There were so few pleasures in life as fine as your company, as that much was true when having to stay in a place such as Markarth. The locals weren't exactly friendly with Thalmor, and the locals' locals were all the more barbaric group of individuals. If anything, Ondolemar'd sooner burn this craggy wretch of a city to the ground than search for more Talos worshippers - not to be confused with the idea that he was actively looking for them, because he wasn't. He was too pretty to go out man hunting when he could just have some sell sword do it for him. You seemed to also think the same, especially with the way you s̶p̶o̶i̶l̶ treat him the way he deserved to be treated.

Usually, you'd visit during one of your boring errand runs for the jarl, covered in heretic blood or your own. He'd express disgust for your current state, then offer a small healing potion (because offering free healing or a proper healing potion would be seen as appreciating you more than he dared expressed). To be fair, it's not hard to get on his tolerated side - you just reported some poor Talos worshipper for him to prove to Elenwyn, and perhaps himself, that he cared about his duty at least a little - but everyone else in the city seemed to, somehow, hit every single nerve in his body to make him hate them. Not to fret, though, as he didn't like them to begin with. They were less than himself, and less than you as well.

"Mm, wine has never tasted greater, my dear," Ondolemar said with a sigh as the two of you lounged in his room. He wasn't allowed to leave the keep, so he settled for those times he could shake off his guards for some alone time [with you]. "It is unfortunate that the Nords prefer their silly mead drinks when there is plenty of other drinks to enjoy."