"No, no, no, no please don't. No," I dodged Faendal's grabby hands, moving through the crowd at the Silver-Blood Inn with less grace than the already drunk Bosmer. His face had twisted into a wicked leer, his third bottle of Black-Briar reserve long since drained and abandoned in favor of catching me. The inn's patrons were getting a good laugh at my stumbling and the persistent elf.
"Just one dance, come here!" he laughed; grabbing my arms and yanking me flush against his front. I grumbled, cheeks burning at the contact. He set his hands on my hips, walking us back to the other dancers and the bard who was belting away and thrumming his lute. "You're a brute," I mumbled, propping my arms around his waist. He chuckled, stepping on my toes as he walked us around and swayed haphazardly while leaning heavily against me. I could smell the drink on his breath as he twirled us in lazy, awkward circles.
"Whatever happened with Camilla?" I asked, alcohol burning away my apprehension about broaching the topic. Faendal's hands dug into my sides, his sharp fingers making me wince. He took a deep breath against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.
"She married Sven while I was away with Iriala," his voice was thick with contempt. I moved my hands up his back, holding him in a hug as we continued to drift back in forth. The bard had moved onto a more somber tale, the energy in the room lulling. So that was why Faendal been so eager to drink these two days, he'd always been so reluctant to touch Nordic alcohol. "How have you been fairing?" I murmured.
"Fine, fine. Just, it's just – I really thought she was going to marry me, you know? That's what got me through the bad days. I'd just think about how easy things were going to be, just had to hold out until she realized it too…" We'd stopped dancing, standing still in the midst of jovial couples and merry drunks. I tightened my hold as he dropped his forehead to the crook of my neck. I felt warm wetness spread against my shoulder as Faendal sniffled. I rubbed his back, blinking back my own sympathetic tears. Through the blur I realized we were being watched. Across the way, sitting by herself was an Altmer whose attention was trained on the wood elf and I.
"Faendal, I think it's time to call it a night," I said gently, leaning back so I could look at his face. He sniffed, his nose and cheeks gone a ruddy red while tears shone in his dark eyes. With a nod he let me lead him away, leaning heavily against my side while I kept a supportive arm wrapped around him. I glanced briefly at the high elf, confirming that she was watching us from the corner of her angular eyes. It was a paranoid thought for sure, but there were no female high elves living in Markarth besides one of Ondolemar's private guards. There were so many other explanations besides the Justiciar having me watched; she may be a recent addition to the city or a simple traveller. Her lip lifted just a touch, the faintest sneer marring her features when our eyes met.
Trudging up the steps to Vlindrel Hall with the stumbling elf was a trial. By the time I had the door locked behind me I didn't have the energy to stop Faendal from crawling into my bed. He was already asleep, tucked against my back by the time I flipped the covers over us both. He murmured, sliding a hand around to press against my belly as he wiggled up against me, tucking his knees behind mine. I'd allow it for tonight; it would be nice to have another source of heat, at least.
Waiting for sleep gave me spare time to think. I hadn't gotten to know many Thalmor in my lifetime, suffice to say Ondolemar was the only one I'd ever spoken to at length. There were times I'd come across a group of them travelling through the Reach but I'd never had the chance to interact with them. I'd been living in the Warrens for a short while, as I usually had to do during winter when I'd sought ways to make money and ended up meeting the Justiciar in Understone Keep.
After hearing a rumor about certain Dwemer researcher having trouble with a giant spider I set out to help the old fellow and earn some coin. I'd dispatched the spider and dealt with the lost research party in Nchuand-Zel, earning me a bit more than I thought I'd be getting. Also looting all those Dwemer chests and the bodies of Falmer and machines had helped. During this time where I was in and out of the Keep I first met Ondolemar.
He was scary. The Justiciar held himself in confidence, his posture impeccable and his eyes missing nothing. I'd never been comfortable around those kinds of people, the ones that don't miss a single thing and store their thoughts and observations within themselves. Maybe it was from my years as a petty thief, but I'd always had the worst luck with those kinds. Unfortunately this made the Thalmor a subject of curiosity, one that I often watched from the corner of my eye when given the chance. He'd caught me staring one day, no doubt having caught me and not said anything plenty of times before, and finally addressed it. The short end of the stick was that my constant questioning and forthright curiosity somehow didn't repulse him. When I mentioned that I was looking for work he'd brought up his issue with the bard Ogmund and his supposed Talos worship.
Being a money hungry fool, I'd obliged the Thalmor and ended up in his favor for it.
After the winter seasons I'd left the city and gone back to living off the fruits of the Rift. Hunting sabre cats, running from trolls, hiding from Forsworn, and defending my life from rogue mages had a certain sense of familiarity. However I wasn't beyond making mistakes and had ended up captured by a clan of bandits who seemed very intent on keeping me around for fun. In either a blessing or damning, Falmer raided the camp before anything unsavory happened to my chastity. Then came the weeks of living blind in the underground with snow elves pinching their captives with poisons and eating some of us alive.
At some point I managed to kick off the stupor of the poisons just long enough to conjure a bow. I'd stuck every one of those bastard pigs through with arrows, lighting my path with the lavender weaponry as I struggled through the bones and corpses of bandits and Falmer alike. Emerging from the cave tunnels after wandering for hours I made for the closest and safest settlement that I could think of, Markarth. Hircine took no pity on me as I walked to the capital of the Reach. No beast fell victim to my bow in that trek, leaving me near mad with hunger.
Perhaps it was that madness that had me heading into the Keep in search of food. It had been midday when I arrived in the city, which would make thieving from the vendors more difficult than my shaking hands could cope with. I'd wondered if perhaps the Keep's kitchens would be willing to spare me a meal and headed there only to be blocked by city guards informing me of the late chef's demise. Somehow I'd ended up in Ondolemar's room scrounging for a meal.
And now he had struck a deal for information on the Forsworn and was having me followed. I huffed, flipping onto my back. Faendal adjusted in a flash, keeping one hand pressed on my stomach while hooking a leg over mine. He snuggled under my arm to rest his cheek against my shoulder. I blushed a bit, looking down at his pale hair. Was he safe? If Ondolemar was having me watched then he already knew I was spending my time with the elf in the home of the Dragonborn… A grumble sounded in the back of my throat and I rubbed my face. As long as the Thalmor didn't mess with Faendal I'd play his game.