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By the Nine!	By : ShadowMeld Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim Views: 2884 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls series and make no profit from this work of fanfiction.

Chapter List
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He woke up, groaning as he rubbed his cheek against the soft furs under his head. Wherever he was it was much more comfortable than the awful stone beds in Markarth. It was only after he’d basked in the warmth for a while that Ondolemar began to question just how he arrived in the pile of soft pelts.
When the strangeness of it finally sank in the altmer sat up straight, his gold eyes looking frantically about. He’d never walked to bed… how did he? Sweet Divines, one of the humans must have carried him. The justicar rubbed a hand frustratedly against his face, trying to steady his breath. At the very least he was still in his Thalmor robes and none of those disgusting Nords had the audacity to do something like…undress him. But it was little comfort when he thought about the indignity of his unconscious form being carted off by humans like a sack of wheat.
Well, there was little he could do about it now. Even in his indignity the altmer was somewhat reluctant to leave the warm of the furs that had been piled upon him. Obviously the humans were not kidding about an extra store of pelts. It was comfortable, he could at least be honest about that, but Ondolemar was a justicar and he did not plan on lounging about in borrowed warmth of humans like some layabout. Not when there were people to confront about their general audacity to physically move him without his permission.
The strain of getting up made Ondolemar groan. He was definitely feeling better than he had last eve, but the strain of magical exhaustion had not fully left him. He didn’t think he had so exhausted himself since he was a young mer trying to prove himself to officers of the dominion. His magicka made his head throb, the pressure looming behind his eyes and burning within his muscles, lingering in old injuries and aches.   He scoffed, one would have thought that at least death would alleviate such hurts, but then many of a justicar’s scars were not merely on corporeal flesh.
Still, despite his pains the mer rose out of the bedroll. Making his way out of the tent the altmer tried to brace for the chill, unfortunately it was hard to truly prepare oneself for the likes of a cold like this. He hissed between his teeth as the arctic air scored him. Narrowing his gaze against the wind, though he was startled to find the breeze warm.   It seemed one of the humans had actually gathered up enough initiative to start a fire, admittedly not something that he would have expected, especially considering the chorus of snores around him.
The justicar wasted no time in crossing the cold front over to the logs positioned all around the fire. The wave of heat was very much welcome, and Ondolemar gladly seated himself around the blaze, basking in the warmth across his front. What was even better was there didn’t seem to be a human in sight. This was fine for a while, until his back started getting cold, and Ondolemar started to shift in discomfort.
A sudden weight on his shoulders startled him, just as the dead body of the biggest hare he’d ever seen dropped right in front of him. “Breakfast,” a rough voice rumbled. Ondolemar grabbed at the thing on his shoulders first, his brow wrinkling when he felt the soft fur and turned to see the retreating back of the dark haired Nord walking away.
“Wait where…” the justicar started, but the man had already wandered off, leaving the mer blanketed and staring in confusion at the slaughtered animal at his feet. Ondolemar’s nose wrinkled a bit at his ‘breakfast’, one long finger coming out to probe at the dead beast. It wasn’t that the justicar hadn’t had to camp before out on campaigns, and they’d even needed to hunt for food on occasion, but he most certainly wasn’t accustomed to that food being provided by humans.
His overarching suspicion made him look the offering over very closely. But if he was looking for some kind of tampering, he found himself disappointed. The hare had been gutted and skinned, all but ready to be slid on a spit to serve. But why would the human bring his first?
A shambling step had Ondolemar looking up from the dubious offering, and the altmer frowned a bit more as the rowdy redhead from last night crawled out of his tent to collapse near him on a log.
“Morning sunshine… ohhhh…fire,” the ginger menace groaned with great satisfaction. The Nord looked a good resurrection from being awake, so Ondolemar tried not to pay much mind to his rudeness. Instead he claimed for himself one of the spits over the fire and slid the ready hare onto the stick. Rotating the thing himself was rather tedious, but it was also somewhat soothing to have something to keep his mind upon. The magical backlash was not fully done with him this morning, but he was warm and as safe as one could be in a nest of ruffians.
He must have lost track of time in his gazing while he turned the spit, as when he came back to himself his rabbit was nearly done and the incorrigible redhead was poking idly at the fire and quite plainly staring at him. Ondolemar did not like to think himself so easily riled, but he had simply no patience for gawkers. “Beg your pardon, is there some reason you see fit to stare blankly at me like some dim-witted horker?”
The redhead started a bit, almost like he was just as surprised by Ondolemar’s sudden regard as the mer had been by his staring. Though if it fazed him the discomfort was short-lived, as soon enough white teeth flashed at the altmer and the Nord smiled roguishly. “Perhaps I was just staring at your pretty face.”
Ondolemar’s narrowed gaze showed just how much he appreciated the human’s cheek.
The Nord raised his hands up in surrender, “alright, alright. Though you are lovely, even if you’ve got the temper of a hagraven on a red moon. Just wondering how a mer like you got brought in by Talos. Believe it or not, we’re not just simple fools, it’s known enough that Aldmeri have no love of Nord gods.”
Well, it seemed the Nord was at least somewhat less dense than he thought. Wonders never cease. “I ask myself that every second I remain here in your dubious company.”
He watched the redhead raise a brow, he looked about to say something, but a rustling distracted them both and the words never came. Around the fire other humans were beginning to emerge from their tents. Ondolemar returned his attention to his rabbit, removing the meat from the fire before it burned. He could hear the humans seating themselves around him, and of course, like the other they were all presumptuously close.
Another thing he had found grating during his time in Skyrim had been the local Nord’s utter disregard for the concepts of personal space. They thought nothing of seating themselves right beside him without so much as a by your leave. Still, it seemed he’d have to suffer through it, at least for now.
Observing as he picked at the crisped skin on his roast he noted that not all of the little group of humans were Nords. He saw a Breton, and even an Imperial. Though all of them seemed to have well embraced the wild; clad in their crude furs and shoddily-crafted leather. Obviously there was no seamstress amoung them. Every soldier of the Thalmor was at least taught basic sewing skills to maintain their uniform, as each was expected to represent the Dominion respectably at all times. Poor conditions were no excuse for looking shabby. It seemed such fastidiousness was a purely mer sensibility.
He almost wanted to laugh at the simplicity of their homemade clothes. The humans around him were chatting over the fire, too consumed in their chatter over base nonsense to pay him any mind. The realization that he was faintly comfortable caused an abrupt feeling of disquiet. Was he really so complacent to be taking breakfast with strange humans…? Humans, who he suddenly realized, he did not even know the names of.
“Who…are all of you?”
“Deigning to address us are you, majesty?” laughed a hearty Breton woman.
“Careful, careful, don’t get his back up. You know how fussy purebreds can be.”
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- 7
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By the Nine!