of some sort of gray metal, though certainly not iron or steel. The undertone and the way it shone in the midmorning sunlight made Ariana's gut churn. She was all too familiar with this type of metal from her brief imprisonment. Silver.  

Ariana followed Lokir mindlessly, but hesitated at the back end of the cart.

"Get a move on!" The soldier who had been driving the carriage slapped the single, wooden step.

Ariana managed down the step, having to sit on it with her feet dangling, before hopping down to the ground. 

"Face your death with some courage, thief." She heard Ralof hiss.

"You've got to tell them!" Lokir shouted back. "We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

"He. Won't." Ariana told Lokir through her teeth, making sure Ralof saw her glare at him with contempt. "He and his 'king' want as many people as possible to go down with them, apparently. Make the Empire look worse than it already is. It's why he's so calm, he wants to be seen as a martyr." 

Ariana tried to spit on the ground, but found her mouth was still too dry. She was trying not to fully acknowledge the reality of her situation, lest she devolve into the same, quiet sobbing as Lubomir. She noted the block, as well as the masked headsman. He was sharpening his large, curved axe with a sliver of whetstone. Quiet panic tried to take her, but for the time being, she suppressed it with her scheming.

"Hey you," she hissed at the soldier who had been driving her carriage, "Which one of you has my things?"

"All prisoner articles have been given to Hadvar over there," he said plainly, nodding vaguely in the direction of two soldiers: a woman in steel armor, and a man in leather. The man held a quill, and a thin, wooden board with an attached inkwell. Beside his leather boot sat a rather large sack.

"Step towards the block when we call your name!" The steel-armored woman bellowed beside whom Ariana assumed to be Hadvar. She thought she heard Ralof grumble some complaint about "lists", but was trying her best to ignore his incessant and unnecessary commentary. 

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm." Hadvar then called. Though he projected his voice, it held little-to-no inflection and seemed numb and mechanical. 

Ulfric silently strode towards the block, halting himself where a nearby soldier indicated. 

"It’s been an honor, Ulfric!" Ralof called after him, which made Ariana let out a sharp and exaggerated groan.

"By the Eight," she began through her teeth before turning to shout at him, "Shut UP!"  

She felt a small fire slither from between her fingers and suddenly straightened. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth pressed together in a tight, straight line. They can't know. Wait for the right moment. She eyed the sack of prisoner articles by Hadvar's foot. If I can just...

"Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorikstead." Hadvar continued. But as Ralof calmly made his way to Ulfric's side, Lokir, upon hearing his name, began to quiver once again.

"NO!" He screeched, wiggling his elbow free from where a soldier held him. "I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" And with that, he began in a panicked dash past the captain and Hadvar, down the main road and towards the opposite gate.

"HALT!" The captain shouted after him, trying to grab him as he passed, but just missing him.

"You're not going to kill me!" Ariana could barely hear him cry as he began to turn a bend in the street.

"Archers!" The captain called, and Lokir was hit in the back of the neck with a steel arrow. He crumpled instantly, his skull making a jarring cracking sound under the force of his deadweight fall. 

Ariana pivoted, trying to see which archer took him down. She spied anywhere from eight to ten Imperial archers with their bows ready and drawn. Several were on rooftops, and a few behind shop posts. Two were a distance behind her, and one was standing next to a man with short, curly gray hair and ornate armor. She couldn't tell which of the archers had released the arrow, which led her to believe there were more she could not see.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The Imperial captain said, holding her hips.

This is an important execution, Ariana tried to keep her thoughts rational as tears began to well, Of course the security would be thorough. Her breath quickened and her chest threatened to heave. If she began with her flames, even if Lubomir had the energy to transform again and assist her, even if they could somehow get a hold of the Rose, they would still be woefully outnumbered. Lubomir had managed to slip away from where he had been pulled from the carriage, and Ariana found his shackled hands suddenly holding hers. His grip was somehow tight and weak at the same time, and feeling his quiet trembling, her body began to match it.

"Wait," Hadvar said, "You two. The dark-haired woman and the wood elf." He beckoned Ariana and Lubomir with two fingers, holding his quill between them. They mindlessly approached the soldier, holding each other the best they could with their wrists bound. 

"Who are you?" He asked.

"L-Lubomir," he murmured through a full throat.

"And you?"

Ariana felt as if her mouth was fused shut. The sack of their belongings were right in front of her, but the urge to snatch them was far from her at that moment, though so was her accepting her imminent demise.

"Ariana Marcellus," she eventually whispered.

"Captain, what should we do? They aren't on the list."

"Forget the damn list," The captain hissed, "Together they killed ten of our soldiers, and that one," she gestured to Lubomir, "Is a werewolf. They go to the block." 

"Ah," Hadvar screwed up his face for a second and tucked a bit of fallen red hair behind his ear, "Well, those satchels we recovered, they belonged to you two, correct? As well as that bizarre-looking staff? We need to know where to send them." 

Lubomir's tears were drying as numbness took him, but Ariana's were just beginning. Her breath caught and her heart seemed to skip. She slowly pulled her hands away from Lubomir's and up to her bare neck.

"D-did you recover a n-necklace from me?" She quietly managed, though her cracking and trembling voice threatened to make her words incoherent.

"A surprisingly fine one," Hadvar said, raising a brow and scribbling what Ariana assumed to be their names on the list, "We assumed it stolen, considering the Thalmori embellishments on two of the rear segments."

Ariana's uncontrollable sobbing threatened to turn into wailing then, but she stifled it, aggressively wiping the tears from her face.

"T-then it should b-be returned to whom it was stolen from," she uttered. A stone formed in her throat as her breath steadied. She looked up to the sky before squeezing her eyes shut, forcing the hot tears blurring her vision streaming down her cheeks. "A Justiciar in Understone Keep in Markarth…" Her voice trailed and broke, and Ondolemar's voice filled her mind: 'You say it as if you already know you shouldn't go'. Lubomir leaned into her then, holding her around her upper arm. His silver shackles dug into her tricep, and she savored the sensation, knowing now it would be one of the last sensations she would ever have.

"Send our satchels to Riften." Ariana whispered, figuring the Thieves Guild could help with giving hers to Nazir. 

"Send the staff to Jorrvaskr in Whiterun." Lubomir's voice was low and monotone. He felt as if he were already dead. "Tell the Companions it came from me, and that I am sorry…" He added in a whisper, "For everything."

After a few seconds of scribbling the locations on a piece of parchment behind the prisoner list, Hadvar took a deep breath.

"Follow the Captain, prisoners," he said, uncomfortable with eye contact at this point, "Go form a line with the others."

The Imperial captain led them to where the Stormcloaks were awaiting their fates. 

"Ulfric Stormcloak," the older Imperial officer began, the one wearing the gold-looking armor Ariana noted before. He made sure to project his voice so that all the local gawkers could clearly hear him, "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

Ulfric remained silent. Lubomir glanced at him to see his glare intensify, before looking back at Ariana, who was quietly crying and staring at the ground.

"You started this war, plunging Skyrim into chaos." He continued. "And now the Empire is going to put you down and restore peace."

"That's General Tullius," Lubomir whispered to Ariana. He had never seen nor met the man before, but he heard stories, and made this assumption based on his armor and whom he was addressing, if nothing else. Ariana didn't respond, however, and kept her gaze to the ground. She didn't care who was about to kill her. The only faces and names in her mind were Ondolemar's and Marcurio's, and everyone else she and Lubomir were going to leave behind. 

General Tullius spoke a few more words to Ulfric, before gesturing to the captain and headsman to begin. 

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius," a priestess of Arkay began, standing in front of the headsman's block and raising her hands to the sky, "Blessings of the Eight Divine upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved--"

"For the love of Talos," One of the Stormcloaks spat, walking towards the block purposefully, "Shut up and let's get this over with."

"As you wish," the priestess airily muttered. Though she tried to sound pious, her voice held irritation on its edge.

"Come on," he yelled at the headsman, "I haven't got all morning."

The Stormcloak knelt before the block and rested his head on the crusted, old, black blood. The headsman blinked and remembered his axe then, taken aback by this man's impatience over his own end. 

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials." The Stormcloak said with a small smile, facing the soldiers and the rest of the condemned. "Can you say the same?"

That's when a mountain-shaking roar echoed somewhere in the distance. 

"What was that?" Hadvar nearly yelled, as everyone paused to look about. 

Ariana vaguely noted Lubomir asking the same thing, but she felt herself slipping into the same dream she had been in while unconscious. Her mind simply wouldn't allow her to be there. If it did, she may have been counting: to six, twelve times, and to twelve, six times, as she often did in an attempt to keep something bad from happening. There was never a rational reason for it, as she was well aware, but the mental ritual was still calming and often felt necessary. In this moment, her mind was well beyond calming, however, and it continued to slip away from her body. She felt the flames in her throat again, and the cool scales, like boulders against her skin. She had heard the otherworldly sound as well, but not necessarily as a roar. It was a voice, screaming and whispering all at once.

"It said it has returned." She whispered. No one seemed to hear.

"It’s nothing," General Tullius said, growing impatient with the hesitating headsman, "Carry on."

With one fell swoop, the Stormcloak's head was removed. The headsman took great care not to drag the heavy blade of his axe on the stone as he lifted it, so it would not dull for the next neck. The Stormcloak's head rolled slightly, and the headsman caught it under foot before it could make its way down the street. A nearby soldier dragged the decapitated body from the block.

"Next prisoner!" The captain shouted, gesturing to Ariana. Lubomir tightened his grip on her arm and rested his forehead against the side of her head. His tears threatened to return.

Ariana heard another deafening voice echo off the mountains, closer this time. It seemed to say more or less the same thing.

"There it is again." Hadvar hissed at the Imperial captain, as she shoved past him towards Ariana. "Why are you and the general acting like you don't hear that?"

"I said next prisoner!" The captain's gloved hand grasped Ariana's elbow. Lubomir tried his best to cling to her, in one, panicked, last ditch effort.

"P-please, no," he murmured weakly, with his hot tears escaping once more. As the captain managed to wrench Ariana away from his shackled grip, she was snapped back into her body. And as Lubomir began to sob, so did she. Something his mother once told her came back to her for a moment:

"You know, another thing his father couldn't stand was when you would cry, so would Lubomir. And if Lubomir would cry, so would you in turn. It didn't matter if you were calm or happy, as soon as either of you would hear the other cry, both of you would be wailing in a matter of seconds." Ariana remembered Galathil letting out a soft chuckle in her remembrance. "Though it was sometimes difficult to manage, I personally found it beautiful. I deeply mourn my decision to not keep you as his sister."

"A-Ari…" she heard him whisper, now some distance behind her. She suddenly found herself before the headsman and the block, being thrown down to her aching knees. 

Her violent tremors kept her rooted upright, and the air grew still, her uncontrollable weeping dominating its apparent silence. She felt a steel boot on the back of her head, pushing her rigid body down. Her wet cheek was then met with the stone, and her nose was filled with the sour iron of fresh blood. 

I cannot leave them, was Ariana's only coherent thought as she saw the headsman raise his axe out of the corner of her eye.

Something massive and black filled the sky above her, something jagged on great wings. It landed on the stone tower behind them, immediately bellowing something in a tongue Ariana could now only half-understand. This beast's features were obscured by her tears, but its horns and claws were apparent. The sky above it instantly darkened and swirled with a maelstrom of angry clouds. A cacophony of alarmed shouting then followed, and the headsman stumbled back, dropping his massive axe behind him.

Ariana's face remained fused to the bloody stone, sure this was just a trick of her death. Some wild hallucination as her head was rolling from the block, some desperate effort from her mind to reconcile what was incomprehensible.

She suddenly felt someone grab her under her arms, tearing her up and away from the block.

"ARI!" Lubomir screamed, dragging her away. "COME ON! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!" 

His words were muffled and all she could clearly hear was the beast's screeching. It flew from its perch upon the tower and the gust from its wings threatened to knock Ariana back down on her knees. She whirled to run with Lubomir then, and saw Helgen being engulfed in flames. 

Thank you, she couldn't help but think, rushing with Lubomir back to the gates they had entered. They had to stop and backtrack, however, as that exit was now blocked by a collapsed and smoldering building. Adrenaline seemed to replace Ariana's very blood, and any emotion was now far from her, save for one: Exhilaration. 

I am alive, her mind shouted, I am ALIVE. Her head was still attached, and Lubomir was still with her, though he was whimpering. She was free to escape this place, through the flames that surrounded them. Flames.

Lubomir let out a short, sharp yelp and released her arm. She was fully enveloped in her flame cloak, burning the thick rope from her wrists. 

I wish they had just taken my head, were the only words his mind could form as his legs threatened to fail him. He was grateful for Ariana's proclivity towards fire, especially when she traveled with him. He would always have her light their campfire. He never knew why he had such terrible luck with it himself. No matter how careful he was with it, something he didn't intend would always catch: His hair, his leather or furs, a nearby bush. He was by no means a mage, though he was able to cast simple spells should he have the need. But Flames was one he actively avoided. He always seemed to burn himself with it. And today he was hopelessly surrounded.

Ariana grabbed him by his silver shackles then, dragging him back to where the block was. She whirled about, looking for the sack she hoped had been abandoned. All she could spy on the ground seemed to be building debris and several bodies, all scorched beyond recognition. 

The beast flew overhead once more, and the pair scrambled to a nearby, ruined building. 

"Gods, this was the Inn…" Ariana heard Lubomir gasp behind her, as she tugged him along.

On the other end, they found Hadvar with his sword drawn and a large sack flung over his shoulder.

"HAMMING, YOU NEED TO GET OVER HERE!" He was shouting at a frightened young boy, frozen in the street. "NOW!"  

Another man was on the opposite end of the street, also shouting at Hamming to move out of the way. When the beast then flew low and in their direction, Ariana's breath stopped. Not only was this creature obviously a dragon, which alone was unfathomable, but it opened its mouth before the terrified child, and a ball of flames began in the back of its throat. Hadvar lunged towards Hamming then, tearing him out of the street and behind a heap of smoking rubble, just before a stream of fire and a deafening scream flew from the dragon's tongue. However, Hamming's father had rushed to him at the same time, in a mad attempt to push his son out of the way, only to be caught in the blaze himself. 

"TORLOF!" Hadvar then screamed, holding Hamming in a way that he could not see it. "Gods, everyone get back!"

The boy clearly knew what had happened, however, but was seemingly too shocked to cry. All that came out of his mouth was a weak, "P-papa," as he was then thrust to a nearby survivor. 

"Gunnar, take care of the boy." Hadvar told the man, before turning to Ariana and Lubomir.

"Still alive, I see." He said. "Keep close to me if you want to stay that way."

Hadvar was clearly more familiar with Helgen than Ariana, if his knowledge of the residents was evidence enough. She followed, dragging Lubomir along and silently cursing his terrified reluctance. 

"Stay close to the wall!" Hadvar yelled back at them as they neared one of the stone walls that surrounded the town. He, Ariana, and Lubomir slammed their backs against the stone as the dragon landed on top of it, shouting fire over their heads. As it then ascended, the gust from its flapping wings made them all stagger.

"Quickly!" Hadvar hissed. "Follow me!"

Ariana and Lubomir kept close, though Lubomir's mind was threatening to leave him. Every once in a while, a spare, floating ember would land on Lubomir's bare arm, and his breath would catch. Ariana was too focused on Hadvar's back to really note her surroundings, and when the soldier suddenly stopped in a relatively unburnt part of the town, she nearly ran into him.

"RALOF!" Hadvar shouted at a familiar Nordic man, who was standing with his own sword drawn a short distance before them. Ariana figured he scavenged the blade from a fallen soldier. "You damned TRAITOR! Out of my way!"

"We're escaping, Hadvar!" Ralof yelled back. Ariana thought she saw a tiny smile part his face. "You're not stopping us this time!"

She was tempted to lunge at him, engulfing him in her flames, but she could not abandon Lubomir for a moment. Hadvar yelled back at Ralof something along the lines of, "I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!" before whirling and beckoning Ariana to a nearby door. 

"With me, prisoners, let's go!" He said, before pointing to Lubomir with his sword. "I'll get his shackles off in the keep."

Inside, they found some sort of sleeping quarters, presumably guards' barracks. 

"Looks like we're the only ones who made it." Hadvar muttered, frowning at the empty room. The carnage unfolding in the town was now significantly muffled behind the single, small door, and thick stone walls. Lubomir let out an exasperated breath and slumped against a wall. Ariana eyed the sack Hadvar then dropped on the floor.

"Okay, let me see if I can get those bindings off." Hadvar then said, approaching Lubomir. He produced a small keyring from his pocket and began flipping through them. Lubomir raised his arms, still panting and unable to open his eyes fully. Hadvar paused his thumbing and furrowed his brows. 

"Those aren't the same shackles as we normally use." He whispered. 

"Yeah, they're silver," Ariana said plainly over her shoulder, already rummaging through the sack that held their satchels. "Lubomir, where do you keep your lockpicks?"

"Can't you just use that one spell you know?" Lubomir breathed, opening one eye before the other. 

"I've only gotten it to work twice," she replied with a sigh. She walked over to him and Hadvar and made her hands glow amber over the shackles. After two tries, she heard a click within its lock, and Lubomir shook the shackles from his sore wrists. 

"We should really keep moving." Hadvar told them, raising a brow. 

"Let us get ready first." Ariana said, returning to the sack. She tossed a wad of fur and leather over her shoulder at Lubomir, who caught it with ease. The keep suddenly shook, and Hadvar eyed the pair incredulously as they took the time to strip down. 

"Like what you see?" Lubomir asked Hadvar, who was now trying his best to not look at either of them. Ariana let out a quiet snort.

"Glad to see you're back," she said, glancing at him over her shoulder as she quickly fastened her many clasps.

"Glad to see you're back," he laughed, pulling on his leather boots, "And that you still have your head." He was standing over the sack with Ariana now, and pulled out his bow and quiver. They tied their satchels to their hips when Ariana suddenly remembered her bare neck.

"Hey, Hadvar," she called back to the impatiently waiting soldier, "Where is my necklace?"

"You said it was stolen." He replied, raising a brow. "We should really keep moving."

"Well it wasn't," Ariana clipped her dagger to her belts and walked up to Hadvar, scowling up at him with her hands on her hips. The keep shook again and Hadvar flinched, though Ariana seemingly ignored it. "Where is it?"

"You're armored and armed now, and we really need to get go--" Hadvar said through his teeth before Lubomir interjected.

"Gods , just give her back the damn necklace. Don't want her to kill you; I know you're our best bet out of this place."

Hadvar sneered as he produced a wad of cloth from his pocket. Ariana snatched it out of his hand and unfurled it, letting out a deep, relieved sigh. Hadvar eyed her seriously as she clasped the jewels behind her neck. She took another deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment and holding it to her chest, before tucking it inside her armor.

"It was a gift," she said, noting Hadvar's bewilderment, "It's very precious to me." 

Ariana walked back to the sack, making sure it was now empty.

"Hey, you think Tall and Yellow will give me one of those if I offer him my talents?" Lubomir whispered through an insufferable smirk.

"Shut up," she grumbled before immediately asking, "Do you have the Rose?"

"Yeah, Kevin's in here." Lubomir quietly answered. "He was the first thing I checked for--"

"Who ARE you people?"

Ariana and Lubomir remembered their apparent guide and turned back to give him a glance.

"Well, your list already says it, doesn't it?" Lubomir said through a short, airy laugh. "I'm a werewolf and she's a murderer." 

"You know those soldiers didn't give us much of a choice." Ariana straightened and ignored yet another stone-shaking tremor.

"To be fair, you're already a murderer."

"True, but that's neither here nor there--"

"We NEED to get moving!" Hadvar shouted, pushing past them towards the door on the other end of the barracks. "Are you two stupid? How are you not getting the urgency of this situation? There is a DRAGON outside!"

"Of course we know 'there is a dragon outside'!" Lubomir all but yelled, never dropping his smile and meeting him by the doorway. "I'll most likely cry about it again whenever we're finally safe."

As will I, Ariana couldn't quite bring herself to admit aloud, Probably.  

Hadvar opened the door and the three of them finally made their way further into the keep. 

"Absolute worst day of my life," Lubomir added as they cautiously entered the next room. Ariana let out a nervous, breathy laugh, noting the faint sound of armored boots on the other end.

"And it's not over yet." She whispered.

Chapter Text

"Sir," Siriol entered the room, pausing when she noticed Ondolemar's untouched plate. It had been sitting on the corner of his desk for hours and the vegetables now held an oily, uniform glaze, as if they were now a solid mass. "The swiftfoot is here. I know you wanted to meet with her yourself so you may give her the appropriate order."

With a short nod, Ondolemar followed Siriol out of the Imperial strategy room, carrying a neat stack of portfolios under his arm. He found the specialized courier at the top of the great stone staircase, already extending her arm and presenting a large, document-sized envelope.

Swiftfoots often wore thin leather, with various but scant quicksilver and moonstone armor pieces. Their attire was usually enchanted to enhance alteration and illusion abilities, and they carried slim, form-fitting messenger bags, capable of only holding a few pieces of correspondence. They were typically armed with only an elven dagger or bow, but this particular one carried a shortsword in addition to her dagger. 

"Justiciar," the slim Bosmer said, tapping her foot, "Is there anything you need to send with me?"

Ondolemar held up an index finger and opened the large envelope to skim its contents. He found himself reading the first paragraph again, and more carefully.

"A dragon?" He let out a low, sharp laugh. "I must admit, I didn't prepare any orders for this."

"I figured," the swiftfoot said flatly, "And the First Emissary has told everyone to stand by for now, so I doubt the other Justiciars need any orders at the moment."

But Ondolemar could barely hear her. His continued skimming had brought him to a list of names, and his heart pounded painfully in his chest, threatening to stop. Before the Bosmer could whirl to leave, he grabbed her by her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, but I have many more of these reports to--"

"Is this prisoner list correct?" He hissed. The courier flinched, taken aback by his suddenly wild gaze. He didn't hold the same vehemence she was used to from a displeased Justiciar, however. He almost seemed afraid.

"I would assume so. Elenwen drafted this report herself."

"Why were there so many due for execution who were not rebels?"  

"That's a question for Elenwen, sir." She paused for a moment on the top step, remembering one more thing she was supposed to convey. "Expect a more detailed report in a few days."

Ondolemar chewed the inside of his cheek, stifling the urge to shout more questions at the courier. He knew she couldn't answer them, and she certainly wouldn't take the time for him to write out an urgent letter to the Embassy, asking for confirmation. She already said he'd get a more detailed report in a few days. 

It is waiting, he stewed. He quickly made his way back to his make-shift office, passing Siriol on the way, who was asking questions he could not hear. It is agony.

***

Ariana, Lubomir, and Hadvar's escape from the keep had luckily been swift, despite it not being easy. Though Lubomir liked traveling with Ariana, he did not like having to fight alongside her in cramped quarters. The small fortress had been overrun with Stormcloaks, who did not hesitate to attack the Imperial soldier and his companions on sight. Ariana, of course, typically saved her dagger for stealth killings, and was filling each room with fire. Lubomir tried to keep good distance away from her, and helped cover her with his bow.

"Why are there so many Stormcloaks in here?!" She hissed at Hadvar at one point, as they passed through a hopefully empty hallway.

"They must have come when they heard we had their king." Hadvar murmured seriously, bending to the side so Ariana could hear. "Rushing into a town while it's being razed by a dragon… Talk about loyalty."

"It’s a cult," Ariana grumbled.

"And what kind of organization are you a part of, then?" She heard Lubomir whisper into the back of her head, followed by a small chuckle. 

"Lubomir, shut up."

The hallway suddenly collapsed before them, in a deafening rumble of stone and dust. Lubomir caught Ariana by the shoulders when she threatened to fall as she stumbled back. Hadvar then led them through a door, through a few tunnels that led into a cavern, and through a frostbite spider den. Ariana was not pleased with Lubomir and Hadvar immediately engaging them. She felt it unnecessary, especially since the ground silk was so sparse. Lubomir was, in turn, not pleased with Ariana roasting a bear in a subsequent chamber, as he felt it could have easily been snuck past. Then again, he was the one who woke it with his incessant chatter.

They made it out one last, snaking tunnel, and found the sky. Just as they exited, the massive, black dragon flew overhead, its voice booming and shaking the ground as it disappeared into the clouds. 

"Sithis," was all Ariana could utter in response. She then knelt and placed her palm on the ground, calling Shadowmere with her mind. After a few moments, and no response, she let out a small sigh.

"She's not coming, is she?" Lubomir asked. Ariana shook her head as she stood.

"This happened once before," she said, "The only other time she fell. It apparently takes her a while to replenish her energy before she can return." Ariana picked bits of rubble from the creases of her armor, quietly adding, "I think she takes it personally."

"Looks like it's gone," they heard Hadvar mutter, as he stared to the sky, in the direction the dragon disappeared, "But I don't think we should stick around to see if it comes back."

Ariana began up the road, heading north. Lubomir followed, but she was surprised to find Hadvar following as well.

"Riverwood?" He said. Ariana nodded before remembering her voice.

"There's a carriage service there, if I remember correctly."

"I don't remember a carriage service, but my uncle's a blacksmith there. I'm sure he'd help you out."

Ariana paused for a second, furrowing her brows as she glanced to the ground. 

"You're being strangely nice for someone who had a hand in almost killing us." Lubomir softly laughed, saying what Ariana was apparently thinking. 

Hadvar slowed his pace for a moment, furrowing his own brows, and glancing at a nearby tree.

"Sorry for that," he said quietly, "And thank you. I wouldn't have made it without your help today."

"I'm pretty sure we wouldn't have made it without yours." Lubomir matched Hadvar's pace and walked alongside him. He glanced at Ariana, who was a short distance ahead. She was silent and trying her best to keep her stride quick and purposeful, lest her emotions return.

"So Ari," he called to her, "Where are you going to have the carriage take us? I bet it would be easier to cross south of Riften."

"Home," she grumbled.

"Wait, you're not trying to visit granddaddy Vendhal anymore?" 

Ariana froze in the mossy, wild road, letting out a shaky breath and allowing the other two to catch up with her.

"It was stupid," she uttered as Lubomir neared.

"I don't think it was stupid."

"That doesn't mean a whole lot right now."

Lubomir paused then, his face briefly contorting, having to take a two-step run to stay beside her.

"Oh, yeah, 'Lubomir's a moron', everyone's favorite ongoing joke." He whispered. 

"Sorry--"

"I'm not just these looks, you know."

"I know," Ariana's voice was low and numb, and her soreness was returning as her adrenaline faded. Her quiet apology seemed to satisfy Lubomir, however, who then turned his attention to the Nord.

"So Hadvar," Ariana didn't look up at them, but she could hear Lubomir smile as he spoke, "Are you, uh… spoken for?"

Ariana's mood lifted slightly then, and she sharply exhaled through her nose, which was the closest thing she could manage to a laugh. 

"What do you mean?" Hadvar asked after a moment, raising a brow down at the elf.

"I think you know exactly what I mean, Mr. Big Arms." Lubomir lifted a brow to match his. Hadvar shot him a glance and a hint of blush found his cheeks.

"How are you thinking of something like this right now?" 

"How could I not?" Lubomir brushed up against Hadvar's leather bracer with his elbow. "Should have fainted back in there so I could have had a chance to be carried out by these." He pointed to the soldier's bare bicep. "Hey, can I… touch it? Your muscles I mean." 

Ariana couldn't help but snort at this point, and glanced at her companions, noting Lubomir leaning towards Hadvar's arm. He was barely resisting the urge to wrap himself around it. After a moment, Hadvar rigidly lifted his elbow and looked away from the short Mer, his eyes trained down the road. Lubomir greedily accepted, squeezing his upper arm while running his thumb up and down a particularly prominent vein.

"Hadvar, I know you feel guilty about what happened, but you don't have to indulge him." She said over her shoulder. "I know you're uncomfortable."

"Well I find him very comfortable," Lubomir murmured, bending slightly to press his cheek against the soldier's skin. Hadvar let out a small sigh.

"It’s fine, really," he quietly said, glancing down at Lubomir's hair. He gave the hand clinging to his arm a quick, awkward pat, "I understand. Gotta distract yourself where you can… You see that ruin?"

Ariana looked at Hadvar to see him pointing up and to the left of him with his free hand, at an imposing stone structure atop a nearby hill. Lubomir glanced at it from the side, but didn't remove his cheek from the soldier's arm. 

"Bleak Falls Barrow. When I was a boy, that place always used to give me nightmares." Hadvar said. When Lubomir was satisfied, he lifted his face away and straightened, but still held onto the soldier's upper arm. "Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window at night, that kind of thing. I admit, I still don't much like the look of it."

Hadvar then turned to Ariana, seemingly uncomfortable with her lack of response.

"So you were trying to visit your grandfather in Cyrodiil?" He asked. 

Ugh, he's trying to make conversation. I guess Lubomir isn't the only one who needed distraction. Ariana silently nodded. 

"Yeah, that's how we got you, then. Border crossings are strictly prohibited for the time being, without the right papers."

"They didn't bother to ask for papers." Ariana grumbled. "They just… immediately attacked us."

"That's probably because of where you tried to cross."

As they continued to walk up the road that led to Riverwood, around bends and up and down steep hills, Ariana's lower back started to lock and burn. Her arrow wounds were still fresh, though they had long since stopped bleeding. She paused by a fork in the road and began to rummage through her enchanted satchel.

"Sithis, where are my potions?" She viciously whispered, untying her satchel from her belts and lowering herself to the ground to dig in it properly.

"You said potions?" Hadvar shook free of Lubomir's now slack grip, luckily with no protest, and stood by Ariana. "Consumables and gold are the first things to be confiscated from prisoners. They're immediately redistributed among the ranks. It helps the war effort, since resources and trade lines have been disrupted." 

"My gold, too?!" Ariana scrambled fervently in her bag, searching for the several coin purses she carried. They were all missing. She abruptly stopped her search and lifted her head, closing her eyes and letting out a strained, furious breath. 

"Yeah, that went with the captain."

"How am I supposed to pay the carriage, let alone buy potions at this point?" She coarsely whispered, before opening her eyes and glaring up at Hadvar. 

"Like I said, my uncle will help you." Hadvar offered her a hand up. Ariana reluctantly took it, after realizing her hips would not allow her to stand on her own. 

"Thank you," Ariana's whisper was barely audible, and she averted her eyes before saying, "I don't want to ask you more favors, but you wouldn't happen to have any more potions on you? Maybe snagged from the keep?" She held her sore, punctured side. "I don't know how much longer I can walk."

"Sorry," Hadvar offered her a weak smile and pulled back the collar of his leather, revealing a bloody, nasty gash on his freckled shoulder, "If I did, I would have already taken care of this. We can slow our pace, if you want. We're almost there."

Hadvar offered her his elbow then, the same one he allowed Lubomir to hold. Ariana was having a hard time keeping herself upright, as the rest of her adrenaline finally drained. Her lower back, shoulder, and ribs screamed at her, and the pain felt as if it was getting worse by the second. Lubomir saw her body threaten to slump against the soldier, and helped support her around the waist. 

"How embarrassing," she murmured, followed by a brittle laugh. She noted the log frame of a village entrance in the distance, and, unfortunately, no visible carriage, "Maybe that dragon can come back so the pain can go away again."

"Hey, be careful, Hadvar, holding on to her like that." Lubomir chuckled. "Her lover would tear you apart if he found out."

"Lubomir, shut up."  

Ariana willed herself upright so as to not put so much weight on the Nord's arm. Hadvar didn't seem to mind, nor even strain for that matter. Though she was curvy, the short Imperial seemed to weigh nothing to him. But her effort proved too much on her aching and exhausted body, and her leg locked, threatening to make her fall. Hadvar caught her around the waist, his arm tangling with Lubomir's in the process.

"Ha, I could have caught her on my own." Lubomir leaned his head around the back of Ariana's battle-messed curls to look up at Hadvar. "You whore, look where your hand is now. Gods, I can only think of how Tall and Yellow would react if he were to see this."

"You're really not going to let that go, huh?" Ariana uttered, unable to match Hadvar's sudden laughter. No one seemed to hear her, or perhaps she went ignored.

"Did I hear you right?" Hadvar tried to quiet his hysterics so he could speak without his face twisting. "You called me a whore?"

"Oh, come on, don't take it the wrong way." Lubomir chimed over Ariana's head. "They're my favorite kind of people."

Ariana sharply exhaled, allowing a small smile in the process.

"Maybe just wishful thinking on my part," Lubomir quietly added.

"Looks quiet enough here," Hadvar said, scanning the skies above Riverwood. His caution was still present despite his amusement, "Come on. There's my uncle." He gestured to a nearby forge, where a tall, blonde, bearded man was busy hammering a glowing rod of metal. 

Hadvar stopped before the steps of the deck, unsure if Ariana was able to climb them. Lubomir had let go of her, and was now rummaging about in his own satchel, frowning. 

"They took my ale," Ariana heard him mutter and curse behind her, "AND my jerky?"

Alvor was facing away from them, and could not hear their approach over his hammering.

"I can stand, you know." Ariana grumbled up at Hadvar, still too weak from her pain to wiggle free. He kept his hold on her waist, however, not willing to release her lest she fall.

"Uncle," he said, failing the first time to project his voice over Alvor's pounding, "Uncle Alvor!"

The blacksmith paused and glanced over his shoulder. He dropped the rod into his quenching trough with a loud hiss, and tossed his tongs and mallet on a nearby work table.

"Hadvar? What are you doing h--" Alvor finally noticed Ariana loosely hanging from Hadvar's arm, and the scarred, half-naked Bosmer beside them. The leather of Hadvar's right shoulder seemed to be soaked in blood. "Shor's bones, what happened to you, boy?"

"Uncle please." Hadvar uttered after shushing him. "Keep your voice down."

"Are you in some kind of trouble?" Alvor obliged and descended the rickety wooden steps, so Hadvar could hear him better. 

"I'm fine," Hadvar gave a quick tilt of his head to Ariana, "But this one needs help. We should go inside to talk."

"What's going on? Who are they?"

Hadvar's brow furrowed for a moment, as he glanced down to the ground.

"Friends," he eventually said, "Saved my life in fact. I'll explain everything, but we really need to go inside."

Alvor gave his nephew a short, serious nod, and beckoned the three up the stairs and down the deck. Ariana's face contorted as Hadvar hoisted her up the three wooden steps with relative ease.

"I can do it myself," she hissed in her affront, though she was already on the deck and being led through a door. Lubomir chuckled quietly behind her.

"Sigrid!" Alvor called across the room. "We have company!"

Alvor's wife, a tall Nordic woman with strawberry blonde hair and soft features, spun to see Hadvar having Ariana sit on a bed. 

"Hadvar!" She said, wiping her hands on her apron and crossing the large room to meet him. "We've been so worried about you! Come sit down, I know you're hungry. I'll get them," she gestured at Ariana and Lubomir, "Plates, too, if they like."

"Thank you Sigrid, but first," Hadvar glanced down at Ariana, who was keeping her eyes averted. Her embarrassment was beginning to overwhelm her, and tears threatened to well. "This one could use a healing potion, if you have any."

But Alvor, after rummaging in a nearby chest, was already standing beside the bed, offering Ariana a small, red bottle.

"Give it to him first!" Ariana blurted, pointing to Hadvar's right shoulder.

"I wasn't the one stuck with a handful of arrows." Hadvar said plainly, angling his body away so that his armor would hopefully continue to hide his gored shoulder. 

"It was only three," Ariana grumbled, cautiously accepting the small potion. 

"Still, it was a while ago you got injured, right?" Hadvar's own adrenaline was finally waning, and he barely managed to resist wincing as he folded his arms. "You don't hurry and get that in you, you could have permanent damage, if you don't already."

Ariana hesitated for only a second longer before uncorking and draining the bottle. The burning, electrical pain in her lower back and shoulder faded, but a gnawing ache remained. Ariana felt her side through the hole on her leather, and the wound was now closed with a thick scar.

"I'm sorry I don't have a stronger one," Alvor muttered. He glanced back at Lubomir, who was awkwardly waiting by the foot of the bed, picking at a hangnail on his thumb.

"I'm sorry I didn't try to heal you," Lubomir whispered. "I can only ever manage that spell when I'm fearing for another's life."

"I know, it's fine," Ariana said in a small voice. Her extremities had been shaking for a while now, but seemed to intensify as she sat, "Not like I was really thinking about my injuries for most of this anyway." She turned to look up at Alvor, "And thank you. I know how costly potions can be and I really do appreciate your hospitality." 

Alvor offered her a tiny, satisfied smile before grabbing Hadvar by the leather on his uninjured shoulder.

"Now then, boy." He almost growled, "What are you doing here, looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?"

"Actually they were the ones having an argument over a cave bear," he started, gesturing to Ariana and Lubomir. He noted Alvor's serious expression and straightened, "I don't really know where to start. You know I was assigned to General Tullius's guard--"

"Ha, I guessed right." Lubomir whispered.

"--And we were stopped in Helgen for… well, we were attacked by… a dragon."

"A dragon?!" Alvor erupted in laughter. Sigrid snorted on the other side of the long, living/sleeping area, as she was busy piling food onto wooden platters. "That's… ridiculous. You aren't drunk, are you boy?"

"I won't lie, I wish I was." Hadvar chuckled, though his tone seemed ladened with pain. "Not much more to tell. The dragon flew over and wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don't know if anyone else got out alive." 

He noticed Sigrid then beckoning everyone to the table, and he gestured for Ariana and Lubomir to follow him and take their seats.

The five sat silently for a little while as they ate. Hadvar eventually noticed Ariana's untouched plate.

"Eat," he uttered from his seat beside her, "You need your strength." 

Ariana silently began to stab at her chicken breast with her fork, tearing off a morsel, but never quite bringing it to her mouth. She was trying everything in her power to not sob.

Lubomir shoved his food into his face with surprising fervor. He was starving, certainly, but he willed the concentrated and continuous chewing to keep his own tears at bay. His legs trembled beneath the table. 

"I'm glad you like it." Sigrid smiled at the Mer before gently elbowing her husband. "Where is Dorthe?"

"Gods," Alvor uttered under his breath, immediately rising from the table.

"DORTHE!" He bellowed out of the door. "COME INSIDE RIGHT NOW!"

"I'm right here, Papa." A girl, perhaps nine or ten, emerged from basement stairs at the far end of the one-room home. She held a wooden sword in one hand, and a small clay figure of a fearsome-looking beast in the other. Ariana thought Dorthe may have made it herself, considering the crude features and the way the child lovingly grasped it. She was struck with a quiet, pleasant feeling at the sight, though it was quickly tainted with her inevitable comparison to her own upbringing.

"Hadvar, did you really see a dragon?" Dorthe excitedly whispered, now standing by him. "What did it look like? Did it have big teeth?" 

"Hush, child," Sigrid hissed across the table, "Don't pester your cousin." 

Hadvar let out a weak, airy laugh, ruffling Dorthe's already messy hair. He couldn't bring himself to answer, however, pain hiding in his eyes.

"It did," Lubomir chimed in then, smiling at the girl and making an effort to pause his chewing, "Absolutely massive fangs. It was huge and black and covered in spikes. I wasn't the least bit afraid, of course." 

"Really?!" Dorthe whispered back at Lubomir in hushed excitement. She and the strange Mer in her house continued this train of playful hyperbole for a few more minutes. Her mother eventually snapped her fingers and gave her daughter a stern look, pointing down to a vacant chair beside her. Dorthe reluctantly made her way around the table and took her seat.

Ariana had been too distracted by this endearing interaction to note Alvor murmuring to Hadvar beside her. 

"No, I can't let her play outside for a while now," she heard Alvor say, "If that thing really flew off in the direction you say it did, it could attack any minute." 

This was followed by more serious whispering and Ariana finally remembered her food. Before she could finish her first bite, however, Alvor suddenly addressed her and Lubomir.

"Whenever you're ready, you should go to Whiterun and let the Jarl know about this. He needs to be warned. Shor's bones, if the dragon attacks and they aren't prepared…" Alvor's voice trailed for a moment and he gently shook his head. "All those dead."

"I'm sorry," Ariana immediately said, before remembering to swallow, "I have to get home, and I have a long trek ahead of me without my horse and gold." 

Lubomir stopped his chewing then and straightened. His mind began to reel with many horrible fates that could befall his old home… and his old friends. 

"Ari, it's on the way to Dawnstar," he hissed past Hadvar, "Please."

"You can go yourself." Ariana grumbled, stabbing her chicken breast yet again, though this time with more force. 

"Please, I don't want to do this on my own, you're so much better with words than me. I'll only screw it up."

"Then don't go,"

"ARI!" Lubomir slammed his fist onto the dirty, hide fauld on his lap. He gestured to the blacksmith, who was back by the beds, once again searching his chest. "You heard him. Balgruuf needs to be warned so he can protect them all." 

Ariana shook her head before remembering her words.

"You know I need to get back," she uttered.

"YOU WERE ALREADY PLANNING ON BEING GONE A MONTH!" Lubomir shouted. Hadvar winced slightly, since the sudden volume was right by his ear.

"Easy, Lubomir," he said quietly, glancing between the Mer and his young cousin. Lubomir, unfortunately, had Dorthe's rapt attention, much to her mother's and Hadvar's dismay.

"Then will you come with me?" Lubomir's brows seemed painfully knitted, and Hadvar noticed his eyes threatening to water as he pleaded with them. 

"I-I have to get back to th--"

"PLEASE," Lubomir grabbed Hadvar's forearms and rocked them back and forth, before adding under his breath, "Since Ari's decided to be such a foul bitch about this whole thing." 

Hadvar's face twisted, his resolve weakening by the second. But before he could respond, Alvor was once again by the three, presenting a jangling coin purse to Ariana. 

"Please," the blacksmith told her in a small voice, "Take it so you can hire the carriage in Whiterun. I don't want to ask much of you, considering what you and your companion here just went through. But please take the time to warn the Jarl before you go home."

Ariana eyed the coin purse and her gut churned. This gesture was so amazingly kind, selfless, hospitable. It was also foreign and foolish, surely a mistake on Alvor's part. His eyes, however, were potently sincere, and they sliced her in two. She cautiously accepted the gold.

"Thank you," she whispered up at the Nord, "I will."

***

Maybe it is another with the same name. Ondolemar thought, before immediately correcting himself. No, Lubomir is listed as well. It is, without a doubt, her. How did she get in trouble this time?

Because the report was nutshelled, the list failed to mention charges, nor a detailed account of what happened before or after the dragon attacked. There was an asterisk beside Lubomir's name, however, and it was accompanied with a delicate, but startling scrawl: lycanthrope. 

I was a fool for trusting her with this. If he hurt her…

He dismissed the visuals that came along with this thinking. He was already weary from continuing to frighten himself with the many possible outcomes of her arrest. Ondolemar surmised she survived, however, despite the lack of evidence in the briefing. His mind simply would not allow himself to think otherwise.

She should come back soon. He prayed this experience would discourage her from trying to cross into Cyrodiil again. He sighed and rolled over across the green velvet, placing the parchment on his nightstand. He eyed the case of cheap wine he had brought from the Keep, before rolling back to his original position. Weakly stroking the green bedspread, he imagined Ariana lying next to him. He grabbed her usual pillow and hugged it, burying his face so deep, its feathers dug into his skin through the linen. He drew a deep, pained breath through his nose.

"Don't do anything stupid like this again," he muttered into the pillow, willing her scent to make this illusion of her presence more intense, "You can always ask me for help when you need it. You have to trust me." Of course this imaginary offer had limitations, but Ondolemar couldn't suffer the thought of her keeping anything else from him. For a few more minutes, he continued his rehearsal for her return, praying it would be soon.

"I love you." He eventually whispered, and his face immediately contorted. Shooting upright in the bed, he swung his legs off the side before remembering to release the pillow. He snatched a relatively full wine bottle from the crate and uncorked it.

The following morning, after maybe an hour of drunken sleep, Ondolemar stewed in the Imperial strategy room. The swiftfoot courier said "a few days", but his impatience was beginning to overwhelm his reason. It also, unfortunately, allowed hope, and when he heard armored boots approach behind him, his breath caught.

"Has the regular courier ar--" he began before twisting in his seat. Rather than either of his soldiers, Emmanuel Admand stood in the doorway, trying to keep his face serious.

"I trust you've been briefed on what happened yesterday." He said plainly, raising a brow in response to the Justiciar's fleeting surprise. "In Helgen?"

Ondolemar faced away and took a deep gulp of his tea. He attempted to fix his expression and forced a short, breathy laugh before turning to face the guard captain.

"Of course," he said, "You only just now received a report on it?"

"First thing this morning, it was sent overnight," Emmanuel replied before walking into the room. He leaned against the unused, stone table, and folded his arms. "I find it interesting that a literal dragon seemed to save Ulfric Stormcloak from execution. It's almost as if the gods were trying to tell us something."

Emmanuel tilted his head slightly, trying to analyze Ondolemar's expression, which was partially obscured by his angled hood. The Justiciar seemed to pause for half a second with his lips on his tankard, before continuing his sip and forcing his lips to curl into a slight, ill smile.

"Of course, it's just a coincidence." Emmanuel added, his own tiny, unfriendly smirk forming. 

"Of course," Ondolemar tried to keep the usual ice in his voice, but he was having to put forth considerable more effort than usual, "But your wit never fails to amuse me. Maybe Elisif would like to hire you as her jester."

"I never did look good in tights," Emmanuel found Ondolemar's insults particularly weak this time, and was almost disappointed. His original purpose for meeting with the Justiciar came back to him, "Did the Thalmor briefing include a full prisoner list?"

Ondolemar’s gut sank, and though the question seemed innocent on the surface, he suspected the guard captain's reason for asking. He slowly drained the rest of his tea, praying he would be able to keep his true feelings on the matter buried deep.

"No, that will be coming in a more detailed report," He lied before flippantly adding, "Not that it particularly matters."

"No, I suppose it doesn't really matter at this point," Emmanuel shifted his weight from one foot to another, "I just thought you might want to review a copy of ours, in case you found anything interesting or useful." He produced a folded piece of parchment from his pocket, and tried his best to keep from grinning.

"How cooperative," Ondolemar coldly uttered, slowly placing his tankard on the table and reluctantly accepting the paper. The list was exact and in the same order, along with the same asterisk next to the Bosmer's name. After a moment of pretending to more thoroughly read it, he tossed it to the table and turned to Emmanuel, raising a single brow.

"And?" He said. "Hardly useful, though it's not like I expected otherwise."

Emmanuel sighed and subtly rolled his eyes, letting his arms fall. Ondolemar's lack of emotional reaction was beginning to seriously irk him.

"I thought a certain name on there was familiar--"

"Are you referring to the name Ariana Marcellus?" Though her name seemed to sting as it fell from his tongue, Ondolemar wanted to snatch control of this exchange from the guard captain. If he continued to allow Emmanuel to lead, he feared he would erupt.

"She's your little friend, right?" 

Ondolemar let out a sharp, irate laugh, and felt his mind gradually slip away from his body.

"You didn't read the bottom paragraph, did you?" 

Ondolemar skimmed the document yet again. He maintained the casual amusement on his face, but was unable to come up with a swift retort. His carefully crafted lightheartedness suddenly fell as he read the last section. 

"Dragon swooped down when the headsman swung his axe over her neck." Emmanuel whispered, keeping his arms tight across his chest as he leaned forward.

"Hm, yes, unfortunate." Ondolemar felt as if he was in the corner behind himself, screaming and cursing and desperately pleading. He was weak and fused to his seat, every inch of his skin icy and numb. "But like I said, it hardly matters."

Emmanuel let out a long, strained sigh and straightened. Doubt threatened to strangle him again, and he stared at a nearby wall, slightly shaking his head. 

"You are by far the worst person I have ever had the displeasure to meet. " He muttered.

"Admand, I can only guess why you're so persistent to bring the Imperial up. And this ridiculous idea of yours is becoming more and more disturbing. I'm beginning to wonder if you offer your reverence to Sheogorath." Ondolemar's voice was muffled in his own ears, and he had disintegrated in a pile of himself, far behind him. He vaguely noted sick welling in his throat.

"I know you ca--"

"Ha, the worst you've ever met. If you truly think I 'cared' for her, what would this current exchange say about you?" Ondolemar didn't know where his arms were, but they were luckily still and relaxed-seeming, resting atop the stone table. "Imagine if something happened to that Priestess of Dibella you keep trying with."

Admand's face twisted and soured, and he let his arms drop by his sides. Blush found his cheeks and ears, and fury found his eyes.

Ondolemar shot him a malicious smirk before adding, "Pathetic , really." During a few of his many walks through the city, he had noted the guard captain attempting to talk to a Redguard priestess just outside the Temple of Dibella. His interactions seemed so strained, with a lot of unnecessary chuckling, and Ondolemar knew it was Emmanuel's own nervous form of flirting. "Then again, I do not dwell on others' romantic lives, nor do I feel the need to fabricate them."  

He desperately needed Emmanuel to leave. His mind was trying to slither back into his body, and he could keep himself out for only so long before the inevitable collapse. 

"Truly, Admand," he kept his voice low and icy, and his smirk widened into a threatening grin, "Imagine. Imagine a dragon descending upon the Temple of Dibella when you're away. Or perhaps something more realistic: a slip, a tumble, a murderous burglar. Or maybe it is found that not only is she devout to Dibella, but she still reveres Talos. And you have to receive the news from me."  

Admand found his palm resting on the pommel of his sword, his breath quickening and difficult to control. He couldn't help but feel this was a very real warning.

"You," was all the guard captain could seem to utter. Ondolemar glanced at where his hand was digging into his sword, then back up to Emmanuel's eyes. His numb, terrible smile was frozen on his face.

"I didn't know you were at liberty to threaten a Justiciar," he loosely tilted his head for a moment before straightening it. He held his antagonistic smile and willed his tears to wait a few more minutes, "Legate."

Emmanuel's face twisted and he forced his hand from the pommel. His eyes were slits of blue fire under tawny brows. 

"I make a point to threaten no one," he grumbled, before stalking out of the room, "Unlike you."

Ondolemar watched the guard captain leave, and forced himself up, so that he may close the door. He took two steps before remembering he left the key on the table. Retrieving it threatened to steal his breath, however, as he was forced to glance at the Empire's briefing in the process. He managed to make it back to the door, though his legs now wavered, and he shakily turned the key. Upon hearing the lock click, he was fully flung back into his body, and his chest began to quiver and heave.

This cannot be right, he thought as he snatched the short, Imperial report from his desk, scanning it over and over, particularly the last paragraph. I should have told him as much. Deep down, Ondolemar knew this report would have been composed competently, but if he had openly questioned it, maybe he could have begun to believe otherwise. Her head was on the block.

That's when the tears came. 

Chapter Text

"One thing after another," Ariana muttered, pulling a tiny red bottle from her satchel before hastily draining it. "One DAMN thing after another." She coarsely repeated after swallowing the small potion she bought from Arcadia earlier that evening.

"Can you focus on the task at hand, maybe?" Lubomir whispered at her over his outstretched arm. He held his bowstring taut and steady, lest yet another draugr surprise them. "Don't make me be the sensible one here. I don't even know what a 'Dragonstone' looks like."

"And what makes you think I do?" Ariana hissed behind him as they crept through another dank, ruined tunnel. 

"In case you haven't noticed," Lubomir paused before reaching what appeared to be a great chamber, "My attention is elsewhere. I'm trying to take care of draugr before they become more of a problem. If we were searching for something shiny, I'd be able to spot it a mile away and half-hidden, like I did that claw poking out of that Dunmer's pocket. But this thing is probably just a dull hunk of rock... not unlike most everything else in here."

"So you do have an idea of what it looks like, then." Ariana uttered irritably. 

"Gods, Ari, just keep an eye out for something that might be it, will you?" He said a little too loudly, lowering his bow momentarily to look back at her. "How's your knee?" 

Ariana let out a hushed, barely coherent string of curses. She slightly squatted, before stretching out her left leg. 

"Painful," she grumbled, before adding flatly, "But it's stable now, at least. Why are you unable to keep Kevin here longer again?"

"I don't know!" Lubomir all but squeaked, his unrestrained voice echoing slightly off the high cavern ceiling before them. He wasn't normally this defensive, but Ariana had a particular talent when it came to bringing it out in him. They both froze as several bats, having been disturbed by the gentle echo, left their rocky nooks and flew overhead. Lubomir scanned ahead of him for further movement, but luckily the only thing that seemed to be moving was an underground river that snaked through the chamber. Ariana silently turned and glared into the dark tunnel behind them, unblinking, readying fire in her fingers should she detect the slightest hint of a draugr following them. After a moment of their dead silence, she and Lubomir simultaneously let out a deep sigh of relief.

"It takes him a lot of energy to be here," Lubomir quietly continued his defense as they both carefully stepped into the cavern, "Especially when he has to fight."  

"Wonder what makes you think you can keep him around for the other thing. Doesn't seem a long enough time for him to be of any… use." Ariana chuckled quietly. Scanning her surroundings, she noted a great stone dais at the far end of the chamber. Atop it sat a bizarre--but at this point, all too familiar--curved stone wall. 

Lubomir kept his arrow ready against his bow, but allowed the bowstring to relax as he dropped his arms in front of him. This chamber seemed quiet enough. 

"Probably not a long enough time," Lubomir uttered, almost absent-mindedly, "Just want to experience it, even if it's just for a moment."  

But Ariana could no longer hear the Bosmer's exhausted, quiet words. She was already on one end of the cavern, searching crevices for chests or urns or anything else that might hold something important. Lubomir quietly searched the other end before they both met at and ascended the crumbling steps of the dais. 

Ariana nodded at the seemingly undisturbed casket, altar, and large chest that accompanied it, before glancing at Lubomir, who vehemently shook his head. 

Wait, he mouthed, and she nodded her head once more, understanding fully what he meant. 

Lubomir began silently inspecting the vases, urns, and altar beside the casket, and Ariana searched around the strange, curved wall. 

Sunlight was beginning to creep through cracks in the ruin, and it stung her sleepless eyes. This whole dragon thing has made me stupid, she thought. I can't believe I just spent an entire night traipsing through a barrow to retrieve something for a JARL. Though it was Farengar, Whiterun's court wizard, who had technically requested the artifact, Balgruuf's desperation and adamance regarding the matter is what seemed to move Lubomir. He wasn't usually one to help the powers that be without it greatly benefiting him or his fellow thieves, but he was still horribly nostalgic about the years he lived with The Companions in Whiterun, and it felt as much a home to him as anywhere. Balgruuf had always been kind and reasonable, as far as Lubomir could tell, and he always had a soft spot for men who had what he considered fatherly concern over the people he was responsible for.

Ariana, as unwilling as she had been to participate in this fetching job, knew Lubomir would most likely go about it on his own. Ariana knew Lubomir was perfectly capable of handling arduous tasks like venturing into a draugr-infested ruin and emerging relatively unscathed. He had survived much worse, according to the stories he had told her of his time with The Companions and Thieves Guild. But she knew he was just as exhausted as she, and the threat of possibly losing him was still too recent, the pain of it still too raw. She couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to him in Bleak Falls Barrow without her. 

In her numb distraction, Ariana found herself staring at a particular part of the curved stone wall.

"It’s gonna be in that chest or the casket over there, I think." She heard Lubomir whisper from where he was now standing beside her. "But I'm not gonna touch either one till you're ready to cover me. If not there, then this whole thing was a waste-- what are you looking at?"

"Why is there always one of these carvings that glows?" She whispered so quietly Lubomir could barely hear her.

"Glows?"

The carvings that were common on all of the curved walls Ariana had run across in her travels seemed to be in the same, unknown language, at least unknown to Ariana. Unknown, but still somehow familiar, like trying to remember a dream your mind already discarded upon waking. Sometimes, with her dreams, if she concentrated with all her being and had no other distractions for just long enough, she could bring the details of the dream back into her mind, reviving it from the black. She normally didn't care enough about the strange language carved on these walls to be pulled into this effort, the effort of trying to remember a dead dream. But today there was a stronger connection. There was a missing piece to this dream that she had not truly experienced until the day before: what this language sounds like from a dragon's own tongue.  

There was no evidence she could recall in detail to support this connection. Perhaps it was just a feeling that lingered from vague and inconsistent stories she heard as a child. There was nothing in the logical side of her mind that could fuse the ideas, but it felt true. This was the language the dragon was speaking. And with her half-understanding of it the day before, she felt closer than ever to remembering.

Ariana stared into the glowing inscription before her, her surroundings fading from its intense light. She could no longer see him, nor hear Lubomir's hushed questions beside her. But it was hardly silent. Somewhere that felt deep in her mind, she heard very low chanting, mostly drowned out by a phantom, rushing wind that flooded her ears. She vaguely felt Lubomir's hand on her sore arm and his voice grow a little louder in some sort of concern or impatient protest.

"It’s on the tip of my tongue," she muttered, and impulsively slapped her open palm up against the glowing carving. For a brief moment, her hand felt fused against the stone, and the strange wind strengthened into a severe gale before dying altogether. 

"What was that?" Lubomir's voice rang clear in Ariana's ears, and the glowing, carved word was now as dull and plain as the ones surrounding it. 

I don't know, didn't quite make it out of Ariana's mouth and she furrowed her brow slightly. The dream slipped away once again, but there was a tiny piece that was left behind. A feeling, a vague understanding that maybe she could concentrate on when she had a quiet, safe moment. 

"C'mon," Lubomir said, tugging Ariana's arm gently with his free hand, "Let's go ahead and get this thing--or at the very least clear this place--so we can sleep."  

Ariana sighed deeply and readied her dagger and fire as she turned. Sleep, her mind groaned, I am going insane.

But Lubomir did not approach the casket, and already had his arrow trained steady on what seemed to be emerging from its now ajar lid. 

***

Ondolemar’s thoughts quieted to a murmur, and he went about his daily routine numbly. He drank only slightly more than unusual, at least so he thought, and remained quiet and aloof whenever passing someone. Not at all unlike how he’d been in the years prior. There was very little to do but wait, and that was the difficult part. There was a voice in the back of his consciousness, screaming its anxieties into an icy abyss that now dominated and protected his mind. Though this defense was automatic at this point--a second nature he developed that he no longer had to think about implementing--it still took a considerable amount of energy. 

He could tell Siriol suspected something off about him. Her face would soften whenever he would pass, and he thought he could detect her brows furrow ever so slightly out of the corner of his eye. He could feel her gaze penetrate his back as he would walk away. Caris luckily seemed to pay him no mind. If anything, her demeanor was more pleasant than it had been in ages. Basic, resolute, the closest thing to calm that would be appropriate for a Mer of her duty. 

There was a sensation that did begin to creep in however, something other than the faint screaming that was relatively easy to ignore, something deeply unpleasant. It stalked across his protective glacier. Another type of anxiety, perhaps, but youthful and raw and something difficult to catch or tame. A wretched little being that craved drink and sex and coin and comfort and status, but now it wanted more. Its wants were simple again for the first time in ages. It wanted to eat.

And so Ondolemar did, or at least he would. He found himself in the Keep's kitchen late one night, eyeing an assortment of now cold and possibly stale sweets: sweetrolls, boiled creme treats, honeyed nuts, ribbons of taffy… There was one particular sweetroll that appeared fresher than the others, not that the little beast that drove him cared. His hand hovered over it and his stomach churned. He knew full well that if he followed through with this craving, he would not be able to stop, not in this state. Every sweet thing in the kitchen would be devoured. Even if he became sick, he would be unable to stop. Normally he could indulge in an occasional treat in moderation. It was one of the few forms of self-soothing he had trained himself to strictly control, since it was the only one that threatened to make its presence known on his surface if left unchecked. He could never bear to make his weaknesses so glaringly public. And something he couldn't control, cravings or otherwise, was something he could bear even less.

No, he snatched his hand away from the sweetroll, disgusted with himself. Indulgence is the only reason you're in this predicament. Petty pleasures you get so quickly attached to and cannot quit. He forced himself not to even think her name as he stalked back across the silent Keep to his make-shift office. But even fleeting, unwanted glints of her face amongst his murky thoughts made his chest ache… and his stomach growl.

If she is truly gone, it is probably a blessing. He poured himself a tankard-full of wine and let it fill his angry belly, despite it not being what it wanted at that moment. It IS a blessing. I was beginning to LOVE that wretched woman, for the gods' sakes. His numbness made this train of thought somewhat easy, for which he was grateful. He stared at the shallow bit of wine at the bottom of his tankard, swirling it gently so it would not be still enough to reveal his reflection.

The inadequacy of his usual cheap wine was beginning to bother the little beast that slithered around his mind, however. He had allowed Ariana to indulge him with premium mead, and sometimes rare, quality vintages of wine whenever she came across them. There was once a time, when he was young, that he did not hesitate to buy quality drink for himself. But eventually, following perhaps what were harmless comments from strangers and family alike, concerning his spending, wasting so much coin on himself felt foolish. Not just foolish, but it felt downright shameful. Spending gold on others seemed to be more acceptable, though he often saved those purchases as strategy. But that was all the more reason he hated himself for what he gave Ariana.

She shouldn't have been worth it. She felt worth it, however, and Ondolemar likened this to that same little monster that slinked along his brain and heart and strangled both, the same dark creature that would have him devour stale sweets in the middle of the night in a Nordic kitchen. And after all, what was an Imperial lover but a stale, subpar sweetroll? 

***

"You kept looking at Jorrvaskr earlier." Ariana said suddenly and quietly, wringing a wet cloth over its washbasin. She cleaned herself the best she could with the provided sliver of soap, but chose not to try with her hair should it not be enough. Lubomir finished wiping down his neck and face with his own cloth, and stared thoughtfully at the dark blue pigment that now stained it. 

"You should stop by tomorrow," she added, handing him her small, cracked hand mirror, "I know you want to…"

Lubomir picked the remnants of his warpaint from the corners of his eyes before shaking his head solemnly and handing the mirror back to her.

"Why not?" Ariana asked. "Didn't you say you wanted to see how Farkas was doing?"

"I think I already have," he replied in a small voice, "This morning, on our way to Dragonsreach, I saw him with Vilkas, training."

"That's hardly seeing 'how he's doin--'"

"He looked happy, Ari. He had that look on his face like he was having a good day. Like everything was fine." Lubomir glanced down at the soiled rag, unsure how to hold it or what to do with it just yet, "I don't want to mess that up."

Ariana sighed gently and offered her open palm to him. Lubomir glanced to the side to see it outstretched and placed the dirty cloth in her hand. She turned from where he sat on the bed and began scrubbing it in the tarnished washbasin. After a few seconds of this she paused, and though Lubomir could not see, her brows deeply furrowed.

"How do you think Vilkas is doing?" She nearly whispered.

Lubomir snorted softly, saying, "He looked as he usually did, irritable and bossy. Not miserable, by any means, though try telling that to an eye that doesn't know him."

Ariana sat on the bed beside him, dangling her bare, sore feet inches from the rough inn floor. She glanced down at the Bosmer's own--cleaner than she could ever recall seeing them--and noted many, painful-looking blisters. 

"Are your feet okay?" She asked abruptly, wanting to change the subject from Vilkas, and regretting even mentioning him. 

"My feet?" Lubomir asked plainly, pulling one of them up and resting it on his knee. "They're fine."

"They look horrible, Lubomir, don't you want something for that?" Ariana gestured to her satchel on the bedside table. 

"They always look like this," Lubomir chuckled, picking off a bit of softened callus from his big toe and flicking it onto the floor. Ariana shuddered and looked away. 

"I do not like feet and don't have a habit of looking at them." She grumbled. "Besides, it's not like I could tell with how filthy they a--"

"You act like I never bathe." Lubomir raised his voice but it held no true ire. His exhaustion would not allow it. "I may live somewhere dark and wet--"

"A sewer,"

"Cistern." Lubomir quietly corrected. "But I actually wash way more often than I ever did living in Jorrvaskr." 

"Explain to me why you're always smelling-- at least a little bit-- like a wet dog then?" 

Lubomir tilted his head slightly towards her, raising a brow and giving her a look that suggested she should already know.

"Don't tell me it's because you're a wer--"

"Yes, Ari, it's because I'm a werewolf. It's funny how that smell didn't bother you when it was on Vilkas."  

The Companions' widespread lycanthropy was no secret to her, their discretion yet another casualty of Lubomir's loose tongue. Luckily for them, she had no reason to betray this secret, not that Lubomir would ever forgive her if she did. He had already done enough to risk their place in respected society by revealing his own condition among many startled onlookers on Sanguine's night.

Ariana stared at the washbasin on the dresser and remained silent, though Lubomir could see her cheeks flush.

"You don't still li--"

"NO, no, no, no, no--"

"'Bout to say, might want to have a few words with Tall and Yel--"

"Shut up." Ariana murmured as she stood to adjust the waist cord of her trousers. She was beginning to regret changing from her Shrouded Armor into something more comfortable for sleeping. Something was gnawing in her gut, something ill and ominous, but she tried to brush it off as lingering fear from her escaping a dragon's rampage the day before, and so many draugr during the night.

"I did really like him back then," she muttered, lying on the edge of the bed so that Lubomir might have some room behind her near the wall. Years prior, in the week or two leading up to Sanguine's night, Ariana had taken a break in her studies at the college to visit Whiterun, since she had only ever been to the city in passing. Upon running into Lubomir, she decided to linger and get to know who he was as an adult. He readily invited her to meet his new family at Jorrvaskr, and spoke high praise of her, despite not even knowing yet who she had become.

She very quickly took a liking to Vilkas, as irritable and stern and handsome as he was, and thought of him as a project to woo and soften. It began working after a few days, with Lubomir's enthusiastic help, and Ariana's strategic sweetness. The Nord was much softer and kinder than he let on, and it only took a little bit of gentle coaxing to bring some of it out of him. They eventually shared a kiss, and the next night a bed, and then maybe even a few whispered memories and thoughts and wishes. He had been a promising partner, a hopeful friend and lover alike, and Ariana had been excited to develop that relationship into something more substantial. That all came to a screaming halt, however, upon seeing his new, and his twin's then long term, lovers drunkenly kissing each other in the Bannered Mare before some infuriatingly encouraging stranger.

"And he really liked you." Lubomir said plainly with a grunt as he fell into the hard mattress behind her. 

Their remaining gold--the gold gifted to them by Hadvar's kind uncle--only afforded the pair a small room in the Bannered Mare with a bed typically only fit for one. The fact that they could both fit on it, though just barely, was one of the few perks of them both being relatively petite. Upon retrieving the Dragonstone and bringing it to Farengar, Jarl Balgruuf offered to let them purchase a small home in the city. Though this small cottage was amazingly affordable, as much as just her bed back in Markarth, it was still woefully out of their price range for what little coin they had on them. Ariana was bitter about not being able to afford it as she awkwardly shifted her sore limbs so they could possibly be more comfortable.

"But we messed all that up, didn't we...?" Lubomir's voice trailed through a yawn, and he draped an arm around Ariana's waist. She shifted again, uncomfortable under its weight as she began to silently fume once again over The Night, as well as the heaps of gold the Imperial soldiers had stolen from her.

"Oh, sorry," Lubomir quietly said in response to her uncomfortable wiggling, weakly beginning to lift his arm as he drifted off.

"It’s fine," Ariana numbly whispered. Lubomir snored softly in response, his arm's dead weight once again along her ribcage.

Despite her agonizing exhaustion, sleep was far from her. More angry, violent thoughts loosely swirled in her mind, about Sanguine and about Helgen. They gradually faded away as a glowing, unknowable word then dominated her thoughts. 

On the tip of my tongue, her mind repeated. She felt as if she should have been able to read it; it felt so hauntingly familiar. Familiar, just as the dragon's terrible voice had been. But she couldn't seem to concentrate solely on the word she had seen in Bleak Falls Barrow. All the others she had passed by in her travels she vaguely tried to recall, but could not. Maybe if she could return to those locations, maybe it would help her remember… remember something she wasn't sure she ever knew to begin with.

After a while of dizzy, messy, weak thoughts, they began to fade, and she hoped sleep might be finally taking her. As her consciousness drifted, sensations began: a tingling just under her skull. She once again had fire in her throat and was lifted on great wings. No, not on, but with. They were her very own arms.

***

The pair was startled awake by violent knocking on their inn door. Ariana let out a weak stream of whispered curses and Lubomir groggily shouted, "Who is it?" And he grunted as he kicked himself painfully upright.

"Guard," plainly said the muffled voice on the other side of the door. Ariana and Lubomir groaned at the same time. 

"I didn't even do anything!" Lubomir all but whined as Ariana shakily rushed from the bed to open the door. She had never been wanted in Whiterun, though she couldn't quite say the same for her Bosmer counterpart. Perhaps behaving as any innocent, law-abiding citizen, and immediately answering the door with doe-eyed concern would be enough to quell any suspicions that may be upon them. It was certainly true, the pair had done nothing illegal since being in the city, and this tactic had worked for her in the past. 

"What's happened?" She said up at the guard upon opening the door, as gently as possible, considering her intense irritation.

"You are needed in Dragonsreach," the guard said very seriously, "You are the two who had experience with the dragon in Helgen, right? The very two who retrieved that stone for Farengar?" The guard leaned over Ariana through the doorway to look at Lubomir, who was nodding tiredly in response. "Irileth needs to talk to you two at once. She would have come herself, but she is busy formulating a plan with the Jarl." 

Ariana could not help but drop her kind act and roll her eyes. She resisted the urge to stomp her foot like a spoiled child who had just been asked to clean up their toys. She turned to Lubomir to, at the very least, communicate this displeasure with her eyes, only to see him already pulling on his worn, leather boots. He seemed to be fully awake, though the bags under his now bare eyes were obvious. 

"What's happened?" He asked the guard in a low, serious tone.

"Irileth will explain everything to you when you get there, but come on." He gestured to Ariana as well, ignoring her sour expression. "She'll have my head if I don't get you two there immediately."

The urgency, and therefore apparent importance of the matter was not lost on either of them, but Ariana, of course, was hardly moved. She dreaded the thought of completing another grueling, (and in her mind), thankless task. She had already gone through the ordeal of regaining her freedom in Helgen, only for it to be seemingly squashed by something akin to "civic duty". But Lubomir was apparently concerned and willing, and she didn't have the energy to fight with him about it again. 

One last thing and then home, she assured herself as she irritably began changing into her armor. Which home was still up for debate, however. He's going to think me stupid. In that moment she wanted nothing more than to be comforted by him, to feel him, to have Ondolemar take her out of her mind and make her fully in her body, to make her feel normal and like a person.. . A person who had something like control over her day. A person who could predict it at the very least. But she was still apprehensive about returning to Markarth outright. Maybe I can make something up… a story to explain my trip so he won't start with the inevitable 'I-told-you-so's.

The guard cleared his throat and quickly looked away, seeing Ariana begin to pull up her tunic.

"No, no, no," he said adamantly, "No time. You can change into whatever gear you need to after you speak with Irileth and she tells you what you need to do. We have to go now."

Ariana made a face at the guard and hastily wadded up and shoved her now ripped and filthy Shrouded Armor back into her satchel, saving just the boots to pull up her calves.

"ONE THING AFTER ANOTHER!" She shouted as she pushed past the guard and out the door.

***

"Why am I doing this again?" Ariana grumbled into Lubomir's ear as Irileth shouted orders to them and a handful of Whiterun guards. "Oh, that's right, because YOU'RE doing this."  

The sun was dipping behind the western mountains. If that had been any indication of how much time had passed between falling into their uncomfortable inn bed, Ariana and Lubomir had gained what would be a full-night's sleep, just during the day. Despite being well-rested, her irritation never left her, rather it continued to build as she felt like she was forced into yet another battle. 

"You can just GO, you know." He spat back at her, still eyeing the smoldering ruins of the western watchtower outside of the city. "I'm about sick of you and all your BITCHING."

"And I'm sick of you and all your wannabe hero shit!" She hissed back. "If you want to die so bad, I shouldn't have pulled you through the fire in Helgen!"

Lubomir's eyes widened, and his mouth fused into a hard, straight line as he slowly tilted his head to glare at her. 

"I wouldn't have been in Helgen in the first place if it weren't for me traveling with you, helping you." He uttered through his teeth.

Ariana glared back at him and gulped involuntarily. She began subtly but twitchily shaking her head.

"You... offered." Was all she managed to say in response. 

Unfair, was a word that briefly flowed through Lubomir's mind and his expression softened somewhat. 

"I know," he muttered, training his gaze yet again at the ruined watchtower, "And I would again, because I love you. And I know you're only here because you love me, and I'm grateful for that." The hint of a smile threatened to emerge across his still very irritable and weary face. "Despite your bitching."

But Irileth and the Whiterun guards were moving now, and Ariana and Lubomir followed them automatically. The guards dispersed and went on either side of the smoldering and broken tower. Lubomir kept his distance and held an arrow tight and ready in his bowstring, scanning the skies. The guards, and housecarl known as Irileth, were quiet now, the only sound now being the gentle crackling of fresh embers. Ariana slowly approached the entrance of the tower alongside a reluctant guard and peered inside. She felt a faint tingling just underneath her skull and began silently counting.

The silence was suddenly broken by Irileth shouting somewhere outside, followed immediately by a deafening, monstrous shriek that shook the now unstable structure. Ariana whirled and saw the dragon fly overhead, just missing a guard with its passing flames. She rushed back down to the road to try and see where it had flown off to, preparing fire in both her hands. She knew her dagger would be relatively useless against such a massive, flying opponent, no matter how potent the poison on its blade. 

Determination and a terrible anger flooded her as she understood she might have a bone to pick with this beast. When it reappeared, however, she quickly realized it was not the same dragon that attacked Helgen. This one was much smaller, scrawny even. It's scales were flatter and much lighter in color, though with the sun now deep behind the mountains, the color was nearly impossible to discern. 

Despite the great, black dragon inadvertently saving her in Helgen, she found herself hating it. Hating it for what its presence could mean. Hating it for triggering all these chores that she was compelled to complete with Lubomir. Hating it for taking a boy's father from him in a torrent of flame before his own eyes. The dragon was not unlike her in that respect, but that was something that would take her time to truly admit. Unlike the dragon, she always took great care not to let any of her mark's children see what she did. At the very least, that's what she told herself.

It flew overhead and hovered above where a guard and Lubomir how hid behind a boulder, shooting arrows into its underside that seemed to do nothing. Ariana's flames may, as well, do nothing to this dragon, but Lubomir was pinned and unable to escape in that moment. She drew deep into her magicka pools, pulling it up through the ground through her feet, letting it fill her body almost painfully. Out of both her hands grew a massive and amazingly hot fireball, so hot it nearly singed the leather gloves from her palms and the tip of her nose. But the pain of it didn't bother her, on the contrary, the pain of it made it real. With her breath seemingly just as hot as her fire, huffing through her teeth and her nose, she hurled the fire up at the dragon as it prepared to shout. 

Its shout was interrupted, and it shrieked with what could be assumed was pain, threatening to fall from the air. A large, smoldering hole now pierced its wing, and it flapped frantically, trying to stay aloft. In this distraction, Lubomir managed to pierce an open and fearful eye, and the dragon all but tumbled to the ground. It just barely managed to land on its feet and began desperately gnashing its jaws and swinging its thick, clubbed tail at approaching assailants. 

It was surrounded now by guards trying to pierce its thick, scaly hide with their swords. One guard was hurled away by a forceful swing of its tail, flung against the broken watchtower yards away with a sickeningly loud and wet crack. Another was trying to flank the dragon, but was broken in its jaws as it swung its head around to snatch him. 

The sounds of the fight seemed to blend together: screaming and growling and steel against scale, the ill, squishing sound of viscera and maiming. Ariana could see blood now staining the dragon's face, and she felt its rage. More of Lubomir's arrows were now stuck in its scales: the one in its now useless eye, two in its cheek, one painfully lodged in a still fuming nostril. The accuracy of his arrows seldom failed at such close range. Ariana briefly thought that maybe he didn't even need her there. But now she wanted to be there. She felt what the dragon was feeling, she felt its rage. It was a pure rage, purer than primal. It felt almost divine. Her fire belonged to it, and its fire belonged to her. 

She remained relatively useless for a moment, however, knowing she couldn't start again with her fire lest she incinerate any of the guards in the process. It opened its mouth to shout more flames, but before it managed to come out, Lubomir released an arrow into its exposed throat. The dragon sputtered and spit and let out a weak, raspy wail. Ariana felt herself moving then. 

She didn't know how many guards had fallen, it had to have been a handful, considering how few were still engaging the beast. Irileth's shouted orders could still be heard, as well as a few other voices. And Lubomir was still alive and seemingly unharmed, which was ultimately all that mattered to Ariana.

But he wouldn't stay that way if this dragon wasn't slain, and soon.

She was close to the dragon now, and the tingling just under her skull strengthened to a pleasant, almost soothing hum. It seemed to energize her, making her focus resolute and solid. It made her feel real... pure, perhaps. She didn't have to think. She didn't have to think about her movements, about strategy, about fighting or living or dying. She was moving all on her own, dodging the dragon's frantic attempts to defend itself. She only had to feel. 

Ariana felt the heat of this pure rage. She felt her own breath which seemed just as hot. She felt the thumping of a great heart beating, and in that moment, she was unsure if it came from her or the beast. She then felt it under her, and felt cold scales under her legs, like large boulders beneath her thighs. She felt great wings, now aching and burning and tired, she felt fire in her throat and her large dagger in her hand. 

There was a small gap between scales at the back of the thrashing dragon's head. The movement made everything a visual blur, but Ariana didn't need to see any details. She only needed to feel as she clung to the back of the dragon's neck.

The blade of her serrated dagger found itself plunged deep between these scales, piercing skin and thick bone, driven through with all the power this rage seemingly held. The beast weakened suddenly, as did Ariana's grip on it, and she fell beside it with a painful thud on the dirt. 

The rage faded and she shakily rose to standing, her bloodied and now bent dagger lying beside where she fell. Sweaty hands then pulled her back by her shoulders, and away from the dying dragon. She stumbled in her involuntary retreat, but Lubomir caught her before she could fall. 

Only a drop of the rage remained, and the life finally drained from the dragon's remaining eye. Its head lay pathetically on the bloodsoaked soil beneath, and numbness washed over Ariana. Lubomir's words were beginning to become comprehensible as her euphoria continued to dim.

"You really did that?!" Was something he maybe yelled excitedly behind her, followed by things that sounded like, "insane" and "amazing". 

Ariana couldn't reply just yet. She was staring at the large, lifeless body now, waiting. She didn't know why she waited. Perhaps she was unsure the beast was dead and wanted to be certain. The others around her, with their murmurs and deep sighs of relief, seemed to indicate that it was. Still, she waited.

The dragon's body shuddered slightly, and embers began cracking along crooked lines between its scales. The fire that came from its body seemed to consume the flesh gently, like paper held to a candle when the air around it was humid. But what came from the body was far from gentle. A forceful wind, not unlike what Ariana felt from the wall in the barrow, rushed to and into her.

As it struck, she suddenly could feel every part of her body at once, every bone, every muscle and tendon. Every organ screamed and shuddered, every blood vessel seemed to expand and contract, every cell vibrated, every nerve fired at once. She felt for a second that she might explode. It would have been unbearable agony if it had not been so amazingly euphoric. 

After the wind stopped, Ariana felt herself breathe again. It was labored and her chest was sore, and her body felt incredibly heavy. Her heart felt especially burdensome, like an impossibly dense ore. The weight of it dragged her down and she fell to her knees. 

The nearby guards were speaking, some loud and excited, some with ardent and fearful murmuring. Lubomir was asking something along the lines of, "What was that?" But Ariana could only comprehend one word at that moment. It was the one word she felt like she should have known, should have been able to read, should have been able to understand. It was the one carving that held her attention long enough for her to memorize it. Its simple lines and dashes in its unknown alphabet burned into her mind. 

"Fus," she whispered. But the whisper was heavy, heavy like her heart, and the breath that came from it was far from gentle. Though her voice had been barely audible, her throat tightened as if she had screamed, and her whisper flowed from her mouth like a strong breeze, flinging the messy, sweat-drenched curls that hung in front of her face.

Her normal senses returned. Her legs shook and ached beneath her, her head throbbed, her slightly burnt hands stung. And she was afraid again… And irritable, and wanted to eat and cry and yell and go home. She wanted comfort, and to be comforted, and wanted to be away from all of this again. 

Lubomir helped her stand and handed her the bloodied and now damaged Daedric dagger he retrieved for her off the ground. 

"How did you DO that?" He asked her in a loud whisper.

"I don't know." She murmured, staring down at the bent ebony in her hand. Her face twisted painfully as she started to grieve her now relatively useless blade. Nothing should have been able to bend ebony tempered with a Daedric heart like this. No bone had ever been strong enough. The cost of replacing it began weighing on her mind as well. 

"I can't believe it!" A guard said as he, Irileth, and the remaining guards approached them. He paused for a moment, lifting off his full helmet to reveal sweaty, fair, freckled skin and short, light brown hair. 

"You're… y-you're..." He was trying to continue, but felt the word catch in his throat in his disbelief. Ariana couldn't quite look him in the eye, or at anyone else for that matter. She was no longer looking at the dagger that lay broken in her hands, but rather staring past it to the ground beneath her, at nothing in particular. 

"Dragonborn." The guard finally managed.

Ariana sternly glared at him then, the heaviness in her chest twisting into a painful knot. 

"Dragonborn?" She asked slowly, as if it were a warning. "What do you mean?"

Her expression must have not translated well under the ill moonlight, and the guard cleared his throat so as to educate whom he assumed to be a foreigner.

"In the very oldest tales, back when there still were dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power--"

"I know what a 'Dragonborn' is, damn it, I grew up here." She hissed, making the guard subtly flinch. Ariana was familiar with the common tales. Grelod had never been much for telling stories, at least not since Ariana was very small. But the other children did, and often, if for no other reasons than to comfort one another, distract themselves from their reality, and feel connected to the lost family who originally shared them. There was only one, specific Dragonborn's name that Ariana could remember however. It was arguably the most famous one, and that's what made this guard's words so uncomfortable.

"But that's what you did, isn't it?" The Nord said after a short pause. "Absorbed that dragon's power?"

"I don't know what happened to me." Ariana answered irritably, shaking her head and forgetting the broken dagger in her hand. 

"Well, there's only one way to find out!" The guard seemed almost excited, as if the ordeal they had all just been through hadn't been the most exhausting thing he had experienced in his life. "Try to shout. That should prove it." 

"There are many things I could shout right now, but I hardly think they would prove anything--"

"No, shout like a dragon." The guard tried to clarify, though he, himself, wasn't entirely sure what that would entail. 

Ariana looked at the ground again, her brows knitting. She knew what to do if this were true, and if that bizarrely forceful word she uttered moments before were any indication. She glanced up at Lubomir to see him eyeing her with concern. 

"It’s worth a try," he eventually muttered, "Just to see."

Ariana stared at the dragon's remains, the only thing left being its skeleton, apparently too tough to burn. Such a bizarre way to die, she couldn't help but think, An automatic cremation like that. One of Lubomir's arrows now hung loose in its eye socket, its head apparently hooked on a bit of skull inside. The sight was almost comical, if it weren't for uncertainty-fueled discomfort that now overwhelmed her. She vaguely noted a guard behind her saying, "Well, c'mon now. Shout." Ariana closed her eyes, drew one, deep, heavy, painful breath, and remembering the word she now understood, did just that. 

Her voice's volume startled even her, as the word Fus echoed off the broken watchtower and surrounding foothills. She stumbled back a step before being able to open her eyes, hearing the guards, Lubomir, and possibly even the stoic Irileth gasp in alarm. She blinked a few times before scanning the large, dry bones before her. She was unsure if anything even happened. Upon closer inspection, it appeared the heavy dragon skull shifted slightly, as perhaps did the smaller bones, (though it wasn't as if she had committed their exact positions to memory). Lubomir's arrow was no longer dangling out of the eye socket, which seemed to be the only thing that was obviously amiss.

"Yep!" The guard enthusiastically hollered. "Dragonborn."  

Ariana turned and eyed the Nord incredulously. To her, this was hardly the power of legend, and weaker still compared to what came from an actual dragon's throat. Loud, certainly, but not terribly useful.

Still, the fact that it happened at all did seem to be confirmation of the guard's claim. She tried to bury the many layers of understanding that came with it, as it felt like they would smother her. 

Lubomir found himself standing next to her, away from the guards and housecarl, where she was now standing over the pile of bones and scorched grass. 

"Dragonborn? Really?" They heard another guard behind them say to the one who spoke before. "What are you talking about?"

"Did you not see what the rest of us just saw?" He let out a single, sharp laugh. "Do we have to ream the eye slits of your helmet again?"

"Yeah, that's right, Thonarik, why are you being so dense?" A third guard chimed in with a thick Nordic accent. "My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with the dragon blood in 'em. Like old Tiber Septim himself. Surprised yours didn't."

"I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons." Thonarik spat defensively. 

"There weren't any dragons then, idiot. They're just coming back now for the first time in... forever. But the old tales tell that the Dragonborn can kill dragons and steal their power. She," The guard with the strong accent pointed to Ariana, who was unfortunately privy to this conversation and did not want to take part in it, "Must be one."

"What do you say, Irileth?" One of the guards asked the severe Dunmer. "You're being awfully quiet." 

Irileth glanced down the road, towards the city, but focusing on nothing in particular, her lips fused shut and forehead wrinkled. 

"Come on, Irileth, tell us." Yet another guard coaxed, perhaps the last of the survivors. "Do you believe in this Dragonborn business?"

"Hmph." She grunted, looking back at the now relatively quiet scene. Four of the guards she led to the watchtower had died fighting that night, and though the loss weighed heavy on her heart and conscience she was relieved that they ultimately won. Whiterun was safe for now.

"Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don't know anything about. Here's a dead dragon," she gestured at the clean skeleton before them, "And that's something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them. But I don't need some mythical 'Dragonborn'. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me." 

Irileth's words would have irked Ariana on any other night, considering the annoyance they held was technically referring to her, but in that moment they were comforting. Maybe she wasn't Dragonborn. And if she were, maybe it didn't really matter, and she could still go about her life as she pleased. Maybe they could have taken down the dragon without her damaging its wing. Any destruction mage with enough magicka and determination could have done that, as far as she was concerned. 

"Bah, you wouldn't get it, housecarl," said the guard with the thick, Nordic accent, "You ain't a Nord."

"I've been all across Tamriel." Irileth said, her tone coarse and stern. "I've seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this. I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends." She sighed deeply and looked at the ruined and smoking watchtower, adding quietly, "We need to clean up this mess and look for any survivors."  

Ariana stood still, having listened to the entire exchange behind her. Lubomir remained silent beside her, every once in a while glancing at her face to read her relatively blank, but slightly pained expression. She was grateful for his lack of chatter. She didn't think she could respond, nor even speak for a while. She silently counted to six, twelve times, and to twelve, six times.

Isn't this what you wanted? Was a thought that threatened to make her lose her place in her usual mental ritual. To be special? To have monstrous power? Though, of course, what kind of power is this? She briefly shifted her gaze from the skull before her to the arrow a few feet away. Fitting... For you at least.

"You there!" Irileth called to Ariana and Lubomir as she approached them. "I'm sure glad you two were with us. That was the hairiest fight I've ever been in, and I've been in more than a few." She patted Lubomir on his shoulder, perhaps a little too hard, and the force of it made him waver slightly. "Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what happened here. But I need to take command of the watchtower for the moment. You head back to Whiterun and let him know what happened. Knowing him, there will be a reward in it for you."

Lubomir's mirror to Ariana's mood fell then, and a small smirk bent his lips. 

"Oh, being here with you on this romantically moonlit, smoke-filled night is more than enough reward for me," Lubomir leaned towards the dirty and sweaty, armored housecarl and raised a brow. He glanced at Ariana, disappointed that this line didn't stir even a hint of a smile from her. Irileth smiled, however, trying to hide it behind a scoff and an eye roll. 

"I don't know about this Dragonborn business," she spoke directly to Ariana now, who was having a hard time making eye contact, "But I am glad you were with us tonight. Sure can't tell by looking at you, but you are fierce."  

Even a shallow, polite "thank you" could not pass Ariana's lips. She wanted to sink into the ground and disappear altogether. She was sick of thinking.

Ariana numbly followed Lubomir back to the city gates, staring mostly at the ground as she walked. 

"So you don't wanna talk about what just happened, I take it?" Lubomir eventually said, after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. 

"No," she uttered plainly, "I just want to go home."  

Lubomir slowly nodded his head in understanding, trying to find his words carefully so as to not upset her. It wasn't something he had much practice with.

"Oh, you think Shadowmere'll come now?" He tried to keep his tone light, which was something he was very well-practiced with. 

Ariana's eyes briefly widened. She stopped walking and crouched, placing her open palm on the worn stone pavers of the road. She closed her eyes and deeply inhaled, concentrating with all of her effort. After a moment or two, she rose with a deep sigh.

"It took her a week last time." Ariana almost whispered, sore with herself for allowing hope for anything at this point.

"Oh well," Lubomir began down the road once more, "Housecarl said the Jarl would reward us. We can always hire you a carriage then. I know we don't have any coin left."

"We have a little left, maybe enough for a one-way carriage ride."

"But the room at the inn--?"

"I wanted to save as much as I could, just in case."

"Ari, you cheapskate." Lubomir chuckled and gave Ariana's arm a gentle shove, thrilled to see something that resembled a smile finally on her face. "Or maybe you just wanted an excuse to cuddle up next to me since it was such a small bed."  

"Shut!" Ariana's voice was high-pitched but forceful, as she pushed Lubomir in return, making him stumble to the side with a childish giggle. "UP!"  

A wide grin briefly parted her face, however, and for a moment, just a moment, she forgot everything that had been weighing on her.

Jarl Balgruuf indeed rewarded the pair, after expressing his deepest gratitude. He awarded them both the title of Thane and a personal housecarl should they have use of one. The title meant little to Ariana, though it seemed to excite Lubomir. "Guards are more likely to look the other way, is all I'm saying." Was something he whispered in her ear. The housecarl interested Ariana somewhat, but it sounded as if the jarl could spare only one, and she and Lubomir would have to share. 

Balgruuf then presented them with an antique, enchanted axe. Ariana accepted it politely, but was disappointed to receive no Septims. She and Lubomir luckily knew better than to make this known. 

"And you called me a cheapskate." Ariana grumbled at Lubomir as they approached the huge, wooden doors to leave. 

"Balgruuf's a good man," Lubomir said plainly, "I don't expect he's had much to give in the past few years."

"Yeah," Ariana breathed, remembering the current war that parted the province. She still remembered when she heard the news of the High King's murder. She didn't think much of it at the time, as she saw so little of the conflict that would follow while studying at the College of Winterhold. She witnessed skirmishes here and there, when traveling, but she had been lucky that they were all relatively avoidable. 

If Balgruuf insisted on remaining neutral, she expected he wouldn't receive much, if any, funding from the Empire anymore. She didn't expect the Stormcloaks to have the same resources, but he would be cut off from their aid as well. He and his Hold were completely alone in this. 

The housecarl that had been sworn to them introduced herself just as they reached the door. She was a Nord by the name of Lydia, and addressed them with the awkward formality of a young soldier, like someone who was trying her best to do her new job correctly. Ariana remained polite but cold, and Lubomir started with his usual, overt flirting. Lydia quickly became flustered, the blush filling her face making it apparent, but was surprisingly good at keeping it from her voice. After a few, strained pleasantries, Ariana managed to drag Lubomir away from the attractive Nord and out of Dragonsreach. 

Lubomir walked with Ariana all the way through the city, back out of the gates, and down to the stables, where the carriage drivers often waited for travellers. Ariana silently counted her gold by the carriage before letting out a ragged sigh.

"Yeah, it's only enough for one trip." She looked up at Lubomir and back at the driver, trying to decide what to do. "I mean I could take you to Riften, then maybe you could lend me a little gold from wherever you have yours stashed to--"

"Actually," Lubomir glanced back at the city walls and clicked his teeth, smirking slightly, "I was thinking I'd linger here a bit, for old time's sake. That and I could use a drink... or ten. Probably sleep again." 

"You sure?"  

"Yeah, Ari, don't worry about me. I can always get these things for free." He wiggled his fingers aloft and gave Ariana a smirk, which she weakly reciprocated. He then leaned in for a hug farewell, and she took care to keep hold of the light coin purse as she hugged him back. "I'm not ready for the road just yet." 

"Be careful when you do make your way back to Riften, at least." She said as they broke their embrace, giving Lubomir a quick peck on his cheek. 

"I will be as reckless as I damn well please, thank you very much." He chuckled, before placing a hand on the cheek she kissed and adding, "Not that it matters now that Tall and Yellow is definitely going to murder me."

"Oh, shut up." Ariana rolled her eyes, letting out a short, airy laugh.

The two completed their good-byes and Ariana watched Lubomir as he made his way back through the outer city walls. 

"So where d'you wanna go?" The carriage driver eventually asked.

"Um," Ariana was still unsure. She was dreading having to explain herself to Ondolemar, as to why her excursion was cut so short along with her handful of new scars. Her family at the Sanctuary would understand everything completely, and definitely hold no judgment. Cicero might be a little disappointed that she was unable to procure a specific carrot cake he was nostalgic for from a bakery in Cheydinhal. But she certainly expected no crushing criticism about her foolishness from him. Concern over constant extra-Brotherhood activities perhaps, as was usual, but nothing like what she feared from her lover. She wanted nothing more than for Ondolemar to respect her, or at the very least, consider her competent. She hoped he already did, but it was something that felt like it could be easily damaged. 

"Markarth?" She asked, thinking she should try to be brave.

"That'll be 50."

"Oh," Ariana muttered, glaring down at the coin purse in her hand. "How much for Dawnstar then?"

"I can take you to Dawnstar for 25, but I'll have to take a detour. There's been a lot of fighting on my usual route lately, and it'll add anywhere between 6 and 10 hours to the trip, if that's okay." 

Ariana sighed and nodded solemnly, plucking a few coins from the small bag before handing the whole thing to the driver. 

"Dawnstar." She confirmed as she climbed into the back. 

***

The full Thalmor report on Helgen arrived late, over a week following the initial memo. Ondolemar received it from the courier early one morning, then stalked to his office to review it alone. 

"Ondolemar has been," Caris began, pausing for a moment to finish swallowing her bite of apple, "Quiet lately. Or am I imagining things?"

"You aren't imagining things," Siriol quietly replied, staring down the stone hall, eyeing the door of their commander's office, "He has been quiet lately."

"Lucky for us, I suppose." Caris said flatly, before taking another bite of her apple.

Siriol responded with a soft "hm", and became lost in thought again. It had become evident that Ariana's visits made him seemingly less irritable. But whenever she would leave, he would eventually return to his usual stream of petty orders and criticisms. At the very least, he would make his presence known: offer a passing nod on his way to the throne room or kitchen, let them know he's going for a stroll to stretch his legs, or perhaps even ask them questions. Those questions, at least in recent months, were often concerning a particular Markarth guard, and whether or not Caris or Siriol might have caught a glimpse of him.

Caris, of course, had been actively avoiding the Justiciar. She was unable to trust her temper concerning what she felt was an obvious and racially abominable affair. Siriol was now primarily the one to deal with him. And though she was unwilling to admit it to her partner just yet, it was starting to wear on her. She was never able to pin down exactly when his and Ariana's friendship crossed that line into something the Thalmor would deem unacceptable. But ever since then, his demeanor became intensely unpredictable… and sometimes unsettling. 

Though she refused to acknowledge it, even to herself, since it would bring along a whole new collection of unpleasant feelings, she loathed the fact her commander's private life seemed to be dominating her thoughts. He didn't deserve this much mental energy from her, nor her partner.

She wouldn't have thought so before, but it had been so easy before the Imperial came along, at least mentally. Long ago, when she and Caris were assigned to him, they had received orders to guard him. 

"I will have none of that." Was one of the first full sentences their superior ever offered them. "If a Justiciar needed guarding by two grunts, they wouldn't be a Justiciar." Ondolemar then proceeded to give them orders as if they were merely his assistants.

Caris immediately contacted the Embassy, anxious about the sudden uncertainty of her and Siriol's purpose there. The officials that responded said her and her counterpart's original orders were the same. But the chain of command must be upheld first and foremost, and if their superior ordered them to maintain distance, or ordered them to do anything else for that matter, they must obey. 

Siriol seemed to have no problem with this, but Caris's acceptance came slowly. In the earlier days, Caris would halt every visitor, even once drawing her sword at an approaching stranger. Ondolemar immediately reprimanded her. After speaking with the visitor, who had offered him a tip on a local heretic's whereabouts, he scolded her again, hissing something about her daring to waste his time. 

Years later, early one morning, when a petite Imperial woman approached him in the small room he had effectively stolen from the guard captain, Caris and Siriol let her enter without uttering a word nor batting an eye. Siriol personally had no strong feelings towards Ariana, unlike Caris. She found her neither pleasant, nor unpleasant. If anything, her early interactions with the Justiciar were entertaining, whenever in earshot. He was so easily provoked, and Siriol was strangely satisfied by the thought of him being tormented by something she and Caris could have easily prevented… if he ever permitted them to do so.

Their commander had become pleasantly avoidant in the past week, but ever since he received the long report on Helgen earlier that morning, he had been too quiet. In fact, Siriol had not seen him emerge from the Imperial strategy room at all. 

Siriol let out a small sigh and glanced at Caris, who was working her apple to its core. 

"I'm going to check on him." She quietly told Caris, standing from the bench and adjusting her armor so it would fall back into place. 

"Why?" Caris grumbled through a mouthful. "He's just going to yell at you."

Siriol paused for a moment and rubbed her forehead before starting for the Justiciar's door.

"Probably," she murmured.

Siriol hesitated for a second before knocking on thick, Dwarven metal, holding her breath, so that she may listen. There may have been a breath, a gentle shifting of papers, or perhaps it was just him shifting in his own seat. The subtle sounds on the other side of the door were difficult to identify, and unusually quiet. 

She knocked gently at first, and then much louder after receiving no response.

"Sir?" Siriol called through the door, before holding her breath once more. Even when Ondolemar was obviously ignoring her, she could expect more audible movement to occur following her voice: a wooden chair leg abruptly dragging across the stone floor, the stacking of papers, the uncorking of a wine bottle. At the very least, there would be an annoyed sigh. 

Nothing.

"Justiciar , may I please come in?" She forced her voice deep and resonant as she leaned in closer to the Dwemer door. "Please." She thought better than to admit she worried he was unwell. 

Despite his refusal to let Caris and Siriol guard him outright, they still had a lot to lose should anything happen to him.

"Sir," her voice grew deeper and more stern, but remained relatively quiet. She waited for anything that sounded like it could be a response. After what felt like an agonizingly long minute, she heard a faint voice.

"It’s not locked." It seemed to say. Despite her own request, she was reluctant to enter. She did anyway, forced to follow through, and gently closed the door behind her.

Siriol found Ondolemar in his chair, bent over the table with his head presumably in his hands. He shakily raked his hands up and over his hood from behind, followed by a full-body quiver.

"Sir," she whispered, her brows knitting. Whatever this was, it was much worse than she thought.

"No," Ondolemar murmured, his voice weak and his throat seemingly full, "No 'sir', forget our chain of command for a moment and speak to me plainly."

"I," Siriol began before freezing. She hesitated to approach him as she tried to make sense of his words and his state. 

"You may remove your helmet, if you like, if it will make you more comfortable." His voice was quiet and broken, and Siriol thought he might have been trying to not audibly weep, which was something that, to her, was incomprehensible. She cautiously walked closer to his stone table, and spied five or six empty wine bottles on the floor beside it. Though his face was obscured by his hood and his hands, she could see his lips shudder in his attempt to quiet himself. Before him on the table was an official Thalmor document that was simply titled: "Helgen, 17th of Last Seed, 4E201: Full Report". Siriol noted small, round moisture stains on the parchment. She slowly removed her moonstone and quicksilver helmet and placed it softly on the corner of the table. She pulled the long platinum hair that had been carefully tucked underneath over one shoulder.

"Si--" she began before catching herself, "Ondolemar," Addressing him so informally seemed wrong. Then again, so did everything about this. "Is there… What do you require of me?"

Ondolemar sniffed softly and tightened his grip on his head, eventually uttering, "Company, I suppose."

"Are you sure you want me to speak plainly?" Siriol could not allow hope just yet, as she felt everything she had buried begin to well in her throat. She was much better at suppressing her questions and protests than her partner, but they ate away at her all the same. 

"Yes," he whispered after a short pause.

"Why do you weep, then?" Siriol quietly pulled a spare chair to the side of his table and slowly sat, taking great care not to kick the empty wine bottles. Now that she was closer, she could smell the wine emanating out of him like sweat. Ondolemar pulled a hand away from his face for a moment to weakly gesture at the report before him.

"She's," he drew a painful, shaky breath, "She really is gone."

"Marcellus?" 

Ondolemar couldn't exactly answer, as hearing her name uttered made him tremble and tighten yet again. But for Siriol, this was confirmation enough. She glanced down at the parchment.

"She was there?" 

Ondolemar gave Siriol a slow, slight nod, still holding his head firm so as to keep himself contained. Siriol dared to take the parchment, tugging it out from under his elbow, to which she was pleased to receive no protest. 

She silently scanned the document and paused before a short list of names and charges. Siriol finished reading the report and gingerly placed the tear soaked paper back in front of her commander. 

"It said the dragon attacked as her head was on the block."

Ondolemar remained silent, with his body now still as stone.

"It did not say if they managed to take it."

"It was implied that they did, and it doesn't matter if they didn't," he whispered with frail anger and a full throat, "The only surviving prisoners were Ulfric Stormcloak and a Nord called Ralof . Helgen was completely razed."

"Only known survivors," Siriol gently corrected him. 

"STARS, do you not see?" Ondolemar snatched his hands away from his face and glared up at her. Siriol's own eyes widened as she saw his tear-soaked cheeks and wild, bloodshot eyes. "She is dead."

"You don't know that for cert--"

"Yes I do," Ondolemar's face began to twist again, and a spare tear rolled out of his eye. He held eye contact with Siriol, however, having lost the will to hide his emotional frailty. "After this, she would have returned to me by now, she would have…" but his voice trailed and his brows knitted, and he looked away from her, his embarrassment returning to him. 

"And I should be happy for this," he added bitterly, the words tearing painfully from his throat, "I should be relieved, but I'm not. GODS, I was wrong; this is not what I want."

"You love her, then?" Siriol uttered after a short pause.

"I," Ondolemar looked up briefly and gulped, and kept his eyes averted, whispering, "I don't know if that's what this is. " 

"You're reacting to it as if it is."

Ondolemar found himself regretting his request for Siriol to forget their ranks, but he couldn't bring himself to rescind it now. He had already admitted too much. 

"I do not know if it's love. If I give it much thought, I often conclude that it isn't. But I have realized…" his voice trailed again and threatened to crack, "I've realized I apparently need her."

"Caris definitely needs me, and I think I need her as well. But I also know that we love one another." 

"When did you know it was love?" Ondolemar asked her in a small voice, his throat once again full. 

"I… don't really think we are comparable--"

"Race and status aside," he grumbled.

"I still don't think Caris and I are comparable. There was never a moment I had to realize. We grew up together. There has never been another." 

Ondolemar was struck with Siriol's declaration. It seemed so foreignly pure, the concept of such everlasting partnership. Something that could be the center of children's fiction. But he never knew Siriol to exaggerate, and this confounded him further.

"Is need the same as love, then?" He eventually uttered. His face finally started to dry as numbness washed over him. "And what truly is the difference between need and want? When both can feel like you are going to die if you are to go without?"

Siriol furrowed her brow and thought for a moment, glancing down and to the side.

"I don't know, if I'm honest." She rubbed her temple gently and stared at her helmet on the corner of the table. "I don't quite know how to explain the difference between want and need apart from how we all learned it as children. I can't say if there really is a difference in this context, and for that, I apologize. As for need and love? I suspect they often go hand and hand, but I can't say if they're the same. I'd like to believe that love can exist without need, and need without love." 

Ondolemar sharply exhaled, but otherwise remained silent, softly gritting his teeth trying to comprehend the concept.

"You are very wise," he quietly told her, "Much wiser than me."

"I am not afraid to feel. That is all it is." Siriol deflected, suspecting the sudden praise as some form of manipulation, as it often was. The timing seemed incredibly unlikely, however, considering his apparent vulnerability.

"Oh, and I am, if that's what you're suggesting." Ondolemar bitterly replied. "Am I truly such a coward?"

Siriol gulped softly as her eyes narrowed, ultimately failing to control her tongue.

"Yes," she said plainly, speaking before fully forming a response, "About this you are, and..." But her voice trailed, and she quickly regretted getting carried away. Was he a coward? About this? Or was that just something she had always ached to call him and now he had given her a chance?

"Has this all really been so obvious to you two?" Ondolemar's voice threatened to shake. Siriol's face subtly twisted, noting his pitiful, swollen eyes beginning to water once again. She was beginning to understand Caris's frustration on a deeper level.

"Well, I don't know how much of it has been apparent to Caris, but she suspected very early on that you and her--"

"I know you both knew I bedded her. You are too smart to not suspect it at the very least." Ondolemar forced his voice steady and gave his cheek a quick wipe. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little concerned, about you in particular, being seemingly unphased by me suggesting it's anything more than that." 

"I've always known it was more than that , Ondolemar." Siriol uttered, willing her patience steadfast. This exchange was quickly becoming exhausting, and she began to fear future repercussions. "You were suddenly alive. A bit crazy, but alive."

Ondolemar's gut sank, attempting to make sense of what she meant by that. 'Alive,' as opposed to what? Had he really been so dull before?

"Why did it have to be her?" He weakly muttered, biting the inside of his cheek painfully. "Why did it have to be her to say she loved me like she did?"

"She said she loved you?"

Ondolemar nodded slightly and rested his head in his hand, massaging his temples with his fingertips and continuing to hold the inside of his cheek between his teeth. 

"Oh, others have said the same. Countless others. Those words always meant nothing." Ondolemar's voice was a bit steadier now, though still weak and bitter. 

"But not hers."

"She saw my ugliness that day, ugliness I can typically stifle. What I did was incredibly embarrassing at the very least." Ondolemar let out a ragged, ashamed sigh. His eyes were dry now, though they still ached. He released the bit of cheek he chewed and gulped dryly before turning to look Siriol in the eye. "And she still said it. And it felt real. For the first time, those words held meaning."

Siriol could not hide her reaction. Her gaze was wide and uncomfortable, and her lip twitched as it threatened to curl with a feeling that she could only describe as pity.

"You think me pathetic," Ondolemar's own lip curled in response and he reached for the nearly empty wine bottle that remained on the table. "And I suppose I am." He bitterly added, pouring the remainder of the wine into his tankard, spilling a few drops due to his drunken lack of coordination. Siriol was beginning to panic, but knew it was unwise to leave before this unfortunate conversation felt resolved. She could not bring herself to say no, however, as lies always took a considerable amount of effort and nerve for her to manage.

"Why did it have to be her?" He quietly continued with a sigh, after draining his tankard. 

"I don't think we ever get to really choose."  

They sat in painful silence for a few moments.

"She awakened my heart, it seems," he uttered numbly, seemingly just to himself and where Siriol could barely hear, "And then it grew teeth. And it's chewing itself raw now, without something to devour. Without someone to devour…" His voice trailed before he mumbled, "Without the promise of someone, at least."  

Siriol clenched her jaw and eyed the door halfway across the room.

"Oh, why am I even telling you all this?" He suddenly shouted, slamming his tankard onto the stone table. "Get OUT of here!"

Siriol scrambled to grab her helmet before quickly walking to the door. She took care not to run, though her legs screamed at her to do so, lest she offend him further. She paused with her hand on the handle, however, hearing a soft sniff and trembling sigh behind her. This was very, very bad. If he remembered any of this conversation the morning after, it would certainly spell doom for her and her partner. She didn't put it past the Justiciar to frame and imprison his own soldiers to protect this secret should he feel the need. 

"And sir," She willed all of her effort and nerve into her voice so it would remain steady, "I don't recall you telling me anything."