Chapter Text
He wasn't quite sure how to put his abhorrence of Markarth into words. The damned, dismal ruin of a city was unbelievably corrupt - of that, there was no doubt - and loyalties were split between so many different factions that it seemed nigh impossible that such a dissonant group of civilians could ever be assimilated under one unified cause. Despite the fact that the Empire technically had control over the City of Stone, Stormcloak influence was unpleasantly strong, as was that of the Reachmen who roamed the hills and terrorized those visiting or leaving the Reach. The entire 'city' was in complete chaos and disorder, which was why he was there - to bring order to a religiously and politically volatile hold, albeit one where he wasn't entirely welcome.
This was not the first time Ondolemar had been entrusted with diffusing tensions and putting down particularly vocal and persistent minorities, but there were so many different ones in Markarth that, together, they made up a ragtag majority of sorts - not to mention that these particular rebels were considerably more cautious than those he'd dealt with in the past. He was used to Nords being brainless, 'honor'-driven brutes with a near-suicidal 'death or glory' philosophy, but the locals in Markarth were cautious and guarded about every aspect of their life, and interacted with one another in such bland yet practiced ways it was frustratingly rare that anyone ever slipped up and divulged any useful information about themselves or another one of his 'suspects'.
It also didn't help that the Thalmor agent was quite suspicious of nearly everyone in the city, though, for one reason or another, he found himself unable to act on any of his suspicions, and even on confirmed worship of a false god - the Silver-Bloods were simply too powerful of a family in Markarth for the Justiciar to be able to do much about them - for now, at least. And, as would be expected, whenever he was pressed to momentarily leave Understone Keep for one reason or another, he was not exactly well-received among the majority of 'regular' citizens, and he could practically feel the barely contained hostility towards him and his aides hanging thick in the air whenever he was forced to interact with someone not entirely resigned to or accepting of the Dominion's cause.
There are several other things that Ondolemar loathes about Markarth - like the Jarl's dogs, for example -, and today, more than usual, his dissatisfaction with his current quality of life was really getting to him. At present, the Justiciar had just finished his lunch, and a rather mediocre one at that, in his opinion, when Halturmallin, one of his more annoying aides, entered into his quarters, seeming very excited by something.
"Requesting permission to speak with you, sir?" The young Altmer asked politely, giving the Justiciar a half-bow as he waited for a response.
"Well, you're already doing that, aren't you?" Ondolemar replied somewhat bitingly, adding in a less annoyed manner, "Continue."
If Halturmallin had been affected or fazed by his superior's annoyance, he didn't show it - whether he was just a very good actor or if he was even denser than he appeared, the Justiciar wasn't entirely sure. "Sir, I have overheard a rumor about the city's resident bard, Ogmund. It appears he may be a Talos worshipper-"
"Oh, 'appears', hm? Have you any concrete proof other than speculations and word of mouth? Without evidence - real or otherwise, suspicions and other insubstantial things are of no use to our cause. As it is, folk have little tolerance for us, and if we arrested people merely from 'suspicion' we would lose whatever respect they have for us entirely - and at present that would not end well. So, please, do not waste my time with vague theories and useless assumptions."
"I... I'm sorry, sir," his aide replied, looking deflated for all of two seconds before adding in a sudden rush, "But there's something else I think you ought to be informed about, if you'll allow me-"
Ondolemar cut Halt off with a frustrated sigh, replying, "Well, out with it, then."
"There was an... altercation down in the marketplace today, just about half an hour ago. Some Breton lowlife from the mines attacked a woman - Margret, I think her name was -, and according to various sources, he was acting on behalf of the Forsworn in his assault. However, the woman's entirely unharmed from that experience-"
"Then why is any of this relevant? I'm well aware that there are some in this city who support those heathens that call themselves 'Reachmen', and, as this miner has surely been taken care of, what else is there to discuss?"
"With all due respect, I'm getting there, sir," Halturmallin replied carefully, continuing, "There's a newcomer to the city - they apparently came in right as the assault was occurring, and, though the stories vary slightly, apparently they're the one who kept the Reachman from doing any serious harm. From the information I could gather, they were a female Altmer, in full dwemer-styled armor minus the helm, and sporting a matching warhammer. I know – it sounds ridiculous, but that's what eyewitnesses I spoke to agreed on. They've not been here long enough for me to attempt to ascertain their motives for coming here, but I thought this was important enough to bring to your attention."
The Justiciar listened to Halt's report skeptically, raising an eyebrow when the aide described the unknown visitor's choice of clothing. If that information was true, this newcomer was certainly someone to be watchful of. She could merely be passing through, but nevertheless, Ondolemar made a habit of listening around to keep tabs on what they did while in the city - in the past, newcomers had made a nuisance of themselves and even occasionally tried to invite others into committing acts of heresy or other in befitting actions, and he'd learned that the sooner he caught someone trying to stir up trouble, the easier it was to 'clean up' after dealing with the instigator. Though, that wasn't to say that troublemakers didn't have their uses, as occasionally the particularly persuasive ones could uproot and expose typically cautious, careful allies to their cause.
Halturmallin then excused himself, most likely not wanting to further annoy the already somewhat cranky Justiciar, and Ondolemar was left to his thoughts for a few minutes as he finished his already near-empty glass of alto wine that had accompanied his earlier meal, sipping it thoughtfully as he mulled over the new information he'd just learned. Soon enough, he'd finished his drink, and the Thalmor agent got to his feet somewhat wearily, exiting his quarters with the intent to do a quick sweep through Understone Keep- he had other business to attend to at present that was considerably more important than thinking about an attempted murder. Besides, the murderer had been taken care of. What use was it to speculate on something that was no longer a pressing issue, when there were several more impending disasters just waiting to happen if the wind so much as blew in the wrong direction.
The Silver-Bloods were becoming more of a problem, for example. They already acted like they owned the city - unfortunately enough, they more or less did, and, as a result of this, they were beginning to become bolder and bolder about voicing their loyalties in the Civil War and trying to subtly -and sometimes not-so-subtly- bully the Jarl into listening to their foolish and petty demands. So far, Jarl Igmund had stood his ground, but it clearly getting more difficult for him to refuse every one of the numerous requests the Silver-Bloods made, and they had been starting to hint at threatening him to get their way as of late. As a matter of fact, that was one of the reasons that Ondolemar was taking a 'casual' walk through the Keep at present. Lately, Thongvor had been loitering in one of the Keep's many hallways, and the Justiciar was beginning to get increasingly suspicious of the man.
Ondolemar was jarred out of his thoughts when something wet and very cold brushed against one of his palms, and, surprised and disturbed, he let out a rather unprofessional and undignified shriek, turning around to see one of the Jarl's dogs looking at him innocently, its tongue hanging out of its mouth as it looked at him expectantly. Realizing his situation, the Justiciar scowled angrily at the canine, muttering venomously and his cheeks flaming in embarrassment. "Stupid dog," he spat quietly as he made his way down the steps towards the enterance of Understone Keep, glad that no one seemed to have heard or viewed his little outburst.
The Justiciar heard Thongvor's obnoxious voice far before he saw him - and from the sound of it, he was angry. In fact, saying he was angry was almost an understatement. Letting out a long-suffering sigh, he picked up his pace, intending to diffuse whatever conflict had arisen and, if need be, throw the troublesome and obnoxious Nord out for the afternoon - though that was the most he was ever capable of; that man had a habit of showing back up like a bad septim.
"What do you mean, the Hall of the Dead is closed?" A familiar and rather exasperated-sounding voice sounded from not too far away, a voice Ondolemar instantly identified as the obnoxious Silver- Blood's.
"I-It is, sir. I apologize for the inconvenience, but we've been having some, um, problems lately-" It took the Thalmor agent a few seconds to identify the second voice as Brother Verulus, the rather timid Priest of Arkay, who seemed like the current target of Thongvor's general dissatisfaction.
"Hmph. What kind of problems, exactly?" the Nord replied nosily, "What's causing you such a problem in the crypts that you're keeping people from paying respects to their ancestors?"
"I'm afraid I c-can't tell you, sir," Verulus responded, sounding slightly terrified as he spoke.
"You can't tell me? I-" Thongvar was nearly shouting at the unfortunate priest, but all of the sudden, he was cut off by someone whose voice Ondolemar was certain he'd never heard before.
"What's all this about?" The stranger's voice was clearly female, and their tone held the stately, dignified characteristics of a noble, as well as the commanding and slightly harsh undertones of someone who has participated in their fair share of fights. The Thalmor agent ascertained that, whomever the speaker was, they were clearly someone of some importance - though he didn't know much more than that at present. He picked up his pace, as his curiosity had been piqued about this 'mysterious' visitor, who might or might not be the one who killed the Forsworn agent.
"Why don't you mind your own business, High Elf?" Thongvor sounded even more irate than he'd been before - if that was even possible - , "The business of my kind is no concern of yours, and your kind would do well to remember that."
There was complete, dead silence for a few seconds, when, quite suddenly, the stranger let out an unamused laugh, one practically dripping with derision and condescension as she replied in an even, unbothered tone, "That's where you'd be wrong. My business is helping others, and from how things look to me, you've been trying to make trouble with a priest, which makes this my business. Besides, what would your ancestors think of you hassling this man? I'm guessing they wouldn't think very highly of you for it."
That comment left the pompous Nord spluttering, and, in a voice filled with fury and indignation, he practically spat, "Who are you to even speak of my ancestors? I'll have you know that this filthy dog that calls himself a priest has closed the Hall of the Dead, and because of that he's been keeping me from paying my respects to the deceased members of my family - which I'm sure is more than your kind ever does for yours - and the incompetent fool can't even give me a reason why he's made it off-limits to the public!"
Ondolemar was almost jogging down the last flight of steps leading to the exit of Understone Keep as the conflict between the two heightened; he was almost certain that the stranger and Thongvor were just a few harsh words away from exchanging blows with one another, and, as much as he hated the Silver-Bloods - and as much as he was internally rooting for the newcomer - , it would not do to have some non-entity harm the boorish "nobleman". When the stranger spoke again, her tone was oddly calm, "I'm sure his reasons for not allowing you to go into the crypts are valid, and I'm quite certain they're also none of your business. Really, does heckling a man in service to the Eight because he won't cave to your every whim seem very honorable to you? I suggest you leave the poor man be."
The stranger's voice had dropped to a dangerously low, threatening tone when they delivered their last remark, and, though he was a rather hot-headed and irritable man, for once, Thongvor didn't seem like he was in the mood to start a fight, and in a tone matching the stranger's, he growled, "The Silver-Blood family will be heard. And I'm not going to forget about this."
Ondolemar barely had time to change his gait into a dignified walk before Thongvor stormed out the hallway ahead of him, fuming. The Nord nearly forgot to shoot the Justiciar the usual dirty look as he passed by, which was entirely fine by him. Now he just had the stranger to deal with - despite the fact that he'd enjoyed hearing them cut the Silver-Blood man down to size, he didn't know much more about them, and that was something he planned to remedy. He was about halfway through the stone hallway when a woman clad in Dwarven armor came into his sight, and he called out imperiously, "Halt! State your name and what business you have at Understone Keep."
Upon finally getting a good look at the newcomer, the Justiciar was absolutely certain that this was the woman his aide had informed him about. She was tall - as a matter of fact, Ondolemar noted somewhat begrudgingly she was a few inches taller than he was -, and carried herself confidently and powerfully, and, despite the fact that she was wearing a finely-made grey silk and brown leather dress that would befit a noblewoman, her arms were unusually muscular for an Altmer, and she had a look about her that suggested that she was not merely wealthy by birthright. Her hair was a dark mahogany color, and it was done rather neatly in a partially braided style of some sort, one that looked vaguely Nordic, and her eyes were a piercing brownish-amber color, accented by a stylized black eyeliner or warpaint of some kind. It would be a lie to say that she wasn't decent to look at, but hers was a rather unconventional sort of 'beauty', one most comparable to that of a stereotypical Nordic shieldmaiden. Her expression was neither unfriendly nor open, but she didn't seem particularly impressed by or respectful of his appearance - in fact, she seemed almost amused.
She arched an eyebrow as she spoke, replying to his reasonable question rather insolently, "My name is Alanya, and it appears my current 'business' is speaking with you, at present. And who are you, exactly?"
"You have the honor of addressing a member of the Thalmor. Bask in it," he replied somewhat condescendingly, not appreciating the tone this stranger had taken with him.
Rather than impressing her, or even getting her to shape up, his response seemed to amuse her, as she responded, "I gathered that from the uniform."
Feeling somewhat embarrassed, and more than a little vexed about being flustered in the first place, the Justiciar practically snapped, "Yes, well. You still haven't answered my question about just what you're planning on doing in Understone Keep-"
At that particular moment, he heard the sound of someone in a suit of armor all but running down a flight of steps, their boots clanking noisily with each move they made, and, to his utter mortification, Halturmallin practically came running over to him, clearly out of breath as he let out a rather winded, "Did you need something, sir?"
"Why on Nirn are you even asking me that? What are you doing here?" The Justiciar practically hissed, just barely keeping his temper under control.
"I... Well, you called for me, sir...?"
As the reason Halt had shown up finally hit him, Ondolemar let out a long-suffering sigh and dragged a gloved hand down his face before replying, "No. You are dismissed."
Almost afraid to look at the stranger after that humiliating incident, he did nevertheless, and saw that the Altmer woman was giving him a very perplexed look, though, slightly to his surprise, she responded to his original question with, "If you really must know why I'm here, I received a letter from your court wizard, Calcemo, concerning a Dwemeri artifact I recently came into the possession of. I'm here to see him for that reason. That is all."
Though he wasn't completely sure why, Ondolemar felt as if the woman, Alanya, hadn't told him the entire reason that she was there, but, as it was, he doubted he'd get any further answer from her after their rather unusual and somewhat humiliating 'introduction', so he replied with, "Very well. See to it that you don't "wander off" anywhere else."
The Altmer woman merely shot him an annoyed look before walking away, headed right in the direction of Nchuand-Zel Excavation Site. He found himself watching her leave, still feeling slightly uneasy, despite the fact that she hadn't seemed like she'd lied to him. He had no doubt she was likely the one who had killed the Forsworn agent down in the marketplace, and he couldn't help but feel like someone with her attitude was going to eventually end up getting themselves involved in the messy politics of The Reach, and perhaps even end up on the wrong side of it.
He was going to have to keep an eye on her.