Ogmund brews up some khaf as he runs me through exactly what he endured from the elves – because of me, I keep reminding myself. Because I'm too trusting.

Maybe Kerah was right. Maybe I should start to question how much faith I'm putting into the Thalmor.

It gives me a lot to think about as I finally return to Vlindrel Hall, a full hour later than I planned to. There's a formal invitation waiting for me when I get home, and Argis says it was dropped off by an altmer – which tells me exactly who sent it.

Brighid

I recognise my behaviour last night may have upset you more than intended. I expect to see you for dinner so we can resolve the issue.

Yours faithfully

Ondolemar

Could he be any more impersonal? I roll my eyes as I tuck the letter into the stack on the table. I was already planning to see him for dinner, but I'm not eager to have him in the house again. Last night…

I don't want to think about it, but the way he seemed to think he had run of the place bothered me. Like he respected me less than when Argis apparently had to kick him out. I think a good, long talk about boundaries is in order. But if we're back at the boundaries stage, what does that mean for our entire relationship? I thought we were progressing well, not that I've really got any idea on the standard markers of healthy human-elf relationships.

And now this information about Ogmund, the supposed torture and manipulation when we met for the very first time? I had thought he respected me right off the bat, but maybe I misread the entire situation.

Maybe he only likes me because I'm Dragonborn.

I hate that the idea comes to mind, but with everything now I can't really discredit it. I wish I could, because it would make things so much easier, but… I just can't.

So where does that leave us?

Even though I know this talk needs to happen, I still don't relish the idea of it. It would be nice to just enjoy a peaceful, pleasant meal together for once, without the worries of war or politics or even our relationship dragging things down, but I guess we won't ever really get that. I remember Kerah's comment, about how he's Thalmor and most folk wouldn't trust him as far as they could throw him.

I want to believe that's just an unfortunate side effect of his job. But after Ogmund's story, I'm not so sure anymore.

I decide to wear the new jewellery set for dinner, and find one of my nicer dresses to match it – the theme I'm going with looks like it's gonna be silver and blue. He's always in red and gold, and as I think about how our colours are going to clash, I smile to myself in the mirror – but it fades when I realise this is just highlighting another of our differences.

I just don't know where I stand with Ondolemar; I know things have been tense with him lately, but maybe he really is just worrying about me. And I don't know a lot about Altmer culture – maybe they're one of those cultures where men are typically seen as the provider/protector in the relationship. Not being able to fulfil that role might be the main reason he's so upset, and he just can't communicate that because of the godawful penchant for Thalmor being so stoic.

If it really does boil down to the whole gender stereotypes in the roles, he's going to have to adjust. I've been independent a long time, and I don't tend to follow any one person's rules unless they make sense. So maybe that's where we need to start. Setting boundaries so that he doesn't get in the way of my role as thane in, what, three holds now?

I'm collecting Thaneships like they're Pokemon or something.

"Do you need an escort?" Argis asks as I emerge from my rooms. I shake my head – I doubt I'll find myself under threat in Markarth, and even if I do, I'm never unarmed now I have magic.

"I'm thinking of heading to Lastspell Falls, by the way," I tell him. "And since I'll be close to it, I might just continue on to Solitude. Check in with Jordis and the kids there."

"If you're thinking of being away for a while, you might want to consider hiring a steward," he suggests. "I can look after most things, but a steward can maintain the upkeep, food stocks, and if we need to hire any additional staff they can take care of it."

Right. I mean, it's a big enough place, a steward wouldn't be too out of place. I have Uthgert at Lakeview, and Jordis handles Proudspire. "Anyone specific in mind?"

"A few, but none that you seem to know well," Argis admits. He gives me a significant look though, and nods to one of the corners, where Rajha is restocking the meat cabinet. I look back to Argis, gesturing silently if he's trying to say what I think he's suggesting. He smirks in response.

"Hey, Cat," Argis calls out. Rajha turns, crate still held on his hip as he looks at us both. "What do you think? Place needs a steward, doesn't it?"

Rajha shrugs. "Rajha… sees no need, Rajha and Housecarl manage well. But Rajha has been humbled by Mistress Briinah many times and will honour Mistress Briinah's decision."

I look at Argis, who is still smirking. "Rajha, how well do you go at the markets on your own?"

He points to himself as if to confirm I'm asking about him. "This one? Has little trouble now, people know Rajha is usually purchasing for Mistress Briinah."

"How do you feel about being a steward?" I ask. He stares at me blankly for a few moments, almost long enough that I think I might have to repeat the question.

"You want… Rajha… to be steward?"

"You keep on the straight and narrow, keep looking after this place and the people here like you have been, and I'll pay you well for that service," I tell him. "It's not as wealthy as being a master thief, and I don't think it'll be as wealthy as trading with the caravans, but it's a lawful job and people will come to respect you."

Rajha looks like he is genuinely considering the offer, but I can see he's warring with himself over it. Argis is still smirking as he watches the khajiit, and folds his arms.

"It won't be much different to what you've already been doing," he adds.

"Rajha is not deserving of this," Rajha says, looking up at me and shaking his head. "Rajha was a thief! Scum! Rajha does not deserve to be elevated, respected. Not yet."

"You were given a choice when I pulled you off that block," I tell him. "You could go out into the world as an exile, or you could stay with me as a servant. You chose to repay me by staying – and you've gone above and beyond to learn what you need to be a good servant. You deserve to be rewarded."

His tail twitches, and he looks at the ground again. "Rajha cannot decide such a thing right now. This is… much to offer. May this one give you an answer later?"

"Well, depending on how this dinner goes, I might be leaving again tomorrow," I tell him, "So have a think about it and I'll ask again later tonight, after I'm back from dinner. Speaking of," I glance at the timepiece, "I need to get up to the Keep. Gotta speak with Igmund before dinner."

"Good luck, Thane," Argis tells me.

I head out early, catching the sight of the sun slinking below the mountains for the day. Dusk comes early in Markarth, but twilight lingers for hours because of the mountains. It's nice, but it did take some getting used to when I first arrived.

Igmund is feeding his hounds when I find him, and seems to be in a good mood. I ask him about the dragon and he humphs about city gossip.

"Guards rode in with a report about an hour ago," he says, letting one of the wolfhounds tear a massive steak out of his hands. "It's been sighted around the peak, and terrorising the farm at the base, but there's been no word from the villagers on the mountain itself."

That flags as a bit odd. "What, nobody from the village? Not even for supplies and stuff?"

"There's a small plateau with forestry, I imagine they've been sustaining themselves," Igmund replies, unconcerned. "But it could also be something like the path is out. There's only one way up or down, if that goes then the place is cut off."

"Then yeah, I'll check it out," I tell him. "And find this dragon and put it down."

"You do that."

I hesitate slightly as he takes another steak out and offers it to one of the other wolfhounds. It plods over to us and sniffs at the steak, but the mannerisms tell me it's a fairly young, newly trained hound.

"I was thinking about going on to Solitude after. Check in on things with the house and the locale. Do I have your leave to be away for some time?"

Igmund sighs heavily, shaking the steak in front of the hound.

"I can't really stop you from going anywhere, but we could really use your abilities here. Until that girl of yours starts sending in good reports, I'm reluctant to lose you for too long."

"I'll be back, of course," I reassure him. "Besides, you can always have Argis take on whatever I can't."

"Argis is your housecarl," he reminds me, "He's supposed to be looking after your property. But, I have also heard my own share of rumour here. If they are true, I understand your desire to leave for a time." He glances at me, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Go, and with my blessing. Shor keep you."

Ondolemar's apartments are deeper within the Keep, and I'll admit I expected the conversation with Igmund to take much longer, so as I'm ascending the steps to his section I stop outside his door, hearing voices.

"I want it done tonight. The sooner we can progress these plans, the better for all involved."

"Yes, Justiciar."

"And remember, no survivors."

"It will be done, sir."

I recognise Vaaria's voice speaking with Ondolemar, and realise that if I'm caught listening it'll set off another argument. I don't normally try to pry into his Thalmor work, but something about this just feels… off.

I retreat back down the steps as I hear armour shifting, and I'm re-climbing the last couple of steps when three of the soldiers exit, Vaaria with them. I smile warmly at her, but she barely acknowledges me as she passes.

"Ah, you did come," Ondolemar remarks as he steps out of his office, spotting me. I see his eyes slide over to the timepiece by the door. "A little early, but I will take it as a sign of your eagerness."

"I expected to be caught up longer talking to Igmund," I explain. He gestures for me to follow him into the dining room; I've noted that Ondolemar's apartments are larger than Jarl Igmund's, which irks me for some reason. Technically Igmund has the entire keep, but the private spaces aren't as private as they maybe should be for him. I guess it's just Mer superiority bullshit.

Hopefully I can convince Ondolemar to unsubscribe from that particular belief set, but I doubt it.

"I do hope you are well-rested after your travels," he remarks, pulling out a chair for me to sit down in. The table is laid with a relatively simple meal for altmer tastes – a roast pheasant, and about seven or eight different lots of vegetables. Normally there's enough here for a four-course meal, though I know for a fact Ondolemar doesn't eat it all.

"Didn't sleep too well, but I slept late," I reply. He's being oddly formal, and pushes the seat in after I sit down. One of his staff steps up to pour out some wine, though I only take a half goblet.

"I suppose you felt bad about how things went last night," he says, taking his seat at the opposite end of the table. I tilt my head.

"You didn't?"

"I was in the right."

I manage to keep my expression neutral, somehow, but he doesn't even blink. Damn, he really does believe it.

"I was away for a few days," I tell him. "I returned home late. Rather than visit Igmund or deliver my own debrief, I had someone else in my household do it. I was tired from travelling, weary from fighting, and was looking forward to food and a warm bed. I intended to come up here early this morning, after resting. You came over, uninvited, and started telling me off. Then you brought up the incident with Bal. And you think you were in the right?"

"Yes," he replies curtly, not even looking at me as he carves a few slices of meat off the pheasant. "You left without informing me, went to places unknown without even leaving a message, put yourself in unnecessary danger while nobody knew where to even begin looking for you, and then you expect me to coddle you when you return with your companion dead or missing and you hiding away from everyone? Not to mention the behaviour of your housecarl in your absence – were you aware he threw me out of your house?"

"Yes, he told me," I reply, "And he was right in doing so. I'm not allowed into your apartments without your presence, I don't see why you should be permitted entry to my house without my presence."

"I need to be involved in every aspect of your life, Brighid. You are my partner, and that is how relationships work."

"Then let's talk about the relationship," I snap, feeling myself growing impatient. "Where do you see us in a hundred years?"

He pauses, looking up at me from his meal. "You will not survive that long," he replies, somewhat icily. "I am an altmer, Brighid. You are a Nord."

"I'm Atmoran, and I'm Dovahkiin," I counter. "We already have longer life spans. Being Dovahkiin extends that further. In a hundred years I will still be as youthful as I am now. And hopefully, with you."

He studies me, taking a sip of his drink. I don't blink or look away, since I've already had this confirmed by Wuunferth, Yrsarald, even Jordis can relate the old stories she grew up with.

"Even mer do not remain ageless over a century," he says carefully, setting the drink aside. "It is the curse we were, all of us, left with when Lorkhan betrayed the Aedra and sealed our ancestors in Mundus."

This is news. In all the fantasy information I've ever heard, elves tend to either live ten times the length of humans, or they're immortal. I frown slightly.

"I thought you were really long-lived?"

"Long-lived, yes, but not immortal nor ageless," he scoffs, turning to his food. "We live for around five hundred years or so. Many of the altmer you've met are well into their second century; as we enter our fourth, age begins to show and we begin to experience the curse of living decay that Lorkhan left us with."

Five hundred years, that's not so bad. I can barely mentally prepare myself for one hundred, but I guess after a certain point you just start to take it a day at a time.

I want to ask how old he is, but I don't know if it would be considered rude.

"So how old—"

"Three hundred and seventy-seven,"

"Oh," I try not to choke on my own gasp. That's… well, that's a lot. "Never saw myself as being with a much older guy," I try to joke, but the humour seems lost on him as he looks up again.

"And how long are you expected to live?"

"Well, Atmorans average closer to a hundred, a hundred and twenty," I explain, trying to sound nonchalant. "But, uh, being Dovahkiin, I'm… technically Dovah as well. So… how long to dragons live?"

His expression remains neutral, but I see his pale golden eyes sort of flash. Anger, surprise, I'm not sure, but I know they only do that when he's feeling something big.

"You cannot possibly live as long as a dragon," he snaps suddenly. I shrug.

"Why not? I was named by Alduin himself; if he recognises me as dragon, if I can command the respect of other dragons, then surely that means I'm dragon."

"Only in soul, if memory serves correctly."

"Talos was the last true Dovahkiin, by all legends,"

He slams his utensils down, anger now clear as he glares at me. "You are straying close to blasphemy, Brighid. Watch your tongue."

"I'm not saying anything blasphemous," I tell him. "Talos was a man who founded the Septim dynasty, why would discussing the historical figure be blasphemy?"

"Dragons are immortal, save for few exceptions," he snaps. "Immortality is something that was taken from all living things, by the trickster god. To claim yourself as immortal is to place yourself on the same pedestal as the Eight Divines!"

"I never said I was a god," I snap back at him, waving a hand, "Immortality doesn't make one a deity or a divine. And Talos proved mortal, didn't he?" I shake my head, sighing heavily. "I'm just saying, the timelines we both have on this relationship needs to line up, if we want anything to work in the long term."

Ondolemar is studying me, but seems to realise something and rocks back suddenly. "You were… You were using that as a lead-in to talk about our relationship?"

"Yes," I groan, stabbing a piece of meat. I'm going to have to start eating before this food goes cold. "I like you, and I think we make a great team together. Romantically, I'm… trying. I'm not very good at it but I'm willing to try, because I can see how much you want it. And, honestly, the idea of eternity alone is a bit unnerving. But every time it feels like we hit a snag, it turns into a roadblock and we start to fight, and I'm starting to wonder if this whole thing is even worth it anymore."

He's stopped eating, is looking down at his plate in obvious contemplation.

"I just need to know if you're in it for the long-haul. If we both want the same thing for us, figuring out how the rest of it works together comes a lot easier."

He looks like he's at war with himself over this, and sighs heavily, almost theatrically. "I do want this to last," he says after a few long moments, "I just… did not expect you to be around longer than I. As I just told you, I am close to my fourth century," he says, looking up. "Which means that we will only have a century or so. Mortality is not… easy for our kind to face."

I grimace slightly, nodding in understanding.

"It's not easy for anyone, I think," I reassure him. "I think Nords are probably the most well-adjusted to the idea of death than anyone I've ever seen. A lot of Atmorans have a sort of fear of it, but they make themselves feel better by having, like, six different versions of the afterlife to go off to."

"So many afterlives can make what one does with their time in the world seem meaningless," Ondolemar comments. I shrug.

"It makes them feel better. I don't judge anybody for their religious practices. Or, try not to. Speaking of," I lean forward, finding a topic that might get him talking long enough for me to eat. "Why isn't Talos recognised in the Imperial pantheon?"

I expect the amount of Mer Supremacist bullshit that comes out of Ondolemar's mouth next, but at least it gives me time to eat through a course worth of food. It still doesn't explain why he would have someone like Ogmund stretched out on a rack, but I figure maybe that's a discussion for another time.

"So he's not actually descended from the elves, which is why he's basically condemned to never achieve godhood, is what I'm getting." I tell him, once I've decided I've had enough of the carrying on. Ondolemar looks annoyed that I've summarised it so succinctly, but he nods anyway.

"To put it in a way that your mind can understand, yes." He takes up his goblet, drinking deeply before setting it aside again. "Why the sudden curiosity in the Divines? As I understand it, you follow the antecedent to the Nordic pantheon."

"Somewhat," I shrug, "No, I just finally got to talk to Ogmund today. The guy who had the amulet I got for you? He told me he was punished severely for having it."

"I did tell you that would be the case."

"You told me if I got the amulet, I could prevent that," I retort. Ondolemar frowns slightly.

"No, I recall telling you that the amulet is proof of his worship, for which he would be punished."

Liar. "That's not how I recall it," I tell him. He smiles slightly.

"It was nearly two months ago, and you've had your fair share of excitement since then. You may be remembering things incorrectly."

I feel one of the dragons raise its head, as if sniffing at the air. Something about his words feels off, but I don't really want to push it. He's right; a lot has happened in just two months.

I realise idly I haven't even been in Skyrim for six months and already I've been caught up in more drama, chaos, and excitement than twelve years of my previous life.

"You have that distant look," Ondolemar says gently, "Where do you go, when you look like that."

I didn't even realise I was zoning out, but look at him to see he's most of the way through his second helping. "The past," I admit. "Both recent and distant."

"Is it a pleasant place?"

"Sometimes," I admit, sighing as I pick up my fork again. "My childhood was… not so pleasant. I was kept under constant watch, treated like glass, as if I'd break at the wrong point of pressure. It was suffocating. When we got out of there, I vowed to never let anyone have that much control over my life again. I was a kid, though," I scoff, shaking my head. "Twelve when I got released. Went off to live my own life, with Killian. He was affected by it all, too."

"I thought you were raised separately?"

Shit. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean we didn't get treated similarly. He was controlled and shaped into the person he is, just as much as I was."

"You've never spoken of your childhood," Ondolemar remarks idly, lacing his fingers through each other as he studies me curiously. "Tell me more, I'm curious."

Uh oh. This could get into dangerous territory. I reach for the wine, taking a few sips perhaps a little more nervously than I should be. He only asked about my childhood, and I have my entire backstory down flush with Tamriel's lore. I'm sure it won't be anything that bad, but I'm always hesitant about telling people in case they can find holes in it.

"Well, we were born," I say, laughing a little nervously. "Uh, Killian was older than me by fifteen minutes. Basically as children Killian and I were fairly sickly so we were always being looked after by healers who specialised in certain fields. But then because of how we sort of… interacted with each other, they decided to split us up."

"An awful thing to do to children, especially twins," Ondolemar remarks, "I am certain that had a profound effect on your development."

"Yeah, kinda," I shrug. "Uh, I was raised with the intention to be a healer myself, but to do that you have to go through certain rites and rituals and whatnot. I was about seven when I started arguing with the elders about it, mainly because I didn't like all the rules and having to be under constant watch. I even snuck out of home a few times. My mother helped, too," I smile slightly, recalling how she would bring in a wheelchair, get a blanket, and we'd leave the facility and go to a fast food place or something similar. "Normal kid fun", she used to call it.

"I'm sure your elders weren't impressed with that," Ondolemar snaps me back to the present, and I smirk as I shake my head.

"They hated it. When I was around twelve, they tried to stop my mother from being able to visit me, because the break-outs were getting more frequent and I was starting to figure out how to get out of there myself as well. But because they did that, she went to the tribal council and appealed, and the healing elders were forced to not only give her access, but let me choose whether I wanted to stay and continue training, or go with her. Obviously I chose to go with her," I add, gesturing at the room. "Or else I wouldn't be here."

"And your brother was offered the same choice?"

"My brother developed violent tendencies that his people couldn't keep in check," I reply. "Mum and I were the only ones who could calm him down, by the time we finally found him again. It was sort of that whole issue that led to us coming here; even free of our respective imprisonment in childhood, we still struggled to adapt to Atmoran life. Signed up for an expedition to Tamriel when one came up, thought it would help us sort of… recondition ourselves. Except the ship got wrecked and we ended up in a little boat that made it as far as Darkwater Crossing. That was where we got picked up by the Legion and the rest is documented."

I shrug, returning to my food as I half-watch him. His face looks impassive as he considers the information, digesting it as though it's some sort of tough meat.

"So you also didn't fit in even in your homeland?" He asks after a few moments. I nod.

"We both seem to be fitting in better in Skyrim than we did in Atmora," I tell him. "Might be because the landscape is so different, might be because the people are different, could even be because we just know that we're different so it's less of a constant threat over our heads here." I shrug, looking up. "Whatever it is, it doesn't bother me so much anymore."

Ondolemar hums softly, thoughtfully, before collecting up his goblet again. "An interesting life to have lived, for certain."

"What about you?" I ask. There's more meat still to go and I want a chance to eat more before it goes cold. Ondolemar looks at me with curiosity.

"What about me?"

"What was your childhood like?" I ask. He's studying me again as I start to wolf down some of the food I've already grabbed – I can taste that it's not as hot as before, but I'll take it at this so long as I don't have to endure it cold.

"Oh, it wasn't anything as dramatic as yours," he sniffs, a little disdainfully. "Born to wealthy parents, signed myself up for the military, was selected through an excellence program to join the Thalmor, and worked my way to Justiciar. Being exceptionally adept at storm magic certainly helped; Father swore there was Maomer in the bloodline but I highly doubt it."

Maomer, the scary sea-elves that have apparently taken to being marauders in the southern oceans. I grimace slightly as his glossed overview of things.

"So just a normal life?"

"Exceptionally so. Of course, interspersed with excellence," he adds smugly. "Like the storm magic, for example."

"Must have been interesting with the other students you were around," I comment idly, but he shrugs.

"I did have one who tried to cause trouble for me. After not only collecting an entire dossier of his misbehaviour, I executed him personally for his attempts to defame me. None dared challenge me after that."

"Wait, you…" I stop, feeling my gut twist at his admission. "You what?"

"I killed him using storm magic. The overseer was quite impressed with how long I was able to maintain it."

"You killed another kid in your class?"

"Oh, we weren't what you would call children," Ondolemar chuckles softly, his attention on the plate of desserts that one of the staff has just brought out. "I think we were close to… forty? Yes, we were still young, children by Altmer standards, but by human standards we were closer to what you might consider middle-aged."

I'm still staring at him, though. "Did this guy ever pose a physical threat to you?"

"Of course not," Ondolemar laughs openly as he says it, like I'm insane for even thinking as such. "He ranked far below me in skill. Not a threat at all."

"Then why kill him?"

"Because he was damaging my reputation, Brighid," Ondolemar is serving himself a slice of what looks like cheesecake that was just brought out, and looks at me like I've grown another head. "Reputation is everything as a young altmer. It can affect your social standing for the rest of your life. I was not born into the ruling class, but I demonstrated, through skill and intellect, that I deserved to be here. Eventually I am expected to couple and procreate with other Thalmor, in order to maintain the purity of our race."

Couple and procreate. I stare at him. "You're meant to have kids with someone else?"

"Well, yes. How else are we to uphold our duty as the ruling class if we will not, at the very least, ensure the survival and elevation of merkind?"

"And you didn't think to mention that?"

He seems to realise in this moment that he's said something he shouldn't have, and looks up at me again. "Just because I physically couple with someone does not mean I choose to partner with them for life."

"Yeah, of course not," I shake my head slowly, looking down at my plate. Suddenly I'm not so hungry. "I mean, I get it, I just wish you said something sooner."

There's a lot of half-truths and hidden information with Ondolemar, and as I keep finding out more of it I find myself questioning the relationship more. He thinks so casually of murder, values reputation to an unhealthy level, and he's involved in some crazy eugenics bullshit. The more I think about it the more I realise Killian was fairly accurate when he said they're like Nazis or something.

I still manage to sit through one slice of the cheesecake, mainly because I know Alina the chef doesn't have frost magic and cheesecake is a bitch to make without frost magic. Ondolemar invites me to stay for some wine after dinner, but I figure if I'm heading out tomorrow, I need to actually get some decent sleep.

"You're leaving again?" Ondolemar asks incredulously as we walk back along the waterfall path. "I thought we were managing to resolve our little problem?"

"There's a dragon at Lastspell Falls," I tell him, "And some suspicious activity in that area. Igmund asked me to take care of it. And I should really check in on Solitude, see how Jordis is handling things, see if Elisif needs anything…"

"I wish you would stop taking off on such short notice, it makes it difficult for me to arrange to accompany you."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't need the company all the time," I reassure him. "It won't be my first time handling a dragon, and I'm sure I can handle whatever the villager issue is."

He purses his lips as we start up the steps to Vlindrel Hall, but I stop near the top. Something is off, and as I look ahead, I realise why.

The door to Vlindrel Hall is hanging wide open, and it's dark inside.