Inspired by a SKM prompt and the song "Hellfire" from Disney's version of 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame'. (Which; by the way, is now forever lodged in my brain along with 'The Court of Miracles' thanks to youtube). This is just a bit of weird "wonder if I can pull that off adequately" if that makes any sense. This will probably only be eight chapters long so it should be completed soon-ish. (Fingers crossed.)

And a Big thank you to DragonsDeadAndDancing for helping to make this easier on your eyes. (A.k.a fixing errors.)

Massive Rewrite for Chapters 1-4. if you've read them before then you might want to reread them as quite a lot has changed.

Ondolemar had been taking in the air along Markarth's outerwall, free as it was from the smoke and noise of the city behind him. The night had cut much from the realm of the visible, shapes contrasting only when they stood against the hazy halos of Secunda and Masser. A sort of familiar lethargy crept into his bones at the sight of that still and silent landscape. In the city of stone it was simple to give in, to become like the wall he stood on.

"Markarth, city of stone indeed."

"Sir?"

"Nothing Cirion, you are dismissed for the night, I wish to walk alone for a while."

"Are you sure sir? If the locals were to…" Cirion was a young mer, family ties netting him a soft position in the peacetime lull. Shorter than Ondolemar with a rounded face and far-set eyes. Ondolemar pitied him, those imperfections would bar him from much in life among the Thalmor.

"Act on some ill advised notions?" Ondolemar's smirk was lost in the darkness. "That would imply they were capable of something other than cowardice." he settled against the waist high walls with folded arms and waved his guard back towards the keep. "It also implies you think anyone here is capable of gaining the upper hand on me. Don't question my orders Cirion, you'll live much longer that way."

"Yes Justiciar. My apologies." Cirion had the good sense to not linger, the faint gold and emerald of his armor disappearing down the stairs to leave Ondolemar in solitude.

It was a pity his thoughts were not likewise inclined.

Could he not carve his likeness in one of the pillars near the Jarl's throne? Would not a statue be just as effective in deterring muttered prayers to a false deity? Those gestures of hand and phrase made just beyond his gaze? Flippant or foul it stirred just beneath his feet, a hive of pests thriving and in need of stamping out. But perhaps it was useless, no headway to be shook from himself those foolish thoughts and turned his mind pointedly elsewhere.

Out on the road a new light had come into view, traveling faster than the mounted guard did when they made their rounds, and followed swiftly by the sound of hooves echoing from cliff face. He watched it with the barest of interest. He kept his mind from more irritating thoughts with questions of who would be foolish enough to travel the Reach so late and why anyone would come to Markarth willingly. There was of course, no one to answer his silent musings and when the traveling party rode into full view they took no notice of a black robed figure secluded in shadow above them.

There were two, atop sturdy horses whose flanks were hung with crimson banners bearing the likeness of dragons done in golden thread. They were hailed quickly by the guard, questions he couldn't quite hear addressed to the one most obviously in charge. The noble didn't bother to remove their helm as they answered, a raised hand motioning for the other; female and of nord stock if Ondolemar had to guess, to dismount as they did the same. More words were exchanged, saddles and packs removed from tired mounts as both went through the motions of stabling their steads and then to his mild surprise, the guard unbarred the gates to let them pass.

Perhaps it was how swiftly they'd cajoled their way inside, or perhaps it was his own curiosity jumping at the slightest rumor of interest. Whichever the case, Ondolemar made his way back to the stairwell, keeping a trained eye on their movements until they disappeared inside the inn. His first urge was to follow, but he hadn't so much as set foot inside the Silverblood inn. Such a sudden appearance was likely to cause something of a stir. Then again, his only other option was to return to his quarters and retire for the evening. He stepped forward.

The inside of the Silverblood inn was in a word, subdued. Those within were already well into their cups if the haphazard way they were strung among the bar stools was any indication. Though a distinctive pause ran through the place as his entrance drew attention. The patrons were quick to recover, though many remained hunched over their bottles, eyes visible from time to time over their shoulders. Ondolemar did not bother with the innkeeper nor with learning the man's name, instead selecting an unoccupied corner positioned to his liking. When the serving girl slid up to his table he gave his order as stiffly as she had approached, he hadn't come to exchange pleasantries with the staff.

His object of interest sat silhouetted against the orange backdrop of the fireside, in discussion with her Nordic companion. She had removed her helmet and hooked it over one knee so as to not crowd the table between them further. Its ale stained surface was already covered with plates, bottles and weapons. All hers judging by the empty loops and hooks on her armor. Axes mostly, Ondolemar felt his upper lip curl. 'How predictable.' The rest of her wasn't far off from the expected either. Blond hair braided back from her face, a complexion just this side of snow, a build that suggested she could handle any weapon placed in her hands. The only thing of note he could see was that she was fair of face even for a nord. Pity he wasn't closer, the general chatter keeping their words just out of reach even as their gestures spoke volumes.

The serving girl brought him his ordered bottle of alto wine and waited patiently for him to cough up the coins owed. Ondolemar slid it and ten extra septims across his own table towards her.

"You tavern girls have sharp ears," he said with his hand still hovering over the gold. "Who is she?"

The server followed his line of sight only to shrug. "I don't know sir, not from around here I can tell you that."

Ondolemar resisted the urge to roll his eyes, "I can see that much. Do you at least know whether or not she is staying the night?"

That garnered him a different kind of look from the server. "I'd assume so sir, unless you're going to offer her your bed." Sensing she'd crossed some invisible line the server swiped her coin into her apron and retreated back to the bar in the blink of an eye.

A wise choice if ever she had made one.

He stayed little more than an hour, nothing of note happening besides the brief appearance of another Altmer. By the time he rose to leave he wondered if his time would have been better spent working on his reports or sleeping. It wasn't until two months later that he would learn the significance of that almost meeting. When new orders from Alinor arrived on his desk and he finally got an answer to his question. It turns out one can not always spot a legend with the naked eye.