Ondolemar led me out the door and down the hall to the left. As we passed by the rotunda, I could hear the faint echo of voices from above, one of them was Derkeethus'. Focusing inward, I beheld the small room filled with important figures. My friend had adapted to his new role with ease and was leading a discussion regarding the resources of Black Marsh that might be of interest to the Imperials. When I focused harder, I realized Derk was thoroughly enjoying the lively debate, namely because he was making everything up and the court was believing him utterly.
His amusement seeped into my anxiety over the Thalmor agent's purposes, cracking it and causing me to smile slightly. But as we passed deeper into the building, I began to worry once more. Surely he wouldn't be arresting me, as he could have done that already. I thought to ask him, but was deterred by his silent, overbearing presence.
A stairwell loomed darkly at the end of the hallway, one set leading down; the other upwards. Ondolemar paused for a moment as if considering, then led me up the stairs.
At least I won't be going into the dungeons, I thought with some relief.
Upstairs, I had a better view of the rotunda and the dome that dominated it. Deep, blue marble pillars supported sturdy arches. Here was the magnificence of human architecture. Steady, heavy, yet light. A mixture of Breton with Nordic influence, which, in itself was mixed with the architectural styles of the ancient mer. Dimly, I felt Derkeethus' bewilderment at my knowledge of architecture, but hunting and surviving wasn't all I had done in Chorrol.
My mother, frail though she was, was a very observant Bosmer, and enjoyed learning all there was to know about the various styles of architecture in both men and mer. She would take me on small expeditions to the Ayleid ruins in the forest, and there we would study the stones. I suppose she wanted to bring this knowledge with her to Valenwood, should we ever return. Shortly before her death, we, at least, sent every book and journal she possessed on the matter to our village, should any relatives be left. The thought of my childhood home standing empty and bare weighed heavily on my heart, and the rather romantic memories I had of the trees and simple lifestyle only compounded the matter.
Not even the bright light shining down through the skylight above was enough to lift my spirits.
At last, Ondolemar stopped before a wooden door set in the northern wing of the Blue Palace, standing aside, he motioned for me to go in. "After you," he murmured. I knew the polite act was only because it was burned into his brain, just as etiquette always was for the Altmer. Or so my father explained to me numerous times with the phrase, "Altmer never did learn to dance like Sanguine." For the longest time, I thought when we danced, we turned into the Daedric Prince, until my mother finally explained that it was only an idiom.
Glancing at him apprehensively, I edged into his quarters. A small sitting room adorned with a low table and two chairs greeted me. The door closed behind us with a decisive snap, and I fought the urge to escape this apparent trap. Before I could move, a hand pushed me inexorably into the main room. Directly across from us was a bed covered in green wool and white linens. To my immediate right was another low table and pair of chairs crouched before a somewhat bare bookcase. It was to these Ondolemar gestured.
"Please, have a seat," the Altmer bade. His tone, though polite, brooked no argument. With a groan, the chair accepted my weight; and with trepidation, I pondered my fate. All about me the walls were adorned with weapons of every size, from the massive giant's club to a kitchen knife laying next to a crock of butter on the table. Sneering in distaste, he followed my gaze about the room. "Regrettably, I was unable to procure more suitable conditions for my brief stay. But I suppose this is the best they could do."
"What was in that document?" I asked, wanting to get to the point and get out of that place.
"Your friend has done his research well. At the very least, he is a credit to the Empire, irksome though they may be. That is more than I can say for his superiors." He paused, seeming to draw all the light in the room his dark robes. "Do you know why Constantius has been after the White Phial?"
Shocked that he knew of the Phial, I recoiled and scrambled to recover. When I did, I surmised Hrollod's document must have told part of my quest, though perhaps not the part that really mattered. Under his impatient glare, I stammered, "I suppose it would be of strategic use if he could use it to heal his troops."
Ondolemar scoffed. "So it would seem, but I believe you have witnessed how little he cares for his men. He would sooner learn necromancy and raise a battalion of undead than be forced to pander to the living."
The memory of Constantius' men falling under his blade, that sickening slick sound of blade meeting flesh, and the comments of those still stationed in Windhelm flickered in my mind. "However, if possessed by someone not as foolishly generous as you, it will do whatever the user wishes--within the limits of what any fluid substance can do, of course." My eyes widened in horror as I thought of poisons unleashed in cities; the screams of pain as innocent people convulsed upon the ground, dying, mingling with the quiet burbling of sewage ducts under the street. Even Derkeethus paused in his machinations to listen to my imaginings.
In seeing the appropriate response, the Justicar nodded imperiously. "It is because of this threat to both the Dominion and all people of Tamriel that I will grant you the pardon necessary to eliminate the man."
"Pardon? You mean, you won't help us directly? Surely Hrollod wrote of our mighty force of seven!" I ground out caustically. "We're facing four-to-one odds in this battle!"
"Be that as it may, I cannot risk any soldiers for so few returns. You are all capable warriors. I'm sure you are up to the task. After all, he is only a man."
"Tiber Septim was only a man," I remarked, knowing such a low blow would be risking what he had offered so far. The retort hit home and Ondolemar drew himself to his full height, towering over me.
"Then what could you offer me? I seem to recall that my invitation still stands."
What invitation? Derk asked, prying into my mind in curiosity. I did my best to shut him out.
"If I accept, will you send a force to assist us?"
"Perhaps... Tell me of your journey, then I may consider granting your request. Start from the beginning, and leave no detail unspoken."
"What does that have to do--"
"Do you want my aid or do you not?"
Heaving a great sigh, I stood and slowly paced the room, fighting Derkeethus' protests. You can't tell him everything! At least don't tell him about... An image of Markarth's inn, bottles strewn all over the floor. Of course I wouldn't tell someone like Ondolemar about our night together. This entire story would be embarrassing enough without recalling that event. It was still something I didn't like to think about, though my dreams often replayed those drunken moments of revelry.
So, I told him my tale, from the beginning at my home near Darkwater to coming to Solitude. At first, I attempted to omit anything relating to dragons, but in spite of my best efforts, I betrayed that secret, even telling of our journey to High Hrothgar. When I at last stopped, I stood before him, weary and empty. His face wore a stony mask and his eyes glinted like cold steel.
"The gift of Y'ffre," he murmured. "You do not wish for this...fate, do you? Nor to wield its power?"
"No! I don't want to become the Wild Hunt like my father wanted." He nodded in satisfaction and relief.
"Then I will grant your request. Hrollod will receive three of my soldiers to assist in carrying out this task," the Justicar said after a long moment of consideration. "However, you will be placed under surveillance. I cannot allow such a dangerous person--pair of persons--to wander unchecked."
"What? No! I told you! I don't want to turn into a monster!"
"Nevertheless, it is a risk I cannot take. I will not send my men into even greater peril simply because a whimsical, capricious Bosmer became angry and unleashed destruction upon the world. You will be watched, and when Constantius has been brought to justice, you will return here. Then, we will discuss the details of our arrangement."
My face twisted into a grimace of indignation, and I fought the urge to attack the Altmer and flee the premises. I would not be trapped. He may watch me all he likes now, but as soon as the battle is over, no one will ever find me again.
That's the spirit, though I hope you take me along with you. This political business is losing its charm. I heard Derk sigh as yet another set of bureaucratic policies were presented to him as he replied in forced, broken Cyrodilic.
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