Ondolemar folded the last parchment and handed it to the courier, the message joining the other two already in the man’s hands. “The first message is for Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood in Dawnstar. Into his hands only. The second message is for Delvin Mallory of Riften of the Thieves’ Guild. Into his hands only. This third is for Legate Rikke of the Imperial Army in Solitude. Again, into her hands only. Do not fail me. Now go.” Rising from his chair, secure in the knowledge that the courier would do as he was bidden, Ondolemar headed back towards his charge. He shook his head at the irony that he, a Thalmor, was doing everything in his power to keep the Dragonborn alive. Then again, he shouldn’t be that surprised. The Thalmor had been cleaning up messes after Elenwen for some time—it was bound to bite him in the ass at some point.
The safehouse would, of course, have to be abandoned after this. It was one of a network of houses that he had set up over the years—secure locations known only to himself. The priestess in the next room would be made to forget. But there were others, people who would have seen something and remember it, that could not be dealt with. So, the house would be abandoned. A shame, really, since he rather liked this house.
“M’lord, the poison has been flushed from her system.”
Ondolemar nodded absently at the priestess, arms crossed over his chest. “And?”
The priestess sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Her wounds are many. She is asleep now—whether she will ever awaken is not something I can say. Her body could not—I’m sorry, but the baby could not be saved.” The priestess glanced behind herself at the doorway through which the Dragonborn rested. “If she survives she may yet have more children but—the trauma, you see.”
Ondolemar winced, feeling as if he had been punched in the gut. So she’d been pregnant again. What would that have made this one—her third babe by that thief she’d married? He wondered if she had known when Elenwen had been torturing her, if she’d asked for mercy for her unborn child. “I see. Thank you. The donation to the temple has been made, as promised.” He nodded towards his servant, who stepped towards the priestess at his signal. “We will see you home now.”
The priestess nodded, following the servant and leaving Ondolemar alone with his thoughts. His time was limited, he knew. Elenwen would be in a rage that her plaything had been taken from her and, insane as she might be, she still was his superior. It wouldn’t take long for the courier to find Rikke, and even less for the Legate to come. Stepping through the doorway of the bedchamber of the Dragonborn, he stared down at her. Her skin, usually pale, was practically as white as the sheets she lay upon. Her hair was spread over the pillow, not in her usual twin braids that hung over her shoulders. “Katrin, I’m so sorry.” He leaned down, pressing his lips against her forehead, her skin cool to the touch.
Turning, he strode out of the bedchamber and down the steps to the doorway. Stepping onto the street, he pulled his hood over his head and strode away. The darkness swallowed the Thalmor as he disappeared into the night.
Re: Any - Avenging the Dragonborn/etc. "Mostly Dead" (2a/?) F!DB/Others
The safehouse would, of course, have to be abandoned after this. It was one of a network of houses that he had set up over the years—secure locations known only to himself. The priestess in the next room would be made to forget. But there were others, people who would have seen something and remember it, that could not be dealt with. So, the house would be abandoned. A shame, really, since he rather liked this house.
“M’lord, the poison has been flushed from her system.”
Ondolemar nodded absently at the priestess, arms crossed over his chest. “And?”
The priestess sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Her wounds are many. She is asleep now—whether she will ever awaken is not something I can say. Her body could not—I’m sorry, but the baby could not be saved.” The priestess glanced behind herself at the doorway through which the Dragonborn rested. “If she survives she may yet have more children but—the trauma, you see.”
Ondolemar winced, feeling as if he had been punched in the gut. So she’d been pregnant again. What would that have made this one—her third babe by that thief she’d married? He wondered if she had known when Elenwen had been torturing her, if she’d asked for mercy for her unborn child. “I see. Thank you. The donation to the temple has been made, as promised.” He nodded towards his servant, who stepped towards the priestess at his signal. “We will see you home now.”
The priestess nodded, following the servant and leaving Ondolemar alone with his thoughts. His time was limited, he knew. Elenwen would be in a rage that her plaything had been taken from her and, insane as she might be, she still was his superior. It wouldn’t take long for the courier to find Rikke, and even less for the Legate to come. Stepping through the doorway of the bedchamber of the Dragonborn, he stared down at her. Her skin, usually pale, was practically as white as the sheets she lay upon. Her hair was spread over the pillow, not in her usual twin braids that hung over her shoulders. “Katrin, I’m so sorry.” He leaned down, pressing his lips against her forehead, her skin cool to the touch.
Turning, he strode out of the bedchamber and down the steps to the doorway. Stepping onto the street, he pulled his hood over his head and strode away. The darkness swallowed the Thalmor as he disappeared into the night.