Lorelei the Curse-Bringer

"He can walk the path blindfolded. Up from his bed, six steps to the armoire where his robes hang. Twenty four minutes to dress, twenty six if armed. Hood up even when he plans to remain inside. It helps cut the distraction from his life, his duty. The landing just beyond the Jarl's throne is forty steps for the wise. Shorter strides - longer life as all Altmer are taught. It is little more than muscle memory and perhaps that is how he misses it. Another presence in motion, a collision unavoidable as neither see it coming.

She is coming from the throne room proper, armored with helmet under one arm and open scroll clasped in her right hand. They are a tangle of limbs within seconds, her apologies and his cutting words muffled by ruffled robes and twisted cloak. She stands first and before he has sorted out what has happened she's grabbing his arm at the elbow, hauling him to his feet with another quick "Sorry, didn't see you." at the ready.

Eyes of the sincerest blue crinkle at the edges as she watches him right his robes and dust himself off. She reclaims her fallen helmet and he snatches the scroll she was too busy reading to see where she was going.

"Igmund has you chasing forsworn I see. Do you plan to bumble into them too?" His smirk is immediate and smug but she remains unshaken.

"No, I hope to snark them into their graves, any pointers you'd care to offer?" She laughs and shakes her head. "We haven't met but I've seen you around. Unfortunately, I don't have time for proper introductions." She snatches her bounty back from his hands and starts down the stairs. "Some other time Justiciar, some other time."


Ondolemar's vision dissolved back to staring at the blank page waiting patiently to be stained by hovering quill tip.

"Status: Undecided, Highest Priority, Emissary Level Approval

Description: Nord female, past unknown, allegiances unknown.

Background: From what I have been able to discern via non direct contact, the so called Dragonborn is a capable warrior in at least some capacity and has quickly risen up the ranks within Markarth's court, securing the title of thane quite recently. She remains a popular topic of discussion but as of yet none of the rumors concerning her ability or past can be confirmed beyond mere speculation. I may have to take steps outside of normal protocol to adequately answer those questions deemed most important by my superiors back in Alinor. I aim to begin tonight by making direct contact if by indirect means."

Patting the ink dry with the careful ease of practice Ondolemar ran over the night's objectives like a tune stuck at the back of his mind. He had been given a simple enough task once it was stripped of its official yet pointless filler and vague phrasing. 'Watch, Engage, Report'. Threat assessment on a single target was an unusual task for someone of his rank. But then the target in question did not fit into any definition of usual.

Ondolemar placed the leather bound report into the left drawer of his desk and locked it with a motion born of memory before pulling a few fresh pages in front of him. It was difficult to remain un-distracted by the implications carried in-between the lines of these new orders, leaving his quill poised over inkwell while his thoughts rotated in-between varying interpretations.

On the one hand it might be nothing more than a partitioning of the workload for optimum efficiency. His doubts manifested near immediately once the thought had been fully considered. Far more likely Elenwen had earned distrust from their colleagues in the south and they in turn passed the delicate task his way. What other reason could they have for asking him to watch the so called Dragonborn instead of Elenwen who was supposedly Skyrim's ambassador?

It was merely a theory, still he'd have to keep an eye on things at the embassy from afar just to be sure. Any compromised agent didn't stay an agent for long.

He set those thoughts aside for now and began a letter to his current target. Nothing too specific, he needed wiggle room in case she proved difficult. Luckily he was prepared for that and much more. Once finished he rose from his desk and gave the letter a quick wax seal. He washed his hands of their ink stains while he waited for the wax to set, finally setting out with purpose in his proud step.

Markarth in the last rays of day was a city in dismal shade. The mountains and wall were stalwart guards against sunlight and little else. Forsworn, Talos heathens and just about everything unsavory had found a way into the city but the beauty of dusk was always kept just out of sight. Only true sunset could offset those long shadows cast by claustrophobic walls. Ondolemar stepped beyond the doors of Understone Keep and spared only a moment to the sights beyond that same wall before turning to his left and striding forward. His guards at his back.

On a path cut directly into the cliff side he wound his way towards Vlindrel Hall, home of Markarth's newest thane and her brute of a housecarl. The walkway afforded him a view of the city below, dull people going about their insignificant days as they moved steadily towards the grave and inevitable obscurity. From that height they were insects, moving between the buildings built by elven hands. Dwemer hands but elven all the same. Even in the mist of the waterfall he was rapidly approaching, it was an insipid and ugly world this far north.

They reached the place where the path veered away from the rockface to allow the aforementioned waterfall to plummet unhindered. Its presence had soaked everything in sight, fostering moss in cracks and lowering visibility to a minimum. But the justiciar wasn't made of moon sugar, a little drizzle wasn't going to harm him whether it dripped from his hood and inside his collar or not.

Ondolemar stepped out on to that narrow bridge and almost headlong into another being. It was only her honed reflexes that saved them from once more toppling into each other. For Lorelei had swerved at the last second, throwing her weight to the right as she moved around him with what should have been practiced ease. It didn't matter. It was all for nothing when water and worn stone were concerned.

The sole of her boot hit the raised edge of the bridge just as her off balanced weight carried her dangerously close to a long drop and abrupt stop. Lorelei's heart and stomach tried to swap places as an ear splitting yelp rent the air. She flung her arms wide, her grasping hands looking for purchase and finding none.

Ondolemar winced, bracing himself against a weight he'd been unprepared to catch. 'How much armor is she wearing to be this bloody heavy?'

The catch was not exactly graceful.

He'd caught her by the bend of her elbow and the belt that held her sword strapped to her hip. No conscious thought into where the best hold could be found, just gripping as tightly as he could with water slicked gloves.

Stunned that he actually managed it, Ondolemar pulled her back to solid footing. It took more effort than he cared to admit, too much time stooped over a desk and too little doing much else. He thanked the eight for lending him speed, chided himself for reacting at all. How much work could he have spared himself if he'd just let her fall? Such a short report it would have been.

"Are you alright Justiciar?" Cirion might have been a fine enough soldier, but the young Altmer could be remarkably slow at times and his generally silent companion equally as daft.

"Do you have any idea how idiotic that question even is? Do yourself a favor Cirion and be quiet," Ondolemar said hotly, it was bad enough to be stationed in Skyrim… but 'the help' he'd been assigned… Ondolemar shook his head.

With Cirion successfully cowed for the moment, Ondolemar turned his attention to the still tense dragonborn. "You are unharmed?"

Lorelei said nothing at first merely nodding to his question as she devoted most of her attention to the pursuit of gulping down air. Eyes closed, fingers still curled in the fabric of his robes, he'd never seen her so pale.

"Much appreciated…"

"Justiciar Ondolemar," he offered, blinking bothersome water droplets from his eyelashes even as more of them dripped from the point of his flared hood and collected annoyingly on his trimmed beard.

"Lorelei, Lorelei the Curse-Bringer," she countered breathily, shifting her weight away from him but still hunched even as the adrenaline and tension trickled slowly away.

"I know."

"Ah yes well, suppose that's not surprising." Her shaky laugh was small and nearly lost against the background of thundering waterfall. "Still, this wasn't the proper introduction I had in mind." When she straightened and looked fully into his face, Ondolemar hastily inclined his head in agreement, not quite sure what else could be said. Fortunately she saved him the trouble of trying to make small-talk. "Speaking of that, Justiciar Ondolemar… I think I'm safe now so you can, you know... let me go."

"Are you sure?"

She cocked a brow, her mouth pursing ever so slightly, pausing the words on his readied tongue.

Perhaps it was the light. The dusk's last glow casting her features in brilliant relief, turning Nordic white to perfect aldmeri gold. Perhaps it was the water. A soft sheen alighting on her high cheeks and becoming sun-cast jewels upon long eyelashes. He couldn't quite name the feeling, its rising almost painful in his chest. As if Auri-El had descended just to lay his hand upon her face.

And perhaps it was so, but the god had seen fit to leave a trace of man's unworthiness upon her face, where her lips should draw in perfect crimson, two crossing lines did interrupt that delicate curve. White upon her sun-kissed face and made with instrument cruel, they shattered the illusion of true divinity more than the lack of elven ancestry ever could. They pinned a single idea behind Ondolemar's foremost thoughts, 'If she could scar, she could bleed.'

"Well, your record for staying on your feet has been rather poor as far as I've seen." He let her go and folded his arms over his chest, a new plan forming behind his casual tone.

Lorelei bristled visibly and swiped at the locks of hair currently matted to her wet forehead.

"Well I was going to offer to buy you a drink for catching me but now I'm not sure I want to."

"Then allow me to purchase one for you instead."

"What's the occasion?"

"Do I need one?"

"I do,"

He raised his hands in mock defeat. "I'm curious about you. Something I'm sure you're familiar with."

There was still suspicion hovering in her expression but Lorelei shrugged all the same.

"Sure, I could use something to calm my nerves. To the inn then?"

Ondolemar shook his head, flinging droplets in either direction.

"My quarters would be preferable. My stock of wine; though small, is far superior to the swill they serve in town." He watched her face darken and quickly added, "unless you prefer your spirits thinned down to the point of flavorless water?"

"Alright fine, let me change into something dry."


It turned out something dry was simply code for removing her armor and donning a richly embroidered wool doublet. Her hosen were also of wool with buckskin shoes and belt. Ondolemar wasn't terribly surprised that she'd dress for comfort rather than form. He also wasn't surprised that she had both a blade and handaxe buckled to her waist.

Ondolemar himself had decided to forgo his usual uniform choosing instead to wear leather breeches, linen shirt and an open robe in hues of green. It was unorthodox to be sure, but his reason was sound. If he wanted to probe her with questions it was best that his target be comfortable in his presence, and Thalmor robes were not crafted to inspire feelings of ease.

"So what are we drinking?" Lorelei asked as he held the door for her. A wicker basket swung from the crook of her arm, those blue eyes shining with curiosity as they roamed over the decor.

Not that there was much to be seen, Ondolemar believed that luxuries such as wall hangings and the like were distractions he could do without. His desk was orderly, shelves above it and to the right of the fireplace only housing books on military tactics or history. The chest at the foot of his bed held the rest of his possessions and the dresser his sparse wardrobe. He'd made Cirion move a wooden table and two chairs in earlier for Lorelei's visit, the borrowed furniture arranged in front of the already blazing fire. The only glint of wealth on display was his shrine to Auri-El set on the mantle. The large sun shaped statue was solid gold, its base set with semi precious stones.

"Wine of course, though if that does not agree with your palette then I can send my guard to the kitchens for mead."

"How charitable of you, wine is fine."

"I aim to be a most memorable host." He pulled the chair farthest from the door out for her. Lorelei hesitated a moment, glancing between he and the offered seat. "So may I assume you have brought pastries with you?"

Lorelei sat the basket down on the table and took the other chair.

"You've a sharp nose Justiciar."

Unruffled by this minor slight, Ondolemar moved to a cabinet near the head of his bed.

"It sees a lot of use," he stated quietly before returning with two goblets and a bottle of Tamika Vintage, not the best wine he'd ever tasted but he wasn't going to break out his bottles of Shimmermist for a nord. Another trip saw plates and utensils brought out and then finally he poured her glass before filling his own. Lorelei had already made short work of setting out the spread she had brought with her. Fruit mostly, with a few tarts in between.

"You know you did not have to bring food with you, the Jarl's pantry is always well stocked."

"And give Anton more work? I'd never hear the end of it." There was the faintest hint of laughter to her voice, lending it a softer and more honeyed tone. "Besides, I hear it's considered ill mannered to arrive to a gathering empty handed. Even if it's only a gathering of two."

"How… practical of you."

They fell silent for a moment, sipping politely and eyeing each other from over the brims of their glasses.

Lorelei broke the silence first, a fact that brought a smug feeling of satisfaction to Ondolemar's warming insides.

"So where were you headed in such a hurry? I can't imagine you take that way often. No one ever does, not even the guard."

Ondolemar sat his glass down in front of him and leaned forward, folding his long fingers above it. "I was on my way to see you actually."

"The same curiosity you spoke of earlier? If it was just to see how I lived I would have offered to host you instead."

"No no, there is much that can be learned about a person by observing their living conditions but I wouldn't have imposed myself on you in such a manner."

"Funny way to phrase that."

"So tell me Lorelei the Curse-Bringer, are you native born?" He wasn't going to raise to her bait, whether she realized it was bait or not.

Lorelei leaned back in her chair and hooked her arm over the top of it lazily. "Not quite, Bruma actually. Mother had a bit of land and a title. When she passed, my family took our title and wealth Northward. Still own the land though." There was a weight to her words Ondolemar could almost reach out and touch and he noted silently to himself about this possible chink in her defenses. "But you don't really care about where I'm from do you?" She cocked her head to the side and gave him yet another smile he couldn't decipher. "You want to know about the dragons."

Ondolemar rolled his shoulder with practiced ease. "If that is what you wish to discuss. I'm merely making conversation."

"Mhm," she countered while popping a piece of snowberry tart in her mouth. "As you said a person's room can tell you a thing or two." She gestured to the bare walls and tidy desk behind him. "This is not the room of someone who merely makes conversation."

He laughed, pleasantly surprised. "You have nice eyes." his chuckle died in his throat. He'd meant to say 'good' not 'nice'.

"Thank you, so what would you like to know?" If Lorelei thought his word choice odd, she didn't show it, happily draining her glass and holding it out to him to be refilled.


He had been lingering on the covered path that jutted off from the steps leading to the temple of Dibella, enjoying a reprieve and well deserved glass of alto wine. His subordinates were off running errands, collecting his correspondence and likely lollygagging but at that moment he couldn't be bothered to be annoyed at them. The wine in his hands was heady and aged to perfection, the aroma of which brought an unbidden sigh to his lips as he swirled the scarlet liquid and watched the light of the brazier glimmer along its smooth surface.

Instances such as this were a rarity for the Justiciar, where no one was demanding something from him or wasting his time with their stupidity. With the taste of grape on his tongue and alcohol warming his blood he could almost forget how much he detested the city beneath him.

Almost.

Leaning his robed elbows against the carved masonry Ondolemar watched the figures scurrying below. The jewelry makers leading their little girl by the hand, the miners with the rhythm of their work pounded out to the tempo of the foreman's tapping foot, the Markarth guard roving about in lazy and meaningless circles. All of it so far below, so minuscule and mindless. His shoulders slumped, his mood souring by each unwelcome thought and realization.

Ondolemar averted his eyes elsewhere, searching for something… anything that wasn't made of miserable grey stone or a reminder of how much he loathed this country. They landed after a time on the open sided hovel that served as the city's smithy. He had no interest in Ghorza or her incompetent assistant, neither were foolish enough to worship the false god and further still, they had the good sense to stay out of his way. But it was not they who had captured his attention, not they who stood just under the lip of the slanted roof at the corner closest to him.

He couldn't tell what Lorelei was looking at as she stood there in full armor, staring upwards with her hand shielding her eyes.

'Perhaps it is nothing,' he reasoned while pouring himself another glass. After all the skies were clear for once, and regardless of how much he detested Skyrim its sky was everything its landscape lacked. But her pose was angled and intent, as though she were looking at something rather than simply into the distance. A theory that was soon confirmed when she raised her other hand and gave a cheerful wave… in his direction.

His first impulse was to ignore it, but the more he did so the more adamant her waving became. Seeing Lorelei practically bounce enthusiastically waving in such a vigorous show made some unrecognized feeling prickle his stomach and flush just under his skin. And when he could take no more and raised his glass in acknowledgement; if only to make her cease such a display he reasoned, he was rewarded with a wide, if barely visible from that distance, smile.

He couldn't have recounted if asked, how long that moment lasted. For it seemed to both idle and yet vanish in the same instant. She had pivoted on a heel and walked from sight, likely back to whatever business she'd had with the blacksmith in the first place. No hint of what the last few moments had meant. No sign of what she had wanted besides perhaps his attention. Just a wave, a smile and then nothing.


"I'll admit, I find it curious that a noble would take such an interest in something so menial." He was leaning against one of the supports of the city's smithy. Above his head, fresh thatch provided a note of hay in an otherwise unpleasant mixture of hot metal and burning oil. Markarth's smithy was by no means his normal haunt. But for his current company he could make an exception. Or several it seemed, considering he'd been stopping by every time he noticed Lorelei tending her armor. It might have become something of a habit.

"What a discouraging thing to say. I prefer to be thought of as useful rather than noble. And in my line of work, useful has little to do with titles and much to do with maintaining my tools of the trade."

"I wasn't aware dragon hunting was considered a trade."

"It might as well be," she gestured towards the dented breastplate on his left. "Be a dear and toss me that will you?"

He did no such thing, handing it to her instead even if it meant taking a few extra steps.

"Couldn't you simply refuse? Let Ulfric put his sword where his jowls are and protect his people himself?"

"Were I so lucky that both he and the Empire be gracious enough to turn their attention to Skyrim's greater problem and cease for a moment their pointed and bloody bickering." Her frustration never made it to her words, being redirected down into her hand and by extension the hammer held there. "Still, let me ask you this, if Alinor was under threat would you wait for others to raise their arms? Knowing that yours was stronger? Better equipped?"

"The Leaders of Alinor would not waste their breath defending a false god…" His immediate response was given without forethought and so he followed it a moment later with, "but you make your point well enough. I've done much in the name of my people and their homeland. In that, I suppose we have common ground, our duties do not give us much time for leisure."

"You make it sound as if that were the only commonality we share." She gave him one of those smiles, small and pulled only to one side, intimate as a whisper and as cheerful as a robin in spring. "But say no more on that, lest we ruin your reputation as Markarth's most sour citizen."

A deep frown was a hard mask to maintain but he managed somehow, alleviating the need to return that earnest smile with a quirk of his brow instead.

"I jest Ondolemar, and if you've a moment more of time perhaps you could give me a hand with this breastplate? I need to check the fitting now that it's been reshaped."

"I suppose I could spare a few," he feigned a resigned sigh as he removed and pocketed his gloves. "But you'll owe me a few in return."

And so it went for a month or so. He'd find an excuse to be in her path, she'd agree to walk with him a bit. She would dismiss her brute of a housecarl, he would give his guards some meaningless errand to run. She'd give a colorful account of where she'd been off to, he'd find just the right level of sarcasm or dry wit to leave her chuckling. Each time she joined him, he'd find a longer route to walk until eventually he just started asking her if she'd join him for a glass. She didn't always take him up on the offer but the nights when she did were pleasant ones, sometimes bringing a bottle of some wild vintage she'd found in her travels. Though there was talk amidst the common folk, she didn't seem to mind and Ondolemar certainly didn't care. There was nothing to their rumors and he wasn't about to give up the one thing about the city that he was fond of over some paltry speculation. Of course... had he known what was to come, he might have reconsidered.