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So, Thalmor. Yeah...

Bethesda made a good job at making those guys really hate-able except, being the person who likes villains almost consistently as much as the heroes, I've grown a grudging fondness of the Thalmor. Especially Ondolemar, I just can't get the guts to kill him, even though I go on rampages with the wandering Justiciars in Skyrim.

So, this is the spawn of my bizarre mind. What if the Dovahkiin was a Thalmor agent?

23 Sun's Dusk, 4E 200

Caril snorted and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. He angrily watched the letter sitting neatly on his desk as if daring it to act against him. This was ridiculous. He stood up in a huff and stomped over to his window, where he gazed out over the bustling streets of Alinor. Skyrim, of all places!

"How ridiculous," he murmured softly.

Why was he put under the charge of Elenwen, First Emissary to Skyrim, of all people? Skyrim! He was outraged.

"Maybe I'll complain to Ralius about this, get my position changed," he shook his head, "No. I can't do that."

He wandered back to his chair and sank into it, staring blankly at his letter. Absurd. Unreasonable. Why did they do this to him? They could not just interrupt his research at this critical time! He was verging on a breakthrough!

"Stop moping about."

Caril didn't bother turning around to face his office door, he could recognize that smug voice anywhere, even after years apart. He picked up his letter between two fingers, twirled it around lazily, and said, "Skyrim."

"So I heard," Ondolemar crossed in front of Caril's line of vision and plucked the letter out of his hands. He casually leaned against the desk while skimming over the contents of the letter, "Good place to go, Skyrim."

"It snows."

"Give it up, you are not getting out of this," Ondolemar returned the letter to Caril.

Ondolemar had already been stationed in Skyrim for some time and had only temporarily returned the Isle to sort out a minor familial issue. He and Caril had known each other for many years, having met during their training to become part of the reigning Thalmor government. Coming from similar backgrounds, they got on well, however their paths in the Thalmor diverged just before the start of the Great War. Both managed to avoid being involved directly in the war, thankfully. Ondolemar managed to worm his way out with a slick tongue, the higher-ups had pulled him off for a career in politics and away from the war. Caril had been tasked as an archivist, falling in the category of scholarly wizard rather than a Destruction or Restoration specialist needed on the front. Ever since then, he'd been working in the Dominion's archives doing basically as he pleased with the occasional assignment drifting his way. How had he been chosen to go to Skyrim, of all people?

"Tell me about Skyrim, Ondolemar," said Caril bitterly, "Tell me how awful the barbaric Nord 'culture' is, tell me how much I will hate it." Ondolemar grabbed the chair on the opposite side of the room, dragged it in front of Caril's desk, and sat down, eyeing Caril with a calculating look. Caril sighed, "Terrible. I am a librarian, Ondolemar, not an emissary."

"Librarian," Ondolemar snorted and shook his head, "You are no more a librarian than I am a mere justiciar."

"Sure, sure."

Ondolemar had been such a good politician that, after the White-Gold Concordat was signed and the real politics began, Ondolemar had shot upwards through the rankings. He was only a regular justiciar for three years when many other mer spent their whole lives striving to become the head of their own group of three. Ondolemar was stationed in Skyrim as a lower Emissary and, after that incident in Morthal that killed a fair few high ranking Thalmor officials, he was placed as Second Emissary to Skyrim, under the command of only the First Emissary, Elenwen, and the leaders of the Dominion itself.

"Why chose me, though?" asked Caril, shaking his head, "I'm not a soldier and I'm not a bureaucrat, Ondolemar, no offense."

Ondolemar smirked, "None taken. I do not have the faintest idea why you were chosen. A large group of wizards are being sent to Skyrim, I suppose they chose you to be among them, although why they chose someone with no experience on the front is beyond me."

"Because I am more competent than the rest of them?"

"That is likely," agreed Ondolemar, "Maybe they will be sending you to teach the useless fools how to do their jobs."

Caril chuckled quietly, "A little while back, I saw one of the apprentices light his shoes on fire after attempting to conjure a Frost Atronach. A Frost Atronach. Much too advanced for him; thankfully it was a scroll conjure and did not have the power to cause any real harm if it went wrong, which it did. I could not believe he was among the best of the apprentices when I looked into the incident."

"I repeat, useless," Ondolemar fiddled with a spindly, silver device lying on Caril's desk, lots of moving parts to occupy himself with, "Maybe you are replacing that Ancano fellow in Winterhold. Reports have been giving all indication something in the College is making his sanity slip. Shame, he used to be as good as you."

Caril gingerly pried his miniature Dwemer Spider from Ondolemar's hands. After working on it for over a year, he had yet to make it work again after it was brought to him, he would not have Ondolemar lay waste to what progress he had made, "So I have heard, he held my same position in Skywatch, yes? I never had the pleasure."

"It is not a pleasure anymore," said Ondolemar exasperatedly, "Every report he sends in talks about a growing magical unrest in the College and that he feels that his own power is growing but not because of his own studying. Each successive report becomes more and more disjointed as well, his last report was of something called the Augur of Dunlain, none of the historians in the Embassy have even the smallest clue as to what that could be. The last I saw of him, he looked seemed quite pale—ill, in fact. He had a strange look about his eyes."

"Perhaps."

"When do you leave?"

"First Seed, when are you returning?"

Ondolemar slumped in his chair, "Middas."

"That soon? To think I entertained the idea that I would be able to spend some time getting reacquainted with you after these years."

Ondolemar smiled bitterly, "I think we will be seeing much more of each other in the years to come."

"So it seems," agreed Caril.

24 First Seed, 4E 201

Caril wrapped his fur-lined cloak tight around his thin body and threw the hood over his head as he trudged up the steps to the Thalmor Embassy with seven other Thalmor agents. It was unbearably cold in Haafingar, even the hardened gate guards of the Embassy were standing there shivering in the knee-deep snow.

"So remind me again why the purity of an unfilled Soul Gem affects the energy waste of charges on weapons?" The young boy to his left asked.

Caril sighed, he had been entertaining the bright-faced, young wizard for hours on end. He admired the boy for his inquisitiveness but he was a bit thick-skulled. He was asking about some of the finer aspects of advanced Enchanting, things Caril's predecessors spent their entire lives researching. He didn't expect the boy to understand much, he was from Lillandril, a place not known for it's foremost Enchanting scholars—or it's foremost anything, really.

Thankfully, he didn't have time to give his long-winded answer, they reached the top steps of the Embassy and were being led inside. It was like a breath of fresh air, the building was Aldmeri on the inside as well as out. He was tired of seeing the wooden shacks full of furs that the Nords called "stores" and "houses." The furniture was elegant and thin-legged with darkly stained wood. The chairs had brass feet, the tables—marble tops.

At the front of the entrance hall stood a high-ranking soldier clad in a full set of glass armor. He had seen the war, judging from the severe look of the soldier's face and the pink scars marring his golden skin of his cheek. Flanking the official were two significantly younger soldiers wearing the standard elven armor and wielding worn steel swords.

Caril, unfamiliar with the strict protocols of the Aldmeri military, found himself the only one slouching—by comparison to those around him—and informally observing his surroundings. Even the young wizard boy had straightened up to his full height in the presence of a superior officer.

The brutish—for an Altmer—soldier walked up to Caril and scoffed in disgust, "How have we fallen so far to let someone like you—a disgrace to the Altmer—enter these halls?"

Caril was caught off-guard by the insult, apparently the rest of the young wizards were as well. All Altmer wizards who had stepped out from under rocks in the last thirty years knew who he was and respected his name. Caril narrowed his eyes and stared down his nose at the soldier, "Excuse me? A disgrace? Are you not aware of who I am?"

The soldier was about to give his response when something behind Caril caught his eye and his mouth abruptly closed.

"A librarian is what you are."

Caril spun around and shot Ondolemar a snide look. The Second Emissary grinned at the sight of his friend. All three soldiers were staring at Ondolemar, dumbstruck.

"Don't try to be funny with me." Caril couldn't help but smile as well. In the few days they had to be reacquainted with one another, they found they had just as much to talk about as when they were in school together, "Do you never smile?" He gestured at the dumbstruck soldiers, "Or have they never heard you crack a joke?"

"I am supposed to fetch you," Ondolemar abruptly changed the subject, "Notmake a fool of myself in front of the newest trainees."

"Duly noted."

Caril followed Ondolemar down a narrow corridor after ducking behind the bar, avoiding all eye-contact with the young Bosmer servant cleaning the marble floors. Passing quickly through the kitchens and into the living quarters of many of the high-ranking officials, Ondolemar relaxed tenfold and looked back to Caril, "Sharp tongue you have, I'm surprised you didn't end up like me."

"Only sometimes," Caril chuckled quietly, "Ask anyone who has tried to help me with my research, I am not able two form a coherent sentence if I do not write it down beforehand."

"About that," Ondolemar led them into one of the rooms on the top floor of the building, "Congratulations. Too bad your promotion came just before you were to come here, you never got to fully enjoy the benefits."

"Thank you."

Ondolemar gestured for Caril to sit in a chair while he fetched a bottle of wine.

It was a shame that the Institute promoted him to be among the court of Master Wizards three weeks before he was to depart to Skyrim. It was to no one's surprise that he was promoted, though. When Asarin passed away, Caril was really the only one who would logically take his place, being the next leading expert on Enchanting. In fact, most wizards who were not entirely self-obsessed or were not wrapped around the finger of one who was knew he was in line to become the Arch-Wizard of the Institute, having been called a prodigy in all the Schools since he was a young child. He had little competition in that regard. Experience was the one thing he lacked, being forty years younger than the next youngest member of the court.

"Elenwen is the one who knows exactly what you'll be doing," said Ondolemar, handing a goblet of red wine to Caril, "It's from Valenwood, not the piss they serve here, don't worry—and Elenwen, she cannot be bothered to talk to you right now. So I took the liberty to get you away from the children."

"So I am no closer to finding out my assignment?"

"No, unfortunately." They sat in silence for a few moments, then Ondolemar spoke again, "Your passage here was safe, I assume."

"Relatively," Caril shrugged, "A few run-ins with bandits and wolves but little else. Nothing our escort couldn't handle."

"Good," Ondolemar took a sip of his wine, "I have heard the stories of deaths on the way here. Thank Mara I am not the one who deals with those cases, that duty belongs to Rulindil, the Third Emissary."

"It was a long journey," said Caril.

"Especially long since we cannot travel through Hammerfell. Travelling to Skyrim by way of Cyrodil is rather inconvenient." Ondolemar placed his wine on his desk and stood up, crossing over to a drawer which he opened and shifted through for a moment, "You have seen much of Skyrim already, haven't you?"

"I'd say I have seen all of it," said Caril indignantly, "How much can each city vary? All I have seen so far are wooden shacks."

"You will have to visit me in Markarth, then," Ondolemar returned to his desk with a sword in his hands, "Even I find that city beautiful. The people in it are wretched and corrupt but I at least cannot give them credit for building it."

"Markarth is built on a Dwemer ruin, correct?"

"Built on? I wouldn't give them even that much credit. They live in a Dwemer ruin and renamed it Markarth, the only thing they added to the city was the silver mine. Here," Ondolemar offered the sword to Caril, "I took this from the armory for you. You will need it here."

Uncomfortably, Caril accepted the gift. He had never wielded a blade in his life. He drew the sword out of its scabbard and weighed the golden blade in his hands, "I appreciate it, however I d—"

"—I never said you needed to use it, did I?" Ondolemar took the blade out of Caril's hands and slashed it through the air; he looked about as awkward as Caril felt, "Just wear it on your person at all times. The Nords here respect the bite of a blade much more than magic. I carry a flanged mace whenever I am outside the Embassy, that does not mean I have the slightest clue how to wield a mace. It is intimidation, Caril, simple as that. The Nords have not yet learned the superiority of magic and think anyone unarmed is defenseless."

"I am not defenseless," said Caril.

"But allows you to avoid unnecessary trouble," Ondolemar sheathed the sword, "Keep it."

"Thank you, again."

Out of the corner of his eye, Caril saw a guard appear in the doorway, "Elenwen will see you now."

Caril's blood ran cold. Elenwen. He disliked her from the moment he met her. She callously disregarded him, his line of work, and the entire Aldmeri Institute of Arcane Principles upon her visit. Her reason? The Institute had not formally aligned itself with the Thalmor and did not give enough aid during the Great War. Somehow she missed how 90% of the members were dually active in the Thalmor government and the workings of the Institute, Caril included. She personally scorned him for his lack of front-line experience even though his work during the war had been helping provide the most powerful and magicka-efficient Enchanted weapons the military could supply. His weapons and the weapons of his students made the warriors on the front lines that much more likely to win their battles, that much more likely to return at the end of the war. He gave up his beloved job excavating the ruins of the Crystal Tower permanently so he could further the Thalmor cause with his work. Who was she to criticize him? She wasn't more a soldier than he was, she was a politician.

"Caril?" Ondolemar tilted his head a tiny bit, "Are you just going to stand there or are you going to move?"

"Sorry," Caril shook his head, gritted his teeth, and followed the soldier out the door and down the hall. Ondolemar was kind enough to follow him to make sure he didn't cut off the head of the hapless guard in his rage.

They exited the main building and trudged through the snow once again, headed towards Elenwen's quarters. As they reached the locked and guarded door, Ondolemar leaned over and whispered in Caril's ear, "Might consider sheathing your sword now."

Caril glanced down, he hadn't realized he had partially removed the sword from it's scabbard and was gripping it so tightly his knuckles were as white as the snow at his feet. He shook his head again, more vigorously this time, sheathed the sword, and strapped it to his waist, "I—"

"—I've heard it all, Caril." Ondolemar gave him a small push towards the door, "Your drama with Elenwen was before I was stationed here, remember? Just go, it will be simple and painless enough."

Taking a deep breath, Caril nodded and walked into the Solar after the guard. Simple and painless. Simple and painless. He would have to bite his tongue when speaking to her. Simple and painless.

"Caril, I don't believe I have had the pleasure," Elenwen stood up from her desk and held out a hand to Caril, who grudgingly took it. He wasn't sure whether to be upset at the fact that she did not remember how she humiliated him in front of the entire Institute or relieved that she forgot, "Please, sit." She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. Caril sat. "When I went looking for someone to do a very specific job, your Arch-Wizard, Erresen—" Caril nearly scoffed, he didn't need to be reminded of the Arch-Wizard's name, "—spoke of you with high regards. He said you were particularly versatile, even more so than himself, and considered you to be his only logical successor after another decade or so of experience…"

"May I ask where this is headed?" interrupted Caril. He didn't care if he sounded rude in the slightest.

"Straight to the point, then?" Elenwen laughed. To Caril, it sounded artificial and forced, just like her appearance, "I was convinced you were the one for the job. With your Arch-Wizard's imminent retiring—" What? Caril had absolutely no knowledge of the Arch-Wizard retiring. Oh. Suddenly, it clicked. The Arch-Wizard was 'retiring.' Caril narrowed his eyes. "—I thought this to be the perfect time for you to get real-world experience in your field. Can't have the new Arch-Wizard simply a scholar up to his nose in books, can we?"

"So I am doing field research?" asked Caril uninterestedly. It was better than being a guard or a justiciar, he supposed, but not by much. He'd rather be the scholarly Arch-Wizard buried up to his nose in books than the one who did 'field research' in Skyrim for who knows how long.

"If you wish—" If Caril wished? What did that mean? "—However, I am assigning you an important position that takes priority over 'field research'— as you put it. I am giving you the position of our only current undercover Altmer agent in Skyrim."

"What?" Caril blurted out. Was this some kind of sick joke? He was in Skyrim and he could not even live under decent conditions while he was there? He had to be out there?

"Undercover, yes. Our Kajiit agents are not allowed in the cities and I would prefer an Altmer doing the job over a Bosmer." Elenwen handed him a thin, leather-bound book. Upon opening it, he was flooded with pages upon pages of information about a young Altmer named Tiralyn, "That is your new identity. Memorize it, know it as naturally as you know your own. You will be working an ongoing operation, you will infiltrate the holds controlled by this so-called 'rebellion,' you must learn how the humans work, how to best use this province for the next Great War, you will simply be gathering information. As much of it as you possibly can. Of course I expect you to spend good time in the Imperial holds as well, our information gathering can only go so far, you know."

Only go so far? If the Thalmor were known for anything other than the White-Gold Concordat, they were known for information gathering. The Thalmor made it their business to know the goings on of Tamriel. Everything. How much did they expect out of him as a fully undercover operative—a surprisingly rare thing among the mer Thalmor agents—what could possibly be gained from undercover work? Was he required to cozy up to all the Jarls, to become a—what was it called again?—a Thane of the hold?

"You should have no trouble with this mission." Elenwen stood up, giving Caril the impression of dismissing him before dismissal was due, "You speak Nordic, do you not?" Caril nodded, he was fluent enough to hold a basic conversation in every language except Jel and Ta'agra—which were physically impossible for either men or mer to speak, "Erresen said you were versatile—"

"—In magic," Caril corrected, "That isn't the same thing. Just because some Destruction experts cannot cast an Illusion spell to save their life does not mean that, because I can, I know one thing about—"

"—It is time for you to learn, then," said Elenwen coldly. Caril felt no more need to speak, Elenwen could be terrifying in the moments she wasn't so despicably vain. She frowned at him, frowning was all she needed for Caril to needlessly fear for his life, "You will send your information to us every month through a list of reliable couriers found in that book. Consider this your final task for your promotion to Arch-Wizard. You are dismissed."

Caril nodded and shot Elenwen a dark glare as he stormed out of her office.

"Oh," Elenwen stopped Caril in his tracks instantly, "You are obviously forbidden from telling anyone your mission unless you receive advance permission from me."

Caril grimaced but that grimace quickly turned into a slightly cocky smirk. He planned on fully testing his boundaries with Elenwen, "I ask your permission to tell someone my mission."

She gaped at him, "Who might that be?"

"Your second-in-command."

She glowered at him. Glowered! Caril nearly laughed. Shaking her head and sitting back down in her chair, she gave in to his request, "Very well. Watch yourself, Caril. Skyrim is treacherous."

Back in the main building of the Embassy, Caril nearly kicked open the dark wooden doors to Ondolemar's quarters. Barely keeping himself civilized, he settled for throwing them open and storming in. Ondolemar showed little surprise at Caril's fury, knowing the grudge he held against Elenwen and having heard many earfuls about it in the past from Caril. He did jump a tiny bit when Caril threw the leather book at Ondolemar, whom it barely missed due to a timely duck.

"Calm down," Ondolemar warned. He screwed the cap over his inkwell and stashed his paperwork safely in a drawer of his desk. Caril stomped behind Ondolemar and picked up the book between his thumb and forefinger, holding it far away from his body as if it were something filthy and contaminated, "What has made you so angry?"

Caril held the book out to Ondolemar and said one word, "Undercover."

Ondolemar blinked, "You're kidding."

So, the first part of this story that I fear will become horrifyingly long.

I hope I will get out the next part soon!

If you've got a minute free, review and tell me what you think! Constructive criticism is always welcome! If not, I appreciate that you're reading this at all, hits make me smile.

P.S. I'm having a lot of fun making up random gobbledygook names for this story! Also, magic-babble is more enjoyable to write than it sounds. In the words of Jack Harkness himself, "Technobabble is good for the soul," except replace "techno" with "magic". Made up magical theory nonsense FTW!