Here we are at chapter 18. Thank you to Alazais Henderson for reviewing last time; I really appreciate it, and you are awesome for doing so! I got to write some things in this chapter that I've had rolling around in my head for almost a year now, so I hope that you have as much fun reading it as I had while writing it. Granted, this gets a bit dark in places, so "fun" may not be the best word for it, but I do hope that you get some form of enjoyment out of it. As always, any and all feedback you may have for me is more than welcome!

Ondolemar's room was remarkably lavish, by Skyrim standards. He'd managed to secure a large, ornate desk, no doubt made from some sort of impossibly rare, expensive variety of wood, as well as a four-poster bed with a small mountain of pillows, clean blankets, and what looked like a proper mattress for himself, while living in a province full of people who hated his kind on principle. If he hadn't known better, Marcel would have taken the Altmer for the ultimate example of self-important Thalmor excess. His dedication to maintaining the illusion of being a perfect little Thalmor puppet was impressive, to say the least. Ondolemar's talents were wasted as a Justiciar; if his superiors had any sense, they'd have employed him as a spy.

Tempted as he was to have a look at the paperwork covering the Altmer's desk, Marcel decided against it. Making any use of the information he found there would establish a link between him and Ondolemar, and lead to quite a messy situation for them both. Instead, the Dunmer kicked off his boots and made himself comfortable on the bed, nestling himself amongst its pillows. If he needed to wait until Ondolemar returned to his room for the night to talk with him, he didn't see any reason why he shouldn't make himself at home in the meantime. It would probably make for a better reaction when the Altmer noticed him, anyway.

When Ondolemar arrived, he did not disappoint. "By the Eight, what are you doing here?" he wheezed, leaning against the door as he clutched at his chest. Marcel could see his chest heaving from across the room.

"Just admiring this lovely bed of yours. I haven't found one so soft since leaving Cyrodiil. Someone's fancy…"

Ondolemar sighed, straightening his posture as he pinched the bridge of his nose as though trying to fend off a headache. "If you are quite finished with being an overly smug ass, would you like to tell me why you are actually here? Preferably before one of my guards notices your presence."

"They aren't likely to check in on you unless you keep making a fuss. Just calm down; if I'd come here with the intent to harm you, you'd be lying in a pool of your own blood by now," Marcel replied, making himself more comfortable in his pillow nest. "And I'm often told that my ass is among my best features. Why shouldn't I play it up?"

"You are… nothing like your file's description of you."

"I thought we established that the last time we talked. Really, what's the point in keeping a file on one of your fugitives if you're going to be honest about him? You'd risk making him dangerously sympathetic, and you can't have that, can you? I thought you superiorly bred mer were supposed to be smarter than that."

"Fair enough. Would I be correct in assuming you came here for a reason, or was interfering in my work reason enough for you?"

"Of course I want something. I just thought I'd have a little fun with you first. But first, I'm curious: what is it that made you turn on your own people? Contacts like you don't come along every day."

"You're sincerely doubting me after my assistance at the Thalmor Embassy? I seem to recall the Nords having a saying about not looking gift horses in their mouths…"

"It's just curiosity. You're free not to answer."

Ondolemar sighed. "And if I choose not to answer, will you leave me in peace?"

"No. I'll just start guessing. Right now. You're having a long-distance affair with Ulfric Stormcloak, aren't you?"

"No. It wasn't anything… quite so dramatic as that." Ondolemar crossed the room, and seated himself at his desk. "Do you really want to know?"

"I'm asking, aren't I?"

"Judging by some of the more… colorful exploits in your file, I'm certain you know enough of the Great War, and the atrocities committed therein, that you require no explanation of it, or its lingering effects on those… lucky," the Altmer grimaced at the word, "enough to survive it. When I enlisted in the Aldmeri Dominion's army, I was young. Still a child, really, who knew nothing of the world beyond his homeland. Why shouldn't I have believed the stories of humans being little better than savage beasts, foolishly worshipping a false god, that the world needed to be purged of? The word, 'genocide', was foreign to my vocabulary."

"If all you got to see of them was the opposite side of the war, I'm surprised your opinion changed," Marcel replied, fighting back a grimace of his own. "We weren't exactly the picture of goodness and nobility, either. I know I wasn't."

"Is this in reference to you flaying half the skin off my commanding officer in the night?"

"Shit, that was your unit? Nasty business, that. I'm sorry you had to see it." The Dunmer shuddered. This was not a conversation he wanted to be having while sober. "Why do you think I stopped halfway through? Ended up puking my guts out behind a bush afterwards, actually. I'm surprised the noise didn't wake anyone. …He was dead before I started, if that's any comfort."

"That is good to know. And I suppose I'm hardly one to complain; his death is what enabled me to rise to my present rank." The corners of Ondolemar's mouth curled into a rueful smile. "Considering his… unique method of execution for our Legion prisoners, I can't say his fate was unearned.

"Assassinated commanding officers aside, as I saw more of the Legion, they grew to seem less like monstrous creatures, and more like the frightened, desperate mer I found myself commanding. I witnessed more than a few corpses clutching at blood-stained sketches of wives, children, husbands… In time, I began to doubt whether they were truly so irredeemable… whether they truly deserved extermination. After I had to execute one of my own soldiers after she was branded a traitor, and could offer no rebuttal to the accusations she made against our cause, her lifeless corpse was all the evidence I needed that I'd chosen the wrong side.

"When the Great War ended, I chose to remain as a Justiciar of the Dominion, to covertly hinder their operations where I could. I couldn't bring myself to live out a peaceful existence in my homeland, facing the adoration of my people every day, knowing what I knew of the outside world. After the Markarth incident, I was offered an assignment here to root out Talos worship, which I accepted. Twenty-four years later, here I remain. Is your curiosity satisfied, now?" Ondolemar sighed, gazing at the surface of its desk as though the grain of its wood contained the secrets of the universe. His features showed a mixture of confused inner turmoil that Marcel could have sworn he'd seen somewhere before. During his first visit to Windhelm, when he and Edwin had parted ways at the city gates. If Ondolemar had a bit more hair, and shaved off his beard, he'd have almost looked like an Altmer version of… Well, there was an interesting thought.

"Just how close a friend were you to Edwin's mother?" Marcel asked.

Ondolemar stiffened, and he snapped his gaze back to the Dunmer. "I fail to see what relevance that has to our present topic of conversation. Or in what way our relationship is any of your business."

"So it is a relationship…"

"I… Yes, it is. Was, most likely, given the Forsworn's usual treatment of their captives, but this is hardly the time or place for such things. We met shortly after I arrived here, and she happened to discover my… lack of commitment to my duties. She was married – not happily, and her husband was rarely home, but still married – and anything beyond a casual acquaintanceship between us put us both at horrible risk, but we let things go farther than we should have nonetheless. A few years later, she became pregnant, and you seem to be aware of the rest. I suppose I should have broken off all contact with her after our son was born, to protect them both, but… love clouds one's judgment, it seems."

"Does Edwin know?"

"Not until recently… after his mother vanished during a Forsworn raid on the city. We felt it was best if, until he reached an age where he could understand the complexities of the situation, he simply believed that his mother's husband was his father; children aren't known for their discretion. Though I can't help but wonder if we chose incorrectly…"

"I wouldn't worry about it. What's done is done, and he seems to have come out all right, in the end. A bit too insistent on being a 'proper Nord', maybe, but there are worse things to be."

"His being half-Altmer won't be a problem for you?" Ondolemar asked, his brow furrowed in suspicion.

"Of course not. Why would it?" Marcel wondered if he should have actually read through his dossier before handing it off to Delphine. He wasn't naïve enough to think it said anything even remotely related to the truth, but if Ondolemar sincerely thought there was a risk of him turning on someone because of a little Altmer blood, he was faced with the troubling thought that the stories about him had gotten out of hand. A bit of healthy fear among the Thalmor's members was all good and well, but he liked to think that even propagandists had standards. "Even if you were loyal to the Thalmor, allegiances aren't genetic."

"Perhaps I misjudged you… I trust that you will not share this information with anyone. You, of all people, should well know the consequences if this reaches the wrong ears."

"Wouldn't dream of it. I don't think 'the wrong ears' would believe me, anyway."

"Good. Well, now that you've pried into all of my personal affairs worth prying into, what was your primary reason for coming here? I would like to reclaim my bed at some point tonight."

"Right. Edwin picked up a couple former Blades, and we're trying to reclaim some ancient temple from a group of Forsworn. I think it's called the Karthspire? There should be something about how we can stop this dragon mess in there, apparently. Do you know anything about them?"

"Where, in the name of the Eight Divines, did Edwin manage to find Blades, of all things?" Ondolemar asked, burying his head in his hands. "Wait. Don't answer, I don't want to know. I probably shouldn't know."

"So the Thalmor don't know we have Esbern yet. Great. Now, what do you know about the Karthspire?"

"That it's a Forsworn encampment that's been troubling the Reach for quite some time? They've taken possession of a cave, as well as their external camp; if you're looking for a temple, that seems as though it would be as good a place as any to begin your search." Ondolemar rummaged through a desk drawer for a moment, then handed the Dunmer a rolled-up piece of parchment. "The Jarl sent in a scout a month or so ago. He managed to sketch a crude map of the camp's layout. I can't say that I'd trust it overly far, but it's the best I can offer you."

"Thank you," Marcel replied, tucking the map safely away. He rolled off the bed, feeling a sense of satisfaction when he saw the rumpled blankets and indentation he'd left in the Altmer's pillows. "That's all I needed to know. Unless you feel inclined to stop me, I'll be taking my leave of you, now."

"Wait a moment. I have a request."

Marcel stopped, halfway out the door. "I'll keep Edwin safe, don't worry. …He asked me to tell you he said 'hello,' by the way."

"Did he? That's… more than I could have hoped for. Thank you. I'll trust you to keep your word on ensuring his safety. He's all I have left in this world; even the thought of losing him is difficult to bear."

"All right, then. I really do need to go, now. I'm assuming your guards won't keep away from you forever, and I'd prefer not to have to make a mess of them, if it's all the same to you. If I go back to Edwin and the others covered in blood, someone's going to get the wrong idea about what happened here."

And with that, Marcel took his final step out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He slipped out of Understone Keep without being seen by anyone but the guards at its door, and made his way back to Edwin's house. Ondolemar's map proved to be quite useful in planning their attack on the Karthspire Forsworn camp, and they ultimately decided to leave Markarth the next afternoon, in hopes of reaching the encampment just before nightfall. Their plans encountered another complication, however, when they realized that their party exceeded the number of beds in the house.

"Don't worry about it, Ed," Cosnach said. "I've still got my room in the Warrens. I wanted to check on some things before leavin' again, anyway."

"You're sure?" Edwin asked. "I'm sure we could figure something out, if you'd rather stay here."

"I'm sure," the Breton replied, glaring in Delphine's general direction. "I'll be more comfortable there. My hay pile sounds nicer than a bedroll on a stone floor." His expression softened as he turned to Marcel. "You're welcome to join me, if ya want."

"Only if Edwin's all right with being on his own with Delphine and Esbern," Marcel said. "I can stay if you want company, Ed. Delphine and I will only strangle each other a little, I promise."

Edwin rolled his eyes. "Just go. I can handle things fine on my own."

Marcel fought back a sigh of relief as he left the house with Cosnach. After his talk with Ondolemar, the opportunity to spend the night with someone so warm, in personality and temperature, was more than welcome. After unearthing memories he'd spent the past twenty-odd years trying to suppress, the prospect of sleeping alone was a daunting one. If he'd have managed to sleep at all.