Your Truth Cannot Stand
A Skyrim Fanfiction
Chapter 14: Second Chances
Table of Contents:
Chapter 1: Descent into Darkness
Chapter 2: Strange, Meet Stranger
Chapter 3: Enchanted
Chapter 4: A Dragon, a Daedra and a Justiciar Walk Into a House…
Chapter 5: Oh No, She’s Relatable
Chapter 6: I Need to Speak to the Thalmor’s Manager
Chapter 7: All I Should Have Been
Chapter 8: Paralysis Analysis
Chapter 9: It’s the End of the World as We Know it
Chapter 10: Gods and Pawns
Chapter 11: I Was Like You, Once
Chapter 12: Solace from the Sky
Chapter 13: Awakening
Chapter 14: Second Chances (you are here)
Chapter 1: Descent into Darkness
Chapter 2: Strange, Meet Stranger
Chapter 3: Enchanted
Chapter 4: A Dragon, a Daedra and a Justiciar Walk Into a House…
Chapter 5: Oh No, She’s Relatable
Chapter 6: I Need to Speak to the Thalmor’s Manager
Chapter 7: All I Should Have Been
Chapter 8: Paralysis Analysis
Chapter 9: It’s the End of the World as We Know it
Chapter 10: Gods and Pawns
Chapter 11: I Was Like You, Once
Chapter 12: Solace from the Sky
Chapter 13: Awakening
Chapter 14: Second Chances (you are here)
Ondolemar’s breath froze in his tightening throat. The rubble that used to be some kind of stone structure was blocking his view of the newcomer, and hopefully concealing him from them, but they couldn’t have missed the Khajiit and Dunmer who had just lunged to their feet.
Is it the Thalmor? Have they found us already?
An icy rock settled in his chest, constricting his thundering heart. Kierska isn’t wearing her armor. They’ve caught her off guard, and now she’s going to die because of me.
A moment after the thought sliced through his mind, his companions’ stances relaxed. Ondolemar’s fear faded, only to twist through his stomach anew as Erandur’s hand left his mace, the movement drawing the injured Mer’s gaze back to the weapon.
He wrenched his eyes away from it with a sharp gasp, then forced himself to keep his next few breaths slow and even, wondering if the priest had noticed his show of irrational fear. It’s all right, he reminded himself sternly. He isn’t going to hurt me. I’m safe.
A corner of his mind believed him. His pounding heart, spinning head, and darkening vision did not.
“So,” Lydia’s familiar voice asked casually as she walked partly into view, shifting the sack on her shoulder, “is he awake?”
“Yeah,” Kierska replied, “he just woke up.”
“Hm. Time to resume basking, huh?” she asked, pulling off her helmet with a wry, grim smirk.
Erandur looked confused, the corner of Kierska’s mouth pulled down, and after a long two seconds of trying to figure out what the Nord was talking about, Ondolemar flinched. I must have sounded like an arrogant fool. Expecting them to bask in the presence of one of their abusers.
I wonder how Lydia felt about Kierska warming up to me. I hope it didn’t cause any trouble between them.
“The only thing I’m basking in right now,” Kierska replied, her patient voice tensed slightly by annoyance, “is the fact that Ondolemar didn’t end up like Estenia.”
He’d never seen Lydia flinch like that. She’d always seemed so unflappable, and he wondered what horrors had befallen Estenia to provoke such a strong reaction.
“I’m sorry, my Thane,” the Nord said softly, a small crack of remorse running through her voice, and Kierska softened.
“It’s okay. I know this has been frustrating for you, and you aren’t as used to dealing calmly with people’s ‘I’m better than you’ attitudes as Khajiit have to be. And you’ve never known Thalmor before they were Thalmor, so you’d never seen who they are beneath your enemies’ uniforms.”
“Estenia? Was she… Thalmor?” Ondolemar whispered, and Kierska’s eyes flicked back to his.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “But before she was Thalmor, she was my friend, back when I was a kitten and she was in her late teens.” Her eyes fell. “She cared about everyone, and always had something nice to say, no matter who she was talking to.
“She even gave me my first smithing lessons, and we gave each other matching hair brooches that we made ourselves. But she was good at magic for her age, and that got the Thalmor’s attention, and…”
Her jaw tightened. “I don’t know what they did to her. I don’t know what they said, but… when she visited me during a break in her training, it was like she was a whole different person. She didn’t want to be friends anymore, and she thought I was beneath her.”
Beneath her. A member of a lesser race. The concepts were so familiar, it was all Ondolemar could do not to flinch.
“I tried to get her back,” Kierska’s muted voice continued. “I asked her what they’d told her, and I tried to reason with her, but… I didn’t have the knowledge, the skills, or the credibility to help her see through the propaganda.
“She said some things I couldn’t counter, and asked questions I couldn’t answer, and when I did the same to her, she just told me not to question the Thalmor and walked away. I got so mad that I told my parents to sell the brooch she gave me. They told me I’d wish I hadn’t, and… they were right, but by the time I started to regret it, it was too late.”
“We cannot indulge those who question or oppose us. They must be crushed.” Carnaril’s words rang in his mind, and sick heat churned in Ondolemar’s chest. I truly was working for tyrants.
“Have faith, my daughter.” Erandur’s voice broke the silence, and all eyes turned to him. “It may be too late for that hair brooch, but… if it wasn’t too late for our friend here, it may not be too late for Estenia.”
Ondolemar’s eyes darted to Kierska’s, and the moment her gaze fell to the floor, he knew Erandur was wrong. “What happened?” he asked, and his friend’s eyes squeezed shut.
“I met her,” she whispered, as if that was the loudest tone she could force through a closing throat. “During the Great War.”
Oh, no.
“She was going to burn down a farm, so the Imperial soldiers couldn’t use it for supplies. She was going to start with the house, and the people sleeping inside, so they couldn’t put up a fight.”
Her clenching hands began to tremble. “I wasn’t supposed to fight. I was too young, so I was just a scout with a dagger for emergencies, but when I couldn’t talk her down…”
Ondolemar’s stomach turned over. He could already hear her next words, could already see the horrible memories as if they were his own.
“She turned her back to me, and… once my dagger was in her throat, I grabbed her wrists with my claws so she couldn’t pull it out and heal, so she just… fell over backwards, staring at me like she couldn’t believe I just did that.
Her tightening throat squeezed her voice into a high, cracked whisper. “And I had to keep holding her, keeping her from saving herself until she died, when I wanted so badly for her to live, to have another chance…”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Lydia reminded her gently. “You did what you had to, and it sounds like she betrayed you first.”
“I know. But when I started taking her armor off so we could bring it to the Legion, my brooch was still in her hair…”
Her shaking voice strangled itself, and Erandur’s hand pressed over his mouth before rushing to her shoulder. Ondolemar tried to swallow the flaming rock that had lodged in his throat, and as the first drop of water slipped from Kierska’s eye, his own eyes started to burn.
We did this. The people I worked for, the people I believed, the people I tortured and killed for… WE did this to her. And to countless other children like her.
And now I’m too weak to get up, and I can’t even hold her while she cries.
At least Erandur and Lydia were doing what he could not. The housecarl crossed the distance in seconds, knelt next to her Thane, set down the bulging sack, and wrapped her ebony-clad arms around her, while the priest continued to reach across the frustrated Altmer to gently squeeze her shaking shoulder.
I’m glad she has them, but… this should be my atonement. I should be doing something to ease her pain, not watching helplessly while she continues to suffer at the hands of the people I once served.
“I don’t know what they did to her,” Kierska finally managed to whimper. “But… to turn someone like her into a person who burns families in their beds, it must have been so horrible… I can’t believe she’d have accepted beliefs like that if her teachers didn’t somehow force her to listen long enough to start believing them.”
Pictures burned in Ondolemar’s mind. The lessons his teachers had recited. The questions he’d been afraid to voice, and the twists of discomfort he’d pushed from his gut.
The humiliation, threats, and punishments that were inflicted on trainees who questioned their teachers’ claims, always painting the questioner as a traitor or fool.
The horrors he’d been forced to watch and justify. The acts of cruelty he and his classmates had been ordered to perform, and the guilt they were never allowed to feel.
The lies they’d been told, over and over, until they believed they were true.
“And I couldn’t get her to stop believing,” Kierska continued. “I couldn’t out-argue her teachers – I could barely even get her to listen in the first place. I felt so helpless, and I didn’t want it to happen again, but… no matter how much I learned or how persuasive I got, most Thalmor I met were just hopeless. They couldn’t back up their claims with evidence, but they still wouldn’t listen to mine.”
Her eyes fell to Ondolemar. “When I found out you were willing to listen, and that you cared about the truth, I realized you were different, and I thought… maybe I could finally find out why my friend changed the way she did.
“I could see if there was any basis to the Thalmor’s claims, and if there wasn’t… well…” She gave a weak, broken smile, like the sun’s pale reflection on a pool of tears. “Maybe I could stop you from ending up like her.”
“I see.” Ondolemar’s throat felt swollen with restrained tears, and his voice was still hoarse, but he had to get the words out. “I’m sorry. For Estenia… and the war… and the hunt for Talos worshipers…”
His face tightened. “For everything. You were right… about the Thalmor. I wish I’d known… decades ago. Thank you… for helping me… to know now.”
“You’re welcome,” Kierska said softly, setting a hand on his shoulder as her warm, water-lit eyes stared into his. Then her gaze rose to her housecarl, and she added, “And Lydia… thank you for being patient with me through all this. I know you had your doubts, and I know the Thalmor have hurt your people a lot.
“But I come from a place where a lot of people believe the Thalmor, and I needed to know if their claims were true. And if they weren’t, then… I needed to know if a person who believed them could break free.”
The Nord gave a soft nod. “I understand. I’ll honor your wishes, my Thane.” A small smile graced her lips. “And next time you get in a debate with a Thalmor, I’ll know who’s going to switch sides. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
So their friendship had made her question Kierska’s loyalty. It seemed that everything he touched was harmed. Never again, he promised himself.
Kierska gave her housecarl a warm smile and an acknowledging nod, and Lydia’s tone lightened as she turned to address Ondolemar. “Anyway, now that we’re all on the same side, we’d better get some food in you. I’ve brought some supplies; where should I put them?”
“Right over here, my daughter,” Erandur replied, leading Lydia to the pew where Kierska had been sleeping.
While her friends were fishing supplies from the sack, the Dragonborn returned her attention to Ondolemar. “I’m going to prop you up a bit higher so you can eat and drink more easily. All right?”
Ondolemar nodded and closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of her hand cradling his head, then cringing as she slid her forearm under his back and levered him into a sitting position.
“Sorry,” Kierska muttered. “I healed you as much as I could, but with your body’s resources so depleted…”
“I know,” he managed, grunting the words between gritted teeth as his still-cracked ribs screamed. “Not your… fault…”
She settled him into a reclining sit, and for a few long moments, he kept his eyes closed, focusing on his breathing and trying to get enough air into his lungs without making the pain in his chest unbearable.
Then a soft shuffling beside him drew his glance to Erandur, and the open jar in the Dunmer’s hand seized his gaze, sending a silent cry of longing through his still-dehydrated body. The warm scents of honey and chamomile wafted from the vessel, and the priest set it gently to Ondolemar’s lips.
Lydia’s trek through the cold had left the tea slightly cooler than he normally drank it, but it was a soothing balm on his aching throat, and its warmth spread through him like the light of Auri-El.
While he drank, the housecarl cracked some eggs into a bowl. When the jar was half empty, Erandur set it down, Lydia handed him the bowl, and a small, gentle flame rose in his hand, heating the vessel in his palm while the Nord sprinkled some salt into it.
An orange glow of telekinesis magic flared in Kierska’s free hand, stirring the eggs as they cooked, and Erandur smiled.
She really did make a point of learning all the spells, Ondolemar reflected, admiration and amusement swirling together like the yolks and whites in the bowl.
The eggs finished cooking, and Erandur shifted toward him once again. Ondolemar tensed, bracing himself for the sound of the Dunmer’s mace scraping against the floor, but there was only the rustle of fabric.
The missing sound tugged at his mind, and his eyes darted briefly downward, searching for the mace.
It was gone.
Lydia handed Erandur a spoon, and as the priest carefully scooped eggs into the injured Altmer’s mouth, Ondolemar’s thoughts swirled around the absence of his caretaker’s weapon. He must have seen the way I flinched. When did he?… right, it must have been when he was leading Lydia to the pew.
I wonder if that was why he led her there instead of just pointing to it. He was using the opportunity to hide the mace.
It was all so much to take in. In an impossible reversal, he’d gone from being dragged around like a broken doll, with no regard for the agony each jolt caused, to being cradled and supported as if each cracked bone was precious. From being denied food and water, to a meal that had no doubt been chosen for its gentleness on a long-empty stomach.
From being beaten without mercy and condemned to a painful, lonely death, to being protected by people who put away their weapons just so he would not be afraid.
The contrast was overwhelming, like stepping into the sunlight after a month in the dark, and he had to force himself to eat fast enough to get the eggs down before his throat could close.
I’m not going to cry. I’m a Thalmor- no, I’m not Thalmor anymore, but I’m still an Altmer battlemage, and I still have my pride. I’m not going to cry. I’m not crying… I just need to focus. If I distract myself, I can push back the tears before they fall… or at least, before any more of them fall… damn it…
His body wasn’t listening. Tears slid from his blurring eyes, and his throat was so tight that it took everything he had just to swallow his last bite of food.
Erandur set the bowl down, and Kierska kept a supportive hand on Ondolemar’s back as she moved from his side to his front, her kneeling legs straddling his as she pulled him into a hug.
A deep, shuddering breath wrenched its way through his chest, and at last, Ondolemar found the strength to return the gesture. With careful, tentative movements, he worked his arms out of the bedroll, while Erandur held the furs in place so they wouldn’t cling to him as he squirmed free.
Then he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder while the back of his aching head found refuge in her palm.
How long has it been since I’ve felt something like this? Maybe when I gave her that spell tome, but even then… there was still that hesitation, that gap between us. She had to keep some physical distance to avoid stabbing me with her armor, but until I had this to compare it to, I didn’t realize how much she was holding back.
For all our growing friendship, we were keeping each other at arms’ length, as our differing loyalties demanded.
As the chance of someday finding ourselves on opposite sides of a battlefield demanded.
His unbroken hand tightened on the back of her dress, and even as his ribs screamed in protest at each movement, he smiled through his tears.
Not anymore. I’ll never have to worry about the Thalmor commanding me to harm a friend or an innocent person again.
I’m free.
He was free. He was safe. Kierska’s armor and his Thalmor robes, their differing loyalties and priorities… everything that once stood between them was gone.
A friendship with someone who wasn’t a member of the Thalmor, and a show of unreserved kindness, affection and support… for the first time since he was a child, he could receive and embrace them fully.
A sob jolted through his chest, clenching his hand and tightening his face, and Erandur’s warm, weathered palm settled softly on his shoulder.
That did it. The sobs refused to be denied, and soon his whole body was shaking with them. Pain knifed through his ribs, then a flood of Restoration magic filled his chest, finishing the process of healing the bones and soothing the pain away.
The kindness and relief just made him cry harder, days of overwhelming, conflicting emotions shattering their cages and crashing together in a wildly swirling flood. Kierska held him tighter, riding the storm along with him, and the hand on his head began to move in gentle, soothing strokes.
The rough leather of her hand-pad caught on his skin, and for a moment, he feared that the comforting movement would stop. Then she rotated her wrist, and instead used the soft, worn fur on the side of her thumb.
Such gentle, attentive compassion. He hadn’t realized how much his life in the Thalmor had left him starved of it.
He didn’t know how long they stayed that way: him sobbing, Kierska hugging him in a way that made him think she would hold him as long as he needed her to, and Erandur rubbing his shoulder soothingly.
At last the sobs began to slow, and he let his exhausted, aching arms sink to the ground, repeated whispers of “Thank you” falling from his mouth as Erandur wiped the last of his tears away with his sleeve.
“You’re most welcome, my son,” the priest answered, picking up the tea jar as he spoke and using a slow burst of fire to warm it back up to drinking temperature. Kierska shifted back to Ondolemar’s side to make room for Erandur, and their patient gratefully drank the remaining tea.
“I’m sorry.” Kierska’s words were sudden but soft, and it took Ondolemar a moment to process the fact that his rescuer was apologizing for something. “I wish I’d found you earlier, before you were hurt this bad. The courier had a hard time finding me at first, because I was literally in Sovngarde.”
“The Nords’ afterlife?” He stared at her, memories slowly trickling to the surface, then forced a small, broken smile. “I knew your recklessness was a danger to your life,” he teased, “but surely you didn’t manage to die that quickly.”
His comment drew a small snort of amusement from Lydia, and a grin from Kierska. “No, I’m still alive, despite the best efforts of a ridiculous number of dragon-serving draugr and a few minor dragons.”
“Minor dragons.” Those words did not belong together.
“Yeah, you know, the green and brown ones that aren’t as strong as…” Her brow suddenly furled. “Wait… didn’t you get my letter?”
“The one telling me about your mission in Sovngarde and warning me to leave Markarth? Yes – it most likely saved my life.” Curiosity and bitterness swirled together, and he gave her a questioning look. “Did you suspect that Elenwen might not warn me that the Stormcloaks were coming?”
“The thought crossed my mind, but only after we’d parted ways. I wasn’t sure how the Thalmor felt about our meetings, so I decided I’d rather be safe than sorry. I take it my suspicions were right?”
“They were.” His eyes fell. “I appreciate your foresight – your letter was the only warning I had before the city was taken.” A small, bitter smile tried to grow into a laugh, but failed. “I suspect it would have been convenient for Elenwen, had I been slain by Ulfric’s men.”
“Seeing as she tried to kill you almost as soon as I was off of Nirn and out of her way, I guess so. I’m sorry. That must have been a hard thing to find out, and… it’s probably my fault.”
His eyes returned to Kierska’s. “Hardly. While you did plant some questions in my mind, it was I who decided to pursue them. And you were correct – the Thalmor don’t like those who ask questions, because the truth is both unflattering and inconvenient for them.”
“If anything, you’ve done me a service. The Thalmor did not deserve my loyalty, and thanks to you, I discovered that before I could spend the rest of my life causing harm on their behalf.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and behind her, in the corner of his vision, he saw Lydia’s do the same. You didn’t expect that, did you?
Turning his gaze more fully to Kierska, he added, “So, your hunt for Alduin – I assume it was successful?”
Her face shone in a fanged grin, the very picture of a triumphant predator. “Yup. His days of flying away from me are done. I finally managed to ground him with my Voice, and then I stabbed him in the face ‘til he died.”
Her triumph faded, dimmed by a sudden flow of uncertainty. “Or at least, he’s as dead as I can make him. He didn’t die like other dragons; normally their skeletons stay on the ground, and I absorb their souls. But Alduin’s body disintegrated completely, and his soul escaped into the sky.”
And just like that, her expression soured into a bitter, exasperated sulk. “I guess you could say he died the way he lived. Flying away from me.”
Alduin escaping wasn’t funny, but the way she talked about it was, and Ondolemar surprised himself with a burst of weak but genuine laughter.
Kierska tried to maintain her show of sullenness, but his mirth pulled a rueful smile through her sulk, and the air that rushed from her nose quivered with the rhythm of a silent chuckle as a glimmer of mischief gleamed through her smirk.
A moment of companionable silence followed, then Erandur voiced the question that Ondolemar’s laughter had delayed him from asking. “So Alduin might return, then?”
“He probably will. At least, that’s what the Greybeards think. I guess Alduin is an essential part of the world’s life cycle; he’s the one who ends it so it can be reborn. So he’ll probably come back someday, when it’s time for the next world to start, but at least I bought us some time.”
Time to live. Time to atone. Time to become the person he’d always thought he was… or someone better. “I see,” he said quietly. “And… while you were in Sovngarde…” I’m going to hate the answer to this. Or hate myself for it. But I have to ask. “Did you meet any fallen Nords?”
“Yeah, quiet a few. Why?”
“I see. And… did any of them… worship Talos?”
“Seriously?” Lydia muttered, while Kierska cocked her head.
“Huh? Why do… oh.” Realization dawned across her face like a memory of past conversations, and she nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Some of them did.”
“I see.” He felt like a rock was growing in his chest, crushing everything in its path. “So the Thalmor lied about that, too. Talos worship doesn’t change where people go when they die.”
“I guess not,” Kierska replied quietly.
Ondolemar’s eyes squeezed shut, and his head bowed beneath the weight of his failures. I didn’t get all the facts. I didn’t get proof. And I tortured and killed people because I believed a lie.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice shaking on the verge of a second wave of sobs. “I’m so, so sorry.”
His stare rose to meet Lydia’s, blurring with tears. “My Thalmor trainers said Talos worship diverted people from their intended afterlives…” His gaze fell again. “I should never have believed them. I should never have followed their orders. I’m so sorry, I…”
His tightening throat strangled his voice, and all he could do was sob in silence, his face fixed in an agonized cringe.
Kierska’s arm remained on his back, her thumb tracing slow, gentle circles on his head, while Erandur held his shoulder with one hand and his unbroken hand with the other.
For a moment, the two of them sat beside him, offering their silent comfort. Then a third palm settled on his shoulder, hard and metallic, but gentle. Ondolemar’s eyes snapped wide as he stared at the Daedric glove, then they rose to his newest comforter’s face. “L-Lydia?”
Sure enough, there she was, her hand extended in an unprompted act of mercy. Her sturdy Nordic face was softened by a wry, reluctant, yet reassuring smile: still holding him at arms’ length, but finally starting to bridge that gap.
Does this mean I can be forgiven, even by the people I hurt the most? The thought sent his mind back to his cellmate: the Nord who had hated him so much, and yet rebuked the Thalmor when they chose to protect their lies with his death.
Alarm burst through his shame, and his stare snapped back to Kierska. “The Nord in my cell,” he blurted out, so abruptly that she jumped slightly and Erandur’s hand jerked away from his shoulder. “Did you get him out?”
“What? Your cell?” Kierska’s eyes went wide, and her left ear flicked a few times as her mental gears sped up. “Oh, you mean the guy in the Embassy’s basement? Yeah, he’s out.
“I smelled a stressed, angry Nord on you while I was saving you, so I figured you must have been near one for a while. So I went to the basement, and found Elenwen and some other guy interrogating him.”
Ondolemar’s eyes squeezed shut. He could imagine all too easily what they must have been doing to him. “What happened then?” he asked hoarsely.
“I stabbed them.”
A mute second passed, then she apparently realized that her answer required more details. “Elenwen and the interrogator, I mean. And then I freed the prisoner, and we escaped through a trap door and into a cave. I had Lydia waiting there, in case I had vulnerable people to escort.
“By then, the guards in the courtyard were up and searching for us, and a few of them found us.” Her eyes fell. “They weren’t as willing to listen to reason as you. They insisted on fighting, and Lydia and I each had to kill a couple of them.”
The Nord bar- NO!- Lydia defeated Thalmor agents? There was a time when I would have been surprised, but… just one more assumption of superiority to outgrow, I suppose.
“Once we were well clear of the place,” Kierska continued, “and we were sure we weren’t being followed, the man we freed ran off to join the Stormcloaks, and Lydia and I came here.”
“I see,” Ondolemar murmured. “I am glad to hear he survived his ordeal.” His attention shifted to Lydia. “And it sounds like you have more prowess in combat than I’d initially given you credit for.”
“Thanks… I think.”
“It was intended as a compliment. I hadn’t expected a Nord ba-” NO, ONDOLEMAR! Find a ‘ba’ word besides barbarian! “…battlemaiden to defeat a Thalmor agent, let alone two.”
From the way Lydia narrowed her eyes, almost glaring at him, he suspected she knew what he’d almost called her. Or she was insulted by his underestimation of Nords. Or both.
No wonder Elenwen didn’t tell me anything she didn’t want me blurting out. I can barely avoid saying things even when I’m supposed to know better than to think them! “Apologies,” he murmured, lowering his gaze. “It seems I still have much to unlearn from my time among the Thalmor.”
There was so much to apologize for. So many years of service to the wrong, people, people who…
A horrible memory dawned on him, and his eyes squeezed shut again. I don’t want to talk about this. Even thinking about it hurts right now.
But I have to. I owe it to her. She risked her life to save mine – I can’t be a coward about this. “Kierska?”
“Yes?”
“I need to apologize to you, too. While one could say all is justified in war, you are right: the Thalmor should never have started that war. While I maintain the belief that the Empire is corrupt, the Thalmor don’t deserve to rule Tamriel either, and your family was right to fight them.
“While I was not among the individuals responsible for their deaths, I still worked with and for them. You will probably never get an apology from them, but… I hope you will accept one from me.”
Surprise shone in her soft gold eyes, like a fire springing to life in a hearth. Her fingers tightened slightly on his back, and as a small, unsteady smile touched her face, he wondered if the light in her eyes might be the first gleam of tears.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, whispering as if her throat had gone too tight to speak any louder. “I never thought I’d hear that from anyone even remotely involved. I… I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. It… is the least I can do. Especially after everything you’ve done for me.” His fingers tightened on his bedroll. “You took a terrible risk to save my life. I will never forget it, but… the Thalmor won’t either, and I hope they never get a chance to make you pay for it.”
His eyes fell briefly, then roamed around the group, meeting each of his rescuers’ eyes in turn as he spoke. “After everything you’ve suffered at the hands of the Thalmor, I can’t help but wonder why you still felt it was worth it.”
Kierska’s eyes softened, and her hand on his back gave a gentle squeeze. “I don’t like it when totalitarian governments kill dissidents. And I do like you. The Thalmor being vengeful jackasses isn’t going to stop me from fighting for my principles… or my friends.”
A small grin gleamed across her face, like the break of dawn coloring the world. “I’m glad I can just say that now, and completely mean it, without having to worry about conflicting loyalties making a liar out of me.”
“As am I.” Ondolemar’s eyes managed a small smile as they stared into Kierska’s, then strayed to Lydia and Erandur. I want to know why they did it, but I doubt it’s anything nearly as warm.
Sure enough, Lydia shrugged. “For me, it was because my Thane wanted me to, and… at the time, out of all the Thalmor we’d met, you were the one I hated the least.”
Probably because I was the only one who hadn’t tried to murder them, or have them killed. What a pitifully low bar for a supposedly superior Mer to clear.
His eyes fell to his knees. “I suppose that’s the most I could hope for, after all the mistakes I’ve made. I just hope saving me doesn’t turn out to be your last mistake.”
The Nord’s sturdy shoulder rose in an unworried shrug. “If they decide to punish us by sending yet another batch of assassins…” A small, predatory smirk darkened her face. “They’ll find out how much more I hate those.”
Yet another. They’ve been attacked by Thalmor assassins before. Yet they helped me all the same.
“Not to worry, my son,” Erandur’s soft, deep voice chimed in. “We all knew what we were risking when we chose to help you. There was a time when I would’ve allowed fear to dissuade me from doing what I knew was right, but those days are long behind me. Let us all trust in Mara to protect us.”
Trust Mara. Erandur’s words sent Ondolemar’s mind back to the encounter in the house of Molag Bal. “You are right,” he said quietly. “For all my talk about religion, it has been far too long since I truly placed my faith in any power higher than the Thalmor.”
He shook his head. “Ironic, isn’t it? I was so consumed with what I thought was my duty to the gods, that I neglected the gods themselves. And for all their talk of purging heresy, the Thalmor’s leaders do seem to love claiming credit and near-infallibility that rightly belongs to the Divines.”
“It is a tad hypocritical,” Kierska agreed. “So, now that you’ve seen through their hypocrisy, what are you going to do? I mean, once you’re capable of doing anything besides lying on that bedroll.”
A small, vengeful smirk pulled at his face and voice. “Aside from leak every piece of Thalmor intelligence I have to both sides of the civil war? Including…”
He sobered, staring deep into Kierska’s eyes. “…a full description of the training and indoctrination process, so people like you will know what you’re up against, and can finally stop wondering what happened to their families and friends.”
Her eyes went wide, and her pain and longing were almost tangible.
He didn’t look forward to rehashing that part of his life, but he knew he’d write a thousand pages if it could replace her tortured imaginings with a truth she could come to terms with. If it could bring her some kind of closure, and help her to save more people like him.
“After that…” A sudden weight of uncertainty pressed his brow into a frown. “I don’t know. I suspected for some time that things might go awry between me and the other Thalmor, but… I never truly allowed myself to contemplate the possibility. I… will need time to adjust to this new reality.”
The fingers on his unbroken hand clenched on his bedroll, sending bolts of pain shooting through his arm, and his eyes tightened.
All four of his limbs still hurt so much, and that pain was just a pale echo of the harm he had done during his time as a Justiciar. “I have much to atone for, and I don’t know how many people will even be willing to allow me the chance to make that atonement.
“Still, thanks to you, at least I have time. As a mage who’s been studying since before any living human was born, my superior-” The look in Lydia’s eyes made his voice catch in his throat, and he ducked his head, wondering if his use of the word was acceptable in this instance.
It’s probably true, but after all the ways that word has been misused, it’s probably best to avoid it.
“Well…” he began again, this time more cautiously, “the greater amount of time I have available to hone and use my craft means there are many ways I can be of assistance. The superiority of Mer may be in question, but the advantages of our long lifespans are not.
“As Kierska has reminded me, superiority comes with responsibility. There is much I can do with the time I have left, and I need to determine how best to use it.”
Kierska grinned. “Well, now that you aren’t spending all your time pacing in circles in Understone Keep, I think you’ll find that this province is full of people who need your talents.”
The smile slid from her face, replaced with solemn gravity. “Between the war, the dragons, the people who resorted to crime to get by, and the people who seem to be taking advantage of all the chaos by preying on the people it left vulnerable, there are a lot of problems to solve. Some troublemakers can be talked down, while other situations will need your skill as a mage.”
“And of course,” Ondolemar observed, “there is the matter of finding these problems, and convincing people to trust me enough to let me solve them.”
She nodded. “I know it can feel daunting, when you’re first starting out. It was for me, too.
“When I first came to Skyrim, I had nothing but a ratty outfit, a lot of bruises from an Imperial ambush, and a death sentence for… some reason. I might have wandered too close to some Stormcloaks, but who knows. The legionnaires never really said why they were planning to chop off my head.”
Ondolemar’s eyes widened. “Well. I knew the Empire was degenerate, but I had not realized it was executing random citizens without an investigation.”
“Some of their soldiers were, but anyway, that’s beside the point. The point is, I started my time in Skyrim with nothing but a damaged reputation. The Imperial soldier I escaped Helgen with and his family helped me out, and from there I just… figured things out, one step at a time.
“I talked to people, found out who needed help, and helped them. In the process of doing that, I made friends, developed skills, built a better reputation, found out being a sellsword in Skyrim is pretty lucrative, and found ways to use that money to help more people.
“But it all started with doing little things, like delivering goods and messages, and helping the local blacksmith around the forge. Life’s like that, sometimes. Even if a lot of people consider the some of the jobs menial, sometimes lending someone else a hand is the fastest way to find your feet.”
“It sounds like you show your ‘superiority’ by being everyone’s errand girl.” His own words echoed through his mind, and Ondolemar smiled. “I’ll admit, a part of me still feels that performing minor errands is beneath me. But perhaps that is a sign that my… spiritual journey could use a few exercises in humility, in addition to tasks more befitting my training and skills.”
“Such is the life of a benign busybody,” Kierska grinned. “Sometimes it’s doing little jobs that remind you you’re just another person, sometimes it’s feats of magic and skill that nobody else could’ve done, and always it’s showing respect and kindness to the less powerful people you’re doing it for.”
“Proving your superiority, one good deed at a time.”
“Exactly.”
And doing it with kindness and respect. That was an area where the Thalmor, in their focus on proving their superiority at the expense of a focus on good deeds, had fallen short.
When I advertised my superiority, people always seemed to resent me for it. I thought it was because they were ignorant and envious. But the same people who hated me respect, love and rely on her. I heard it in their voices, when they talked about her deeds.
I… I want that. I suppose I’ve always wanted that.
Am I weak, for desiring love and respect from lesser- NO, damn it all! …shorter-lived, less magically gifted… is it wrong for me to think that if it’s true?… damn it…
Frustration and self-loathing rushed like a torrent of toxic mud through his chest. We just finished talking about this. I KNOW better! Yes, they are my inferiors in some ways… I think… or is that just another Thalmor lie that my mind insists on tainting me with?
A gentle hand settled on his shoulder, and his eyes darted to Erandur’s. The priest’s expression was soft with sadness and warm with knowing sympathy, as if he was watching Ondolemar struggle down a road he himself had already suffered through.
“Don’t worry, my son,” Erandur reassured him. “You’re not the only person here who’s been down this path. I spent my first few decades as a priest of Vaermina, being led astray by her teachings and hurting people who’d done nothing to deserve it.”
A priest of Vaermina? I suppose that’s what I should expect from a Dunm- no, Ondolemar, SHUT UP!
Erandur was still talking, and Ondolemar forced himself to focus on his words, while one corner of his mind berated himself and another congratulated him for at least not saying his bigoted thoughts out loud.
“In her benevolence, Lady Mara accepted my repentance. It wasn’t easy to leave my old ways behind and adopt the ways of Mara, but the other priests were kind, and quite patient with me. If you need help building a new life, renewing your mind, and reconciling with the gods, I’ll be more than happy to do for you what they did for me.”
Kindness and patience. He’s willing to offer that.
Will he keep offering it, long enough to outlast the feelings and thoughts that insist on plaguing my mind? “It… could take some time,” he admitted. “My Thalmor training still wields a potent influence, even when I wish it did not.”
Erandur nodded knowingly. “I know. It took time for me, too. But as long as your efforts are sincere, I’ll be here to help.”
Oh, no. The backs of his eyes beginning to burn again, and he wondered if what was left of his dignity could survive if he started sobbing a third time. “Thank you,” he whispered, unable to force anything louder through a throat that was trying to choke itself, and Erandur smiled.
“You’re most welcome, my son.”
“And if you need to cry, go ahead,” Kierska added. “I saw the condition you were in when I first found you – they obviously put you through the wringer.
“Besides, you’re not the only person here who’s ever made big mistakes, had to question everything they thought they knew, or needed to start from scratch. We know how hard it is. Actually, I think Lydia’s the only one here who’s managed not to get herself into that kind of deep crap.”
“Someone has to be the sane one around here,” the housecarl observed with a smirk. “Besides, why would I need to get myself in deep crap? I have you for that.”
The feline cringed slightly. “I’m a bad influence.”
Ondolemar chuckled. It felt good to laugh sincerely again, even if all his body could manage was a sound like rustling leaves. “I wouldn’t say that,” he countered with a smile. “At least, not when it came to me.”
“That’s true, though my influence did land you in some pretty deep crap, so that part still stands.”
“True.”
Companionable silence fell over the room, then Erandur offered Ondolemar a loaf of bread. The injured elf accepted it gratefully, slightly embarrassed at having to be fed like a small child, but willing to endure the indignity in exchange for not having to hold up and use a broken arm.
As he ate, his eyes roamed around the small gathering, then a frown spread slowly across his face. “Kierska,” he asked quietly, “how many people know of your role in my escape?”
“The surviving Thalmor, and anyone they’ve told. Who all that is, I don’t know, but based on past experiences, the city guards from Solitude to Riften are probably talking about it by now. I swear, those guys seem to find out about every major thing I do, even when they should have no way of knowing about it.”
His frown deepened. “Are you not concerned that your reputation will be tainted by aiding a member of the Thalmor? I doubt the Stormcloaks or the Blades will be willing to forgive me, and the Imperials may consider your actions a threat to the peace treaty.”
“More of a threat than the actions of the Justiciars who tried to murder me on the road? Or Ancano’s attack on the Mages’ College, and subsequent stabbing at my hands? Or my last invasion of the Embassy?”
She shrugged. “It’s true that I probably just offended every major political party in Skyrim. But what else is new?
“The Stormcloaks want me to defeat the Imperials, the Imperials want me to defeat the Stormcloaks, and instead I negotiated a ceasefire between them and am hoping to arrange a more permanent one.
“Markarth’s Jarl wants me to crush the Forsworn, the Forsworn would rather see me kill the Nord ‘occupiers,’ and if I can arrange to buy the Forsworn a good patch of land where they can have their own kingdom and they and the Nords can leave each other alone, I plan to do that instead.
“The Thalmor want me to help them catch Talos worshipers, Talos worshipers want me to worship Talos. The Blades want me to kill any dragon I can, even the friendly ones, while the Greybeards thought I should let the world end and be reborn. All in all, I’m kind of running out of people to disappoint.”
That was an alarmingly long list of powerful people, some of whom may have been her allies. And it was coming from a Khajiit, whose race already struggled to find welcome in Skyrim. “And you aren’t concerned about retribution or rejection from the people you’ve disappointed?”
Another shrug. “Based on past experience, not much will change. The Forsworn were already attacking me on sight to begin with, the Blades cut ties with me when I refused to kill a friendly dragon, and the Thalmor are the only ones who are likely to bother sending assassins out looking for me.”
Right… she mentioned that. Ondolemar’s brow furrowed. “How long have they been sending assassins after you?”
“Since before we first met.”
Ondolemar pressed his unbroken hand across his eyes, ignoring the darts of pain that shot through the still-cracked bones in his arm. “And I told you to bask in the act of addressing a Thalmor… Divines, that must have sounded stupid.”
“It really did,” Kierska admitted with a wry grin. “But you obviously didn’t know, so I decided to cut you some slack.” She shook her head. “For a faction with such a formidable intelligence network, the Thalmor are hilariously bad at keeping each other informed. They could learn from Skyrim’s guards.”
That was true, and embarrassing. But he had more worrying things to think about. “And you aren’t at all worried about the effect of said guards’ knowledge on your reputation?”
She shrugged. “While I value my reputation to a certain extent, I value my moral compass more, and I couldn’t enjoy a reputation that was based on something I knew was wrong. I respect others’ wishes when I can, but sometimes I just have to do what I think is right, even if the rest of the world doesn’t agree or understand.”
“Hmmm.” The sound in his throat was faintly tinged with amusement, but aglow with admiration. “There are times when I envy your carefree attitude.”
“It is one of the benefits of being unaffiliated. My decisions are my own to make, and the consequences are mine to bear.” She grinned. “Don’t worry, I have lots of experience in dealing with the consequences of my own shenanigans. There’s a reason why I almost always wear armor.”
“Indeed. This is the first time I’ve seen you without it.”
“Yeah. As much as I feel safer when I’m covered in dragon scales and spikes, they’re terrible for hugging and taking care of injured people, and I was starting to get tired of having to be so damn careful while hugging my friends.”
Friends. He was still getting used to the idea that they could just openly call each other that now, without having to worry about who might hear or how they would react.
It felt like freedom.
“I am grateful,” he said softly, “for your consideration, and your friendship. I’m glad there are no longer any conflicting loyalties standing between us; there are so few pleasures in life as fine as your company.”
Her eyes widened in brief surprise, which quickly turned into a wide smile. “I am, too. I enjoyed our conversations, even if some parts made me angry, and it is a huge relief to know that we aren’t going to end up on opposite sides of a battlefield.”
“That would have been painfully unfortunate. There is no outcome of that conflict I would not have regretted.”
“Same here.”
“Speaking of outcomes,” Erandur interrupted, “I would suggest that you finish eating this before you continue your conversation. The sooner you digest it, the sooner your body will have the materials to replace damaged parts, the sooner we can continue healing you, and the better a chance we have of saving the tips of your ears.”
“My ears? …Oh.” Realization sank like a stone in his gut. “How bad was the damage?”
“Your fingers and toes should be fine – Kierska healed them when she first found you. But your ears were badly frostbitten, and with so many other injuries to stabilize, she wasn’t able to prioritize them.”
“I see,” he murmured numbly. He’d resigned himself to a far worse fate just hours ago, but the idea of losing pieces of himself still didn’t quite seem real.
Him with blunt ears. The irony struck him like a pail of cool water. After all his years of looking down on humanity, this was just one more thing drawing him away from Thalmor ideals, and closer to the people he once disdained.
As much as he didn’t like the idea of losing part of his body, it seemed strangely fitting.
The remaining bread disappeared quickly, helped along by sips of water from the bottle he’d half emptied earlier, and when both were gone, Erandur helped him get his arms back into the bedroll, and Kierska gently laid him down.
Relief washed through his body as he settled onto his back. It was amazing how much effort sitting up could take, even when he was being propped up. After that prolonged strain, the bedroll felt like a welcoming embrace, supporting him so his exhausted frame wouldn’t have to.
Drowsiness wrapped around his mind like dark, soothing water, pulling him downward, and Erandur’s hand cupped his shoulder. “Go ahead and sleep, my son. Your only job right now is to give your body whatever it needs to recover.”
Kierska mirrored his comforting pose. “I need to leave for a few hours,” she told him. “There’s a pirate ship docked nearby, and Lydia and I need to deal with it. We’ll be back as soon as we’re done.”
“All right,” he whispered, his mind spinning slightly at the memory of her incessantly busy schedule as she stood up, darted out of sight, then began rustling with the sound of a dress being exchanged for armor.
It seemed like she was always running somewhere to fight someone to protect somebody else. How many other demands on her time had she postponed to protect him?
The door clicked shut behind the two warriors, and despite the growing heaviness in his mind, Ondolemar couldn’t help but find his eyes drawn to the small shrine of Mara near the exit.
He could sleep soon enough. But there was one more thing he had to do first. “Erandur?” he whispered.
“Yes?”
“Before I sleep… I want to visit the shrine.”
The priest’s crimson eyes lit up, and joy poured across his face. “Of course, my son. Don’t try to get up – it will be far easier for me to bring it over here.”
With swift, sweeping strides, the Dunmer retrieved the small carving, then settled it down next to Ondolemar. Wrestling an arm free of the bedroll, the former Justiciar set his fingers lightly on the stone.
It felt so much warmer, more solid, more real than the idol of Thalmor superiority he’d been unknowingly worshiping all this time.
I’m sorry. Lady Mara, I’m so sorry. And I’ll have so many other words and thoughts to be sorry for before I’m truly rid of the Thalmor’s taint.
Please forgive me. Please make me more like you.
For a moment, he felt nothing, and he wondered if his request had been coldly denied. If so, he couldn’t blame her.
Then he felt the glow.
It shone through him like a bright, cleansing flood. It was power without domination. Purification without burning. Perfection, without judgment or condescension.
It was everything he wanted to be, as a person who was no longer a Thalmor Justiciar.
Tears rose in his eyes, and this time, he made no attempt to hold them back.
The life he’d known was over, and his past truth could not stand. But now he was free to build a new one, with better friends and better teachers, better uses for his power, and a better him.
Thank you, Lady Mara. And thank you, Kierska, Lydia, and Erandur, for buying me time.
However long I have left before fate or the Thalmor finish me off, I swear: the next time I confront my death, I’ll look back on a life I am proud of.
The divine light was fading, but this time, he didn’t feel abandoned. Instead, its gentle retreat was easing him into the peaceful dark of sleep, and Ondolemar closed his eyes, allowing it to carry him.
No matter what happens, or how much work it takes, you will be proud that you played a part in what I do with this second chance. I promise.
Is it the Thalmor? Have they found us already?
An icy rock settled in his chest, constricting his thundering heart. Kierska isn’t wearing her armor. They’ve caught her off guard, and now she’s going to die because of me.
A moment after the thought sliced through his mind, his companions’ stances relaxed. Ondolemar’s fear faded, only to twist through his stomach anew as Erandur’s hand left his mace, the movement drawing the injured Mer’s gaze back to the weapon.
He wrenched his eyes away from it with a sharp gasp, then forced himself to keep his next few breaths slow and even, wondering if the priest had noticed his show of irrational fear. It’s all right, he reminded himself sternly. He isn’t going to hurt me. I’m safe.
A corner of his mind believed him. His pounding heart, spinning head, and darkening vision did not.
“So,” Lydia’s familiar voice asked casually as she walked partly into view, shifting the sack on her shoulder, “is he awake?”
“Yeah,” Kierska replied, “he just woke up.”
“Hm. Time to resume basking, huh?” she asked, pulling off her helmet with a wry, grim smirk.
Erandur looked confused, the corner of Kierska’s mouth pulled down, and after a long two seconds of trying to figure out what the Nord was talking about, Ondolemar flinched. I must have sounded like an arrogant fool. Expecting them to bask in the presence of one of their abusers.
I wonder how Lydia felt about Kierska warming up to me. I hope it didn’t cause any trouble between them.
“The only thing I’m basking in right now,” Kierska replied, her patient voice tensed slightly by annoyance, “is the fact that Ondolemar didn’t end up like Estenia.”
He’d never seen Lydia flinch like that. She’d always seemed so unflappable, and he wondered what horrors had befallen Estenia to provoke such a strong reaction.
“I’m sorry, my Thane,” the Nord said softly, a small crack of remorse running through her voice, and Kierska softened.
“It’s okay. I know this has been frustrating for you, and you aren’t as used to dealing calmly with people’s ‘I’m better than you’ attitudes as Khajiit have to be. And you’ve never known Thalmor before they were Thalmor, so you’d never seen who they are beneath your enemies’ uniforms.”
“Estenia? Was she… Thalmor?” Ondolemar whispered, and Kierska’s eyes flicked back to his.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “But before she was Thalmor, she was my friend, back when I was a kitten and she was in her late teens.” Her eyes fell. “She cared about everyone, and always had something nice to say, no matter who she was talking to.
“She even gave me my first smithing lessons, and we gave each other matching hair brooches that we made ourselves. But she was good at magic for her age, and that got the Thalmor’s attention, and…”
Her jaw tightened. “I don’t know what they did to her. I don’t know what they said, but… when she visited me during a break in her training, it was like she was a whole different person. She didn’t want to be friends anymore, and she thought I was beneath her.”
Beneath her. A member of a lesser race. The concepts were so familiar, it was all Ondolemar could do not to flinch.
“I tried to get her back,” Kierska’s muted voice continued. “I asked her what they’d told her, and I tried to reason with her, but… I didn’t have the knowledge, the skills, or the credibility to help her see through the propaganda.
“She said some things I couldn’t counter, and asked questions I couldn’t answer, and when I did the same to her, she just told me not to question the Thalmor and walked away. I got so mad that I told my parents to sell the brooch she gave me. They told me I’d wish I hadn’t, and… they were right, but by the time I started to regret it, it was too late.”
“We cannot indulge those who question or oppose us. They must be crushed.” Carnaril’s words rang in his mind, and sick heat churned in Ondolemar’s chest. I truly was working for tyrants.
“Have faith, my daughter.” Erandur’s voice broke the silence, and all eyes turned to him. “It may be too late for that hair brooch, but… if it wasn’t too late for our friend here, it may not be too late for Estenia.”
Ondolemar’s eyes darted to Kierska’s, and the moment her gaze fell to the floor, he knew Erandur was wrong. “What happened?” he asked, and his friend’s eyes squeezed shut.
“I met her,” she whispered, as if that was the loudest tone she could force through a closing throat. “During the Great War.”
Oh, no.
“She was going to burn down a farm, so the Imperial soldiers couldn’t use it for supplies. She was going to start with the house, and the people sleeping inside, so they couldn’t put up a fight.”
Her clenching hands began to tremble. “I wasn’t supposed to fight. I was too young, so I was just a scout with a dagger for emergencies, but when I couldn’t talk her down…”
Ondolemar’s stomach turned over. He could already hear her next words, could already see the horrible memories as if they were his own.
“She turned her back to me, and… once my dagger was in her throat, I grabbed her wrists with my claws so she couldn’t pull it out and heal, so she just… fell over backwards, staring at me like she couldn’t believe I just did that.
Her tightening throat squeezed her voice into a high, cracked whisper. “And I had to keep holding her, keeping her from saving herself until she died, when I wanted so badly for her to live, to have another chance…”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Lydia reminded her gently. “You did what you had to, and it sounds like she betrayed you first.”
“I know. But when I started taking her armor off so we could bring it to the Legion, my brooch was still in her hair…”
Her shaking voice strangled itself, and Erandur’s hand pressed over his mouth before rushing to her shoulder. Ondolemar tried to swallow the flaming rock that had lodged in his throat, and as the first drop of water slipped from Kierska’s eye, his own eyes started to burn.
We did this. The people I worked for, the people I believed, the people I tortured and killed for… WE did this to her. And to countless other children like her.
And now I’m too weak to get up, and I can’t even hold her while she cries.
At least Erandur and Lydia were doing what he could not. The housecarl crossed the distance in seconds, knelt next to her Thane, set down the bulging sack, and wrapped her ebony-clad arms around her, while the priest continued to reach across the frustrated Altmer to gently squeeze her shaking shoulder.
I’m glad she has them, but… this should be my atonement. I should be doing something to ease her pain, not watching helplessly while she continues to suffer at the hands of the people I once served.
“I don’t know what they did to her,” Kierska finally managed to whimper. “But… to turn someone like her into a person who burns families in their beds, it must have been so horrible… I can’t believe she’d have accepted beliefs like that if her teachers didn’t somehow force her to listen long enough to start believing them.”
Pictures burned in Ondolemar’s mind. The lessons his teachers had recited. The questions he’d been afraid to voice, and the twists of discomfort he’d pushed from his gut.
The humiliation, threats, and punishments that were inflicted on trainees who questioned their teachers’ claims, always painting the questioner as a traitor or fool.
The horrors he’d been forced to watch and justify. The acts of cruelty he and his classmates had been ordered to perform, and the guilt they were never allowed to feel.
The lies they’d been told, over and over, until they believed they were true.
“And I couldn’t get her to stop believing,” Kierska continued. “I couldn’t out-argue her teachers – I could barely even get her to listen in the first place. I felt so helpless, and I didn’t want it to happen again, but… no matter how much I learned or how persuasive I got, most Thalmor I met were just hopeless. They couldn’t back up their claims with evidence, but they still wouldn’t listen to mine.”
Her eyes fell to Ondolemar. “When I found out you were willing to listen, and that you cared about the truth, I realized you were different, and I thought… maybe I could finally find out why my friend changed the way she did.
“I could see if there was any basis to the Thalmor’s claims, and if there wasn’t… well…” She gave a weak, broken smile, like the sun’s pale reflection on a pool of tears. “Maybe I could stop you from ending up like her.”
“I see.” Ondolemar’s throat felt swollen with restrained tears, and his voice was still hoarse, but he had to get the words out. “I’m sorry. For Estenia… and the war… and the hunt for Talos worshipers…”
His face tightened. “For everything. You were right… about the Thalmor. I wish I’d known… decades ago. Thank you… for helping me… to know now.”
“You’re welcome,” Kierska said softly, setting a hand on his shoulder as her warm, water-lit eyes stared into his. Then her gaze rose to her housecarl, and she added, “And Lydia… thank you for being patient with me through all this. I know you had your doubts, and I know the Thalmor have hurt your people a lot.
“But I come from a place where a lot of people believe the Thalmor, and I needed to know if their claims were true. And if they weren’t, then… I needed to know if a person who believed them could break free.”
The Nord gave a soft nod. “I understand. I’ll honor your wishes, my Thane.” A small smile graced her lips. “And next time you get in a debate with a Thalmor, I’ll know who’s going to switch sides. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
So their friendship had made her question Kierska’s loyalty. It seemed that everything he touched was harmed. Never again, he promised himself.
Kierska gave her housecarl a warm smile and an acknowledging nod, and Lydia’s tone lightened as she turned to address Ondolemar. “Anyway, now that we’re all on the same side, we’d better get some food in you. I’ve brought some supplies; where should I put them?”
“Right over here, my daughter,” Erandur replied, leading Lydia to the pew where Kierska had been sleeping.
While her friends were fishing supplies from the sack, the Dragonborn returned her attention to Ondolemar. “I’m going to prop you up a bit higher so you can eat and drink more easily. All right?”
Ondolemar nodded and closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of her hand cradling his head, then cringing as she slid her forearm under his back and levered him into a sitting position.
“Sorry,” Kierska muttered. “I healed you as much as I could, but with your body’s resources so depleted…”
“I know,” he managed, grunting the words between gritted teeth as his still-cracked ribs screamed. “Not your… fault…”
She settled him into a reclining sit, and for a few long moments, he kept his eyes closed, focusing on his breathing and trying to get enough air into his lungs without making the pain in his chest unbearable.
Then a soft shuffling beside him drew his glance to Erandur, and the open jar in the Dunmer’s hand seized his gaze, sending a silent cry of longing through his still-dehydrated body. The warm scents of honey and chamomile wafted from the vessel, and the priest set it gently to Ondolemar’s lips.
Lydia’s trek through the cold had left the tea slightly cooler than he normally drank it, but it was a soothing balm on his aching throat, and its warmth spread through him like the light of Auri-El.
While he drank, the housecarl cracked some eggs into a bowl. When the jar was half empty, Erandur set it down, Lydia handed him the bowl, and a small, gentle flame rose in his hand, heating the vessel in his palm while the Nord sprinkled some salt into it.
An orange glow of telekinesis magic flared in Kierska’s free hand, stirring the eggs as they cooked, and Erandur smiled.
She really did make a point of learning all the spells, Ondolemar reflected, admiration and amusement swirling together like the yolks and whites in the bowl.
The eggs finished cooking, and Erandur shifted toward him once again. Ondolemar tensed, bracing himself for the sound of the Dunmer’s mace scraping against the floor, but there was only the rustle of fabric.
The missing sound tugged at his mind, and his eyes darted briefly downward, searching for the mace.
It was gone.
Lydia handed Erandur a spoon, and as the priest carefully scooped eggs into the injured Altmer’s mouth, Ondolemar’s thoughts swirled around the absence of his caretaker’s weapon. He must have seen the way I flinched. When did he?… right, it must have been when he was leading Lydia to the pew.
I wonder if that was why he led her there instead of just pointing to it. He was using the opportunity to hide the mace.
It was all so much to take in. In an impossible reversal, he’d gone from being dragged around like a broken doll, with no regard for the agony each jolt caused, to being cradled and supported as if each cracked bone was precious. From being denied food and water, to a meal that had no doubt been chosen for its gentleness on a long-empty stomach.
From being beaten without mercy and condemned to a painful, lonely death, to being protected by people who put away their weapons just so he would not be afraid.
The contrast was overwhelming, like stepping into the sunlight after a month in the dark, and he had to force himself to eat fast enough to get the eggs down before his throat could close.
I’m not going to cry. I’m a Thalmor- no, I’m not Thalmor anymore, but I’m still an Altmer battlemage, and I still have my pride. I’m not going to cry. I’m not crying… I just need to focus. If I distract myself, I can push back the tears before they fall… or at least, before any more of them fall… damn it…
His body wasn’t listening. Tears slid from his blurring eyes, and his throat was so tight that it took everything he had just to swallow his last bite of food.
Erandur set the bowl down, and Kierska kept a supportive hand on Ondolemar’s back as she moved from his side to his front, her kneeling legs straddling his as she pulled him into a hug.
A deep, shuddering breath wrenched its way through his chest, and at last, Ondolemar found the strength to return the gesture. With careful, tentative movements, he worked his arms out of the bedroll, while Erandur held the furs in place so they wouldn’t cling to him as he squirmed free.
Then he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder while the back of his aching head found refuge in her palm.
How long has it been since I’ve felt something like this? Maybe when I gave her that spell tome, but even then… there was still that hesitation, that gap between us. She had to keep some physical distance to avoid stabbing me with her armor, but until I had this to compare it to, I didn’t realize how much she was holding back.
For all our growing friendship, we were keeping each other at arms’ length, as our differing loyalties demanded.
As the chance of someday finding ourselves on opposite sides of a battlefield demanded.
His unbroken hand tightened on the back of her dress, and even as his ribs screamed in protest at each movement, he smiled through his tears.
Not anymore. I’ll never have to worry about the Thalmor commanding me to harm a friend or an innocent person again.
I’m free.
He was free. He was safe. Kierska’s armor and his Thalmor robes, their differing loyalties and priorities… everything that once stood between them was gone.
A friendship with someone who wasn’t a member of the Thalmor, and a show of unreserved kindness, affection and support… for the first time since he was a child, he could receive and embrace them fully.
A sob jolted through his chest, clenching his hand and tightening his face, and Erandur’s warm, weathered palm settled softly on his shoulder.
That did it. The sobs refused to be denied, and soon his whole body was shaking with them. Pain knifed through his ribs, then a flood of Restoration magic filled his chest, finishing the process of healing the bones and soothing the pain away.
The kindness and relief just made him cry harder, days of overwhelming, conflicting emotions shattering their cages and crashing together in a wildly swirling flood. Kierska held him tighter, riding the storm along with him, and the hand on his head began to move in gentle, soothing strokes.
The rough leather of her hand-pad caught on his skin, and for a moment, he feared that the comforting movement would stop. Then she rotated her wrist, and instead used the soft, worn fur on the side of her thumb.
Such gentle, attentive compassion. He hadn’t realized how much his life in the Thalmor had left him starved of it.
He didn’t know how long they stayed that way: him sobbing, Kierska hugging him in a way that made him think she would hold him as long as he needed her to, and Erandur rubbing his shoulder soothingly.
At last the sobs began to slow, and he let his exhausted, aching arms sink to the ground, repeated whispers of “Thank you” falling from his mouth as Erandur wiped the last of his tears away with his sleeve.
“You’re most welcome, my son,” the priest answered, picking up the tea jar as he spoke and using a slow burst of fire to warm it back up to drinking temperature. Kierska shifted back to Ondolemar’s side to make room for Erandur, and their patient gratefully drank the remaining tea.
“I’m sorry.” Kierska’s words were sudden but soft, and it took Ondolemar a moment to process the fact that his rescuer was apologizing for something. “I wish I’d found you earlier, before you were hurt this bad. The courier had a hard time finding me at first, because I was literally in Sovngarde.”
“The Nords’ afterlife?” He stared at her, memories slowly trickling to the surface, then forced a small, broken smile. “I knew your recklessness was a danger to your life,” he teased, “but surely you didn’t manage to die that quickly.”
His comment drew a small snort of amusement from Lydia, and a grin from Kierska. “No, I’m still alive, despite the best efforts of a ridiculous number of dragon-serving draugr and a few minor dragons.”
“Minor dragons.” Those words did not belong together.
“Yeah, you know, the green and brown ones that aren’t as strong as…” Her brow suddenly furled. “Wait… didn’t you get my letter?”
“The one telling me about your mission in Sovngarde and warning me to leave Markarth? Yes – it most likely saved my life.” Curiosity and bitterness swirled together, and he gave her a questioning look. “Did you suspect that Elenwen might not warn me that the Stormcloaks were coming?”
“The thought crossed my mind, but only after we’d parted ways. I wasn’t sure how the Thalmor felt about our meetings, so I decided I’d rather be safe than sorry. I take it my suspicions were right?”
“They were.” His eyes fell. “I appreciate your foresight – your letter was the only warning I had before the city was taken.” A small, bitter smile tried to grow into a laugh, but failed. “I suspect it would have been convenient for Elenwen, had I been slain by Ulfric’s men.”
“Seeing as she tried to kill you almost as soon as I was off of Nirn and out of her way, I guess so. I’m sorry. That must have been a hard thing to find out, and… it’s probably my fault.”
His eyes returned to Kierska’s. “Hardly. While you did plant some questions in my mind, it was I who decided to pursue them. And you were correct – the Thalmor don’t like those who ask questions, because the truth is both unflattering and inconvenient for them.”
“If anything, you’ve done me a service. The Thalmor did not deserve my loyalty, and thanks to you, I discovered that before I could spend the rest of my life causing harm on their behalf.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and behind her, in the corner of his vision, he saw Lydia’s do the same. You didn’t expect that, did you?
Turning his gaze more fully to Kierska, he added, “So, your hunt for Alduin – I assume it was successful?”
Her face shone in a fanged grin, the very picture of a triumphant predator. “Yup. His days of flying away from me are done. I finally managed to ground him with my Voice, and then I stabbed him in the face ‘til he died.”
Her triumph faded, dimmed by a sudden flow of uncertainty. “Or at least, he’s as dead as I can make him. He didn’t die like other dragons; normally their skeletons stay on the ground, and I absorb their souls. But Alduin’s body disintegrated completely, and his soul escaped into the sky.”
And just like that, her expression soured into a bitter, exasperated sulk. “I guess you could say he died the way he lived. Flying away from me.”
Alduin escaping wasn’t funny, but the way she talked about it was, and Ondolemar surprised himself with a burst of weak but genuine laughter.
Kierska tried to maintain her show of sullenness, but his mirth pulled a rueful smile through her sulk, and the air that rushed from her nose quivered with the rhythm of a silent chuckle as a glimmer of mischief gleamed through her smirk.
A moment of companionable silence followed, then Erandur voiced the question that Ondolemar’s laughter had delayed him from asking. “So Alduin might return, then?”
“He probably will. At least, that’s what the Greybeards think. I guess Alduin is an essential part of the world’s life cycle; he’s the one who ends it so it can be reborn. So he’ll probably come back someday, when it’s time for the next world to start, but at least I bought us some time.”
Time to live. Time to atone. Time to become the person he’d always thought he was… or someone better. “I see,” he said quietly. “And… while you were in Sovngarde…” I’m going to hate the answer to this. Or hate myself for it. But I have to ask. “Did you meet any fallen Nords?”
“Yeah, quiet a few. Why?”
“I see. And… did any of them… worship Talos?”
“Seriously?” Lydia muttered, while Kierska cocked her head.
“Huh? Why do… oh.” Realization dawned across her face like a memory of past conversations, and she nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Some of them did.”
“I see.” He felt like a rock was growing in his chest, crushing everything in its path. “So the Thalmor lied about that, too. Talos worship doesn’t change where people go when they die.”
“I guess not,” Kierska replied quietly.
Ondolemar’s eyes squeezed shut, and his head bowed beneath the weight of his failures. I didn’t get all the facts. I didn’t get proof. And I tortured and killed people because I believed a lie.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice shaking on the verge of a second wave of sobs. “I’m so, so sorry.”
His stare rose to meet Lydia’s, blurring with tears. “My Thalmor trainers said Talos worship diverted people from their intended afterlives…” His gaze fell again. “I should never have believed them. I should never have followed their orders. I’m so sorry, I…”
His tightening throat strangled his voice, and all he could do was sob in silence, his face fixed in an agonized cringe.
Kierska’s arm remained on his back, her thumb tracing slow, gentle circles on his head, while Erandur held his shoulder with one hand and his unbroken hand with the other.
For a moment, the two of them sat beside him, offering their silent comfort. Then a third palm settled on his shoulder, hard and metallic, but gentle. Ondolemar’s eyes snapped wide as he stared at the Daedric glove, then they rose to his newest comforter’s face. “L-Lydia?”
Sure enough, there she was, her hand extended in an unprompted act of mercy. Her sturdy Nordic face was softened by a wry, reluctant, yet reassuring smile: still holding him at arms’ length, but finally starting to bridge that gap.
Does this mean I can be forgiven, even by the people I hurt the most? The thought sent his mind back to his cellmate: the Nord who had hated him so much, and yet rebuked the Thalmor when they chose to protect their lies with his death.
Alarm burst through his shame, and his stare snapped back to Kierska. “The Nord in my cell,” he blurted out, so abruptly that she jumped slightly and Erandur’s hand jerked away from his shoulder. “Did you get him out?”
“What? Your cell?” Kierska’s eyes went wide, and her left ear flicked a few times as her mental gears sped up. “Oh, you mean the guy in the Embassy’s basement? Yeah, he’s out.
“I smelled a stressed, angry Nord on you while I was saving you, so I figured you must have been near one for a while. So I went to the basement, and found Elenwen and some other guy interrogating him.”
Ondolemar’s eyes squeezed shut. He could imagine all too easily what they must have been doing to him. “What happened then?” he asked hoarsely.
“I stabbed them.”
A mute second passed, then she apparently realized that her answer required more details. “Elenwen and the interrogator, I mean. And then I freed the prisoner, and we escaped through a trap door and into a cave. I had Lydia waiting there, in case I had vulnerable people to escort.
“By then, the guards in the courtyard were up and searching for us, and a few of them found us.” Her eyes fell. “They weren’t as willing to listen to reason as you. They insisted on fighting, and Lydia and I each had to kill a couple of them.”
The Nord bar- NO!- Lydia defeated Thalmor agents? There was a time when I would have been surprised, but… just one more assumption of superiority to outgrow, I suppose.
“Once we were well clear of the place,” Kierska continued, “and we were sure we weren’t being followed, the man we freed ran off to join the Stormcloaks, and Lydia and I came here.”
“I see,” Ondolemar murmured. “I am glad to hear he survived his ordeal.” His attention shifted to Lydia. “And it sounds like you have more prowess in combat than I’d initially given you credit for.”
“Thanks… I think.”
“It was intended as a compliment. I hadn’t expected a Nord ba-” NO, ONDOLEMAR! Find a ‘ba’ word besides barbarian! “…battlemaiden to defeat a Thalmor agent, let alone two.”
From the way Lydia narrowed her eyes, almost glaring at him, he suspected she knew what he’d almost called her. Or she was insulted by his underestimation of Nords. Or both.
No wonder Elenwen didn’t tell me anything she didn’t want me blurting out. I can barely avoid saying things even when I’m supposed to know better than to think them! “Apologies,” he murmured, lowering his gaze. “It seems I still have much to unlearn from my time among the Thalmor.”
There was so much to apologize for. So many years of service to the wrong, people, people who…
A horrible memory dawned on him, and his eyes squeezed shut again. I don’t want to talk about this. Even thinking about it hurts right now.
But I have to. I owe it to her. She risked her life to save mine – I can’t be a coward about this. “Kierska?”
“Yes?”
“I need to apologize to you, too. While one could say all is justified in war, you are right: the Thalmor should never have started that war. While I maintain the belief that the Empire is corrupt, the Thalmor don’t deserve to rule Tamriel either, and your family was right to fight them.
“While I was not among the individuals responsible for their deaths, I still worked with and for them. You will probably never get an apology from them, but… I hope you will accept one from me.”
Surprise shone in her soft gold eyes, like a fire springing to life in a hearth. Her fingers tightened slightly on his back, and as a small, unsteady smile touched her face, he wondered if the light in her eyes might be the first gleam of tears.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, whispering as if her throat had gone too tight to speak any louder. “I never thought I’d hear that from anyone even remotely involved. I… I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. It… is the least I can do. Especially after everything you’ve done for me.” His fingers tightened on his bedroll. “You took a terrible risk to save my life. I will never forget it, but… the Thalmor won’t either, and I hope they never get a chance to make you pay for it.”
His eyes fell briefly, then roamed around the group, meeting each of his rescuers’ eyes in turn as he spoke. “After everything you’ve suffered at the hands of the Thalmor, I can’t help but wonder why you still felt it was worth it.”
Kierska’s eyes softened, and her hand on his back gave a gentle squeeze. “I don’t like it when totalitarian governments kill dissidents. And I do like you. The Thalmor being vengeful jackasses isn’t going to stop me from fighting for my principles… or my friends.”
A small grin gleamed across her face, like the break of dawn coloring the world. “I’m glad I can just say that now, and completely mean it, without having to worry about conflicting loyalties making a liar out of me.”
“As am I.” Ondolemar’s eyes managed a small smile as they stared into Kierska’s, then strayed to Lydia and Erandur. I want to know why they did it, but I doubt it’s anything nearly as warm.
Sure enough, Lydia shrugged. “For me, it was because my Thane wanted me to, and… at the time, out of all the Thalmor we’d met, you were the one I hated the least.”
Probably because I was the only one who hadn’t tried to murder them, or have them killed. What a pitifully low bar for a supposedly superior Mer to clear.
His eyes fell to his knees. “I suppose that’s the most I could hope for, after all the mistakes I’ve made. I just hope saving me doesn’t turn out to be your last mistake.”
The Nord’s sturdy shoulder rose in an unworried shrug. “If they decide to punish us by sending yet another batch of assassins…” A small, predatory smirk darkened her face. “They’ll find out how much more I hate those.”
Yet another. They’ve been attacked by Thalmor assassins before. Yet they helped me all the same.
“Not to worry, my son,” Erandur’s soft, deep voice chimed in. “We all knew what we were risking when we chose to help you. There was a time when I would’ve allowed fear to dissuade me from doing what I knew was right, but those days are long behind me. Let us all trust in Mara to protect us.”
Trust Mara. Erandur’s words sent Ondolemar’s mind back to the encounter in the house of Molag Bal. “You are right,” he said quietly. “For all my talk about religion, it has been far too long since I truly placed my faith in any power higher than the Thalmor.”
He shook his head. “Ironic, isn’t it? I was so consumed with what I thought was my duty to the gods, that I neglected the gods themselves. And for all their talk of purging heresy, the Thalmor’s leaders do seem to love claiming credit and near-infallibility that rightly belongs to the Divines.”
“It is a tad hypocritical,” Kierska agreed. “So, now that you’ve seen through their hypocrisy, what are you going to do? I mean, once you’re capable of doing anything besides lying on that bedroll.”
A small, vengeful smirk pulled at his face and voice. “Aside from leak every piece of Thalmor intelligence I have to both sides of the civil war? Including…”
He sobered, staring deep into Kierska’s eyes. “…a full description of the training and indoctrination process, so people like you will know what you’re up against, and can finally stop wondering what happened to their families and friends.”
Her eyes went wide, and her pain and longing were almost tangible.
He didn’t look forward to rehashing that part of his life, but he knew he’d write a thousand pages if it could replace her tortured imaginings with a truth she could come to terms with. If it could bring her some kind of closure, and help her to save more people like him.
“After that…” A sudden weight of uncertainty pressed his brow into a frown. “I don’t know. I suspected for some time that things might go awry between me and the other Thalmor, but… I never truly allowed myself to contemplate the possibility. I… will need time to adjust to this new reality.”
The fingers on his unbroken hand clenched on his bedroll, sending bolts of pain shooting through his arm, and his eyes tightened.
All four of his limbs still hurt so much, and that pain was just a pale echo of the harm he had done during his time as a Justiciar. “I have much to atone for, and I don’t know how many people will even be willing to allow me the chance to make that atonement.
“Still, thanks to you, at least I have time. As a mage who’s been studying since before any living human was born, my superior-” The look in Lydia’s eyes made his voice catch in his throat, and he ducked his head, wondering if his use of the word was acceptable in this instance.
It’s probably true, but after all the ways that word has been misused, it’s probably best to avoid it.
“Well…” he began again, this time more cautiously, “the greater amount of time I have available to hone and use my craft means there are many ways I can be of assistance. The superiority of Mer may be in question, but the advantages of our long lifespans are not.
“As Kierska has reminded me, superiority comes with responsibility. There is much I can do with the time I have left, and I need to determine how best to use it.”
Kierska grinned. “Well, now that you aren’t spending all your time pacing in circles in Understone Keep, I think you’ll find that this province is full of people who need your talents.”
The smile slid from her face, replaced with solemn gravity. “Between the war, the dragons, the people who resorted to crime to get by, and the people who seem to be taking advantage of all the chaos by preying on the people it left vulnerable, there are a lot of problems to solve. Some troublemakers can be talked down, while other situations will need your skill as a mage.”
“And of course,” Ondolemar observed, “there is the matter of finding these problems, and convincing people to trust me enough to let me solve them.”
She nodded. “I know it can feel daunting, when you’re first starting out. It was for me, too.
“When I first came to Skyrim, I had nothing but a ratty outfit, a lot of bruises from an Imperial ambush, and a death sentence for… some reason. I might have wandered too close to some Stormcloaks, but who knows. The legionnaires never really said why they were planning to chop off my head.”
Ondolemar’s eyes widened. “Well. I knew the Empire was degenerate, but I had not realized it was executing random citizens without an investigation.”
“Some of their soldiers were, but anyway, that’s beside the point. The point is, I started my time in Skyrim with nothing but a damaged reputation. The Imperial soldier I escaped Helgen with and his family helped me out, and from there I just… figured things out, one step at a time.
“I talked to people, found out who needed help, and helped them. In the process of doing that, I made friends, developed skills, built a better reputation, found out being a sellsword in Skyrim is pretty lucrative, and found ways to use that money to help more people.
“But it all started with doing little things, like delivering goods and messages, and helping the local blacksmith around the forge. Life’s like that, sometimes. Even if a lot of people consider the some of the jobs menial, sometimes lending someone else a hand is the fastest way to find your feet.”
“It sounds like you show your ‘superiority’ by being everyone’s errand girl.” His own words echoed through his mind, and Ondolemar smiled. “I’ll admit, a part of me still feels that performing minor errands is beneath me. But perhaps that is a sign that my… spiritual journey could use a few exercises in humility, in addition to tasks more befitting my training and skills.”
“Such is the life of a benign busybody,” Kierska grinned. “Sometimes it’s doing little jobs that remind you you’re just another person, sometimes it’s feats of magic and skill that nobody else could’ve done, and always it’s showing respect and kindness to the less powerful people you’re doing it for.”
“Proving your superiority, one good deed at a time.”
“Exactly.”
And doing it with kindness and respect. That was an area where the Thalmor, in their focus on proving their superiority at the expense of a focus on good deeds, had fallen short.
When I advertised my superiority, people always seemed to resent me for it. I thought it was because they were ignorant and envious. But the same people who hated me respect, love and rely on her. I heard it in their voices, when they talked about her deeds.
I… I want that. I suppose I’ve always wanted that.
Am I weak, for desiring love and respect from lesser- NO, damn it all! …shorter-lived, less magically gifted… is it wrong for me to think that if it’s true?… damn it…
Frustration and self-loathing rushed like a torrent of toxic mud through his chest. We just finished talking about this. I KNOW better! Yes, they are my inferiors in some ways… I think… or is that just another Thalmor lie that my mind insists on tainting me with?
A gentle hand settled on his shoulder, and his eyes darted to Erandur’s. The priest’s expression was soft with sadness and warm with knowing sympathy, as if he was watching Ondolemar struggle down a road he himself had already suffered through.
“Don’t worry, my son,” Erandur reassured him. “You’re not the only person here who’s been down this path. I spent my first few decades as a priest of Vaermina, being led astray by her teachings and hurting people who’d done nothing to deserve it.”
A priest of Vaermina? I suppose that’s what I should expect from a Dunm- no, Ondolemar, SHUT UP!
Erandur was still talking, and Ondolemar forced himself to focus on his words, while one corner of his mind berated himself and another congratulated him for at least not saying his bigoted thoughts out loud.
“In her benevolence, Lady Mara accepted my repentance. It wasn’t easy to leave my old ways behind and adopt the ways of Mara, but the other priests were kind, and quite patient with me. If you need help building a new life, renewing your mind, and reconciling with the gods, I’ll be more than happy to do for you what they did for me.”
Kindness and patience. He’s willing to offer that.
Will he keep offering it, long enough to outlast the feelings and thoughts that insist on plaguing my mind? “It… could take some time,” he admitted. “My Thalmor training still wields a potent influence, even when I wish it did not.”
Erandur nodded knowingly. “I know. It took time for me, too. But as long as your efforts are sincere, I’ll be here to help.”
Oh, no. The backs of his eyes beginning to burn again, and he wondered if what was left of his dignity could survive if he started sobbing a third time. “Thank you,” he whispered, unable to force anything louder through a throat that was trying to choke itself, and Erandur smiled.
“You’re most welcome, my son.”
“And if you need to cry, go ahead,” Kierska added. “I saw the condition you were in when I first found you – they obviously put you through the wringer.
“Besides, you’re not the only person here who’s ever made big mistakes, had to question everything they thought they knew, or needed to start from scratch. We know how hard it is. Actually, I think Lydia’s the only one here who’s managed not to get herself into that kind of deep crap.”
“Someone has to be the sane one around here,” the housecarl observed with a smirk. “Besides, why would I need to get myself in deep crap? I have you for that.”
The feline cringed slightly. “I’m a bad influence.”
Ondolemar chuckled. It felt good to laugh sincerely again, even if all his body could manage was a sound like rustling leaves. “I wouldn’t say that,” he countered with a smile. “At least, not when it came to me.”
“That’s true, though my influence did land you in some pretty deep crap, so that part still stands.”
“True.”
Companionable silence fell over the room, then Erandur offered Ondolemar a loaf of bread. The injured elf accepted it gratefully, slightly embarrassed at having to be fed like a small child, but willing to endure the indignity in exchange for not having to hold up and use a broken arm.
As he ate, his eyes roamed around the small gathering, then a frown spread slowly across his face. “Kierska,” he asked quietly, “how many people know of your role in my escape?”
“The surviving Thalmor, and anyone they’ve told. Who all that is, I don’t know, but based on past experiences, the city guards from Solitude to Riften are probably talking about it by now. I swear, those guys seem to find out about every major thing I do, even when they should have no way of knowing about it.”
His frown deepened. “Are you not concerned that your reputation will be tainted by aiding a member of the Thalmor? I doubt the Stormcloaks or the Blades will be willing to forgive me, and the Imperials may consider your actions a threat to the peace treaty.”
“More of a threat than the actions of the Justiciars who tried to murder me on the road? Or Ancano’s attack on the Mages’ College, and subsequent stabbing at my hands? Or my last invasion of the Embassy?”
She shrugged. “It’s true that I probably just offended every major political party in Skyrim. But what else is new?
“The Stormcloaks want me to defeat the Imperials, the Imperials want me to defeat the Stormcloaks, and instead I negotiated a ceasefire between them and am hoping to arrange a more permanent one.
“Markarth’s Jarl wants me to crush the Forsworn, the Forsworn would rather see me kill the Nord ‘occupiers,’ and if I can arrange to buy the Forsworn a good patch of land where they can have their own kingdom and they and the Nords can leave each other alone, I plan to do that instead.
“The Thalmor want me to help them catch Talos worshipers, Talos worshipers want me to worship Talos. The Blades want me to kill any dragon I can, even the friendly ones, while the Greybeards thought I should let the world end and be reborn. All in all, I’m kind of running out of people to disappoint.”
That was an alarmingly long list of powerful people, some of whom may have been her allies. And it was coming from a Khajiit, whose race already struggled to find welcome in Skyrim. “And you aren’t concerned about retribution or rejection from the people you’ve disappointed?”
Another shrug. “Based on past experience, not much will change. The Forsworn were already attacking me on sight to begin with, the Blades cut ties with me when I refused to kill a friendly dragon, and the Thalmor are the only ones who are likely to bother sending assassins out looking for me.”
Right… she mentioned that. Ondolemar’s brow furrowed. “How long have they been sending assassins after you?”
“Since before we first met.”
Ondolemar pressed his unbroken hand across his eyes, ignoring the darts of pain that shot through the still-cracked bones in his arm. “And I told you to bask in the act of addressing a Thalmor… Divines, that must have sounded stupid.”
“It really did,” Kierska admitted with a wry grin. “But you obviously didn’t know, so I decided to cut you some slack.” She shook her head. “For a faction with such a formidable intelligence network, the Thalmor are hilariously bad at keeping each other informed. They could learn from Skyrim’s guards.”
That was true, and embarrassing. But he had more worrying things to think about. “And you aren’t at all worried about the effect of said guards’ knowledge on your reputation?”
She shrugged. “While I value my reputation to a certain extent, I value my moral compass more, and I couldn’t enjoy a reputation that was based on something I knew was wrong. I respect others’ wishes when I can, but sometimes I just have to do what I think is right, even if the rest of the world doesn’t agree or understand.”
“Hmmm.” The sound in his throat was faintly tinged with amusement, but aglow with admiration. “There are times when I envy your carefree attitude.”
“It is one of the benefits of being unaffiliated. My decisions are my own to make, and the consequences are mine to bear.” She grinned. “Don’t worry, I have lots of experience in dealing with the consequences of my own shenanigans. There’s a reason why I almost always wear armor.”
“Indeed. This is the first time I’ve seen you without it.”
“Yeah. As much as I feel safer when I’m covered in dragon scales and spikes, they’re terrible for hugging and taking care of injured people, and I was starting to get tired of having to be so damn careful while hugging my friends.”
Friends. He was still getting used to the idea that they could just openly call each other that now, without having to worry about who might hear or how they would react.
It felt like freedom.
“I am grateful,” he said softly, “for your consideration, and your friendship. I’m glad there are no longer any conflicting loyalties standing between us; there are so few pleasures in life as fine as your company.”
Her eyes widened in brief surprise, which quickly turned into a wide smile. “I am, too. I enjoyed our conversations, even if some parts made me angry, and it is a huge relief to know that we aren’t going to end up on opposite sides of a battlefield.”
“That would have been painfully unfortunate. There is no outcome of that conflict I would not have regretted.”
“Same here.”
“Speaking of outcomes,” Erandur interrupted, “I would suggest that you finish eating this before you continue your conversation. The sooner you digest it, the sooner your body will have the materials to replace damaged parts, the sooner we can continue healing you, and the better a chance we have of saving the tips of your ears.”
“My ears? …Oh.” Realization sank like a stone in his gut. “How bad was the damage?”
“Your fingers and toes should be fine – Kierska healed them when she first found you. But your ears were badly frostbitten, and with so many other injuries to stabilize, she wasn’t able to prioritize them.”
“I see,” he murmured numbly. He’d resigned himself to a far worse fate just hours ago, but the idea of losing pieces of himself still didn’t quite seem real.
Him with blunt ears. The irony struck him like a pail of cool water. After all his years of looking down on humanity, this was just one more thing drawing him away from Thalmor ideals, and closer to the people he once disdained.
As much as he didn’t like the idea of losing part of his body, it seemed strangely fitting.
The remaining bread disappeared quickly, helped along by sips of water from the bottle he’d half emptied earlier, and when both were gone, Erandur helped him get his arms back into the bedroll, and Kierska gently laid him down.
Relief washed through his body as he settled onto his back. It was amazing how much effort sitting up could take, even when he was being propped up. After that prolonged strain, the bedroll felt like a welcoming embrace, supporting him so his exhausted frame wouldn’t have to.
Drowsiness wrapped around his mind like dark, soothing water, pulling him downward, and Erandur’s hand cupped his shoulder. “Go ahead and sleep, my son. Your only job right now is to give your body whatever it needs to recover.”
Kierska mirrored his comforting pose. “I need to leave for a few hours,” she told him. “There’s a pirate ship docked nearby, and Lydia and I need to deal with it. We’ll be back as soon as we’re done.”
“All right,” he whispered, his mind spinning slightly at the memory of her incessantly busy schedule as she stood up, darted out of sight, then began rustling with the sound of a dress being exchanged for armor.
It seemed like she was always running somewhere to fight someone to protect somebody else. How many other demands on her time had she postponed to protect him?
The door clicked shut behind the two warriors, and despite the growing heaviness in his mind, Ondolemar couldn’t help but find his eyes drawn to the small shrine of Mara near the exit.
He could sleep soon enough. But there was one more thing he had to do first. “Erandur?” he whispered.
“Yes?”
“Before I sleep… I want to visit the shrine.”
The priest’s crimson eyes lit up, and joy poured across his face. “Of course, my son. Don’t try to get up – it will be far easier for me to bring it over here.”
With swift, sweeping strides, the Dunmer retrieved the small carving, then settled it down next to Ondolemar. Wrestling an arm free of the bedroll, the former Justiciar set his fingers lightly on the stone.
It felt so much warmer, more solid, more real than the idol of Thalmor superiority he’d been unknowingly worshiping all this time.
I’m sorry. Lady Mara, I’m so sorry. And I’ll have so many other words and thoughts to be sorry for before I’m truly rid of the Thalmor’s taint.
Please forgive me. Please make me more like you.
For a moment, he felt nothing, and he wondered if his request had been coldly denied. If so, he couldn’t blame her.
Then he felt the glow.
It shone through him like a bright, cleansing flood. It was power without domination. Purification without burning. Perfection, without judgment or condescension.
It was everything he wanted to be, as a person who was no longer a Thalmor Justiciar.
Tears rose in his eyes, and this time, he made no attempt to hold them back.
The life he’d known was over, and his past truth could not stand. But now he was free to build a new one, with better friends and better teachers, better uses for his power, and a better him.
Thank you, Lady Mara. And thank you, Kierska, Lydia, and Erandur, for buying me time.
However long I have left before fate or the Thalmor finish me off, I swear: the next time I confront my death, I’ll look back on a life I am proud of.
The divine light was fading, but this time, he didn’t feel abandoned. Instead, its gentle retreat was easing him into the peaceful dark of sleep, and Ondolemar closed his eyes, allowing it to carry him.
No matter what happens, or how much work it takes, you will be proud that you played a part in what I do with this second chance. I promise.
The end.
Author's note:
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