He really shouldn't be, and Auri-El forgive him, but Ondolemar could not stop thinking about the Dragonborn.
Though, upon further reflection, it occurred to the Commanding Officer of the Justiciars that since the Nords called Auri-El 'Akatosh,' and Akatosh was the father of the dragons, the chief of the Divines would likely not condemn him for his borderline affections for the girl with a dragon's soul.
(Ondolemar suddenly imagined attempting the complex courting rituals of the Altmer with the Dragonborn as desired mate and Auri-El as her guardian. Divines forgive him, but the image was funny.)
But try as he might, Ondolemar could not banish the (thieving?) mage from his mind. The image of her lingered in his mind where she should not. Much like the flesh-and-blood incarnation, she burrowed into hidden spaces and picked mental doors he had locked against even himself.
"Infuriating girl."
Undoubtedly, from the dragon's soul and upbringing, she seemed like two different people merged into one. When she was calm, she was every inch a noble Altmeri maiden, all smiles and hidden snark while her veins cackled with the largest and strongest reserves of all the Tamriel races. The dragon gave her fury and fire to fuel nimble fingers and blazes of spells. (Yes, it also gave her an incredible magic as instinct so that it took three men who had practiced all their lives to equal her, but that was to be expected. Forgetting her table manners was not.)
It didn't minimize the pleasure he found in her company one iota. But it had eased the anger around him until every word he said for the Thalmor were just shadows of ideas he once held.
Ondolemar wasn't quite sure what had been the start of this downfall. Perhaps it had been the slight twitch of her lips as she tried to maintain a stoic face when she saw him again. Maybe he was attracted to her fearless, almost reckless attitude towards using Destruction spells in a fight. One piece that had definitely contributed was how she put aside her own beliefs to do a favor for an old family friend.
He could have turned her in to Elenwen a thousand times for Talos worship, since the Dragonborn confidently wore her amulet. Of course, he always became distracted since she had lengthened the chain just so, allowing the metal to fall right at the apex of that marvelous dividing line and the amulet pointed downwards towards that glorious region of her chest he had once been certain she'd never allow him to touch-
His thoughts broke off as he dodged an arrow.
He had never seriously considered arresting her. He would have had to arrest himself, since following that small mission he sent her for, he had been wearing the old bard's amulet of Talos. It provided comfort in a strange way.
It was no surprise the ideas of the Thalmor held less sway over him than in younger years. The woman he was attracted too held Nord blood somewhere in her veins. It was Auri-El's will; how could he hate her?
In all honesty though, Ondolemar's reason to avoid thinking of her was not his history of fanaticism and that he faced certain death by brutal torture if anyone even suspected he harbored feelings for the Dragonborn. Rather, it was that he was currently fighting for his life in a city that was been overwhelmed by soldiers in blue.
It occurred to him, mid-Atronach-summoning, that death in battle was much preferable to being strung up like a turkey and paraded about before execution by the inevitably victorious Stormcloaks, so should he even try?
The ice spear he instinctively sent shooting through a soldier was answer enough. No honor in giving up.
That was when a figure in ebony black mail appeared out of the shadows and pulled him back, out of the fray, towards the Hall of the Dead.
"Unhand me this instant, dog!"
He started to conjure a flame cloak, when his kidnapper turned about, ripped their helmet off, and kissed him, deeply. In fact, it was a little too intimate to be that of a strange rescuer silencing their noisy companion.
"Strip," the figure commanded against his mouth, with the hardened, severe voice of a warrior. "And fast, if soldiers come along you're dead."
"Clearly," he began to drawl softly as he removed his gloves, "there's no time for amusement to be had."
His rescuer snorted, unlatching a carry pouch to remove inconspicuous leather armor. "There will be time for amusement once you get out of this city alive."
"Promise?" he asked with all the snark he could muster, staring down the woman wearing what was now obviously Boethiah's Embrace.
"Promise," she retorted as she yanked his shirt off. "Now get dressed, take this invisibility potion, and get out."
"I'll see you when you least expect it."
She laughed, beginning to fold his Thalmor robes as one would for a proper Altmeri funeral. He would miss the enchantment on those robes, but guessing from the gentle hum of the armor against his skin his rescuer could enchant anything she liked, and likely would for him. "I would expect nothing less from you."
He uncorked the vial with his teeth and downed the contents in one go. As purple mist removed him from sight, he threw one final comment, "Punch Ulfric in the teeth for me."
While she laughed quietly to herself, Ondolemar ran silently away from Markarth and Dragonborn, who turned traitor only for him.