Elder Scroll series 1. And Thus, It Begins

**I've been writing this on and off since Oblivion first came out. Of course, I've changed it dramatically and my writing skills have improved (hopefully :]), but whenever my mind drifted in this direction or I got an idea while playing, I couldn't help but pick up a pen and jot down everything that entered my mind. I'm very proud of this story since I've poured endless hours into creating scenarios and characters, and I hope you all like it! :3**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer; I do not in any way, shape, or form own The Elder Scrolls, or anything affiliated thereof, nor do I make any profit by publishing this work of fan fiction. The copyright belongs solely to Bethesda Studios. I do, however, own the character Lethia Atherayn, as she is my creation.**

-x-

A young Dunmer stared at the golden sunbeam that made its way through the wrought-iron bars of her cell window, deep in thought. The warm light rested softly on the azure skin of her face and sent playful rays cascading down her light coral hair, teasing her with their freedom. She closed her crimson eyes and let the warmth wash over her, trying to fight off the cold radiated by the stone floor and walls.

"What amazing defiance; to shine so brightly in such a dark place," she whispered to herself, smiling at the sunlight. A breeze blew in from the window and the Dunmer girl heard the deceptively gentle clink of the rusted shackles suspended from the ceiling as they brushed against each other. The cold stone floor was rank with the smell of rotting and mold, as were the slimy walls, green with moss and other subterranean plant growth she didn't recognize. Everything seemed to be in a terrible state of decay, even the ragged mat that lay atop a spread of hay in the small crevice to her left. The torch that sat in the sconce by the gate behind her burned dimly, casting waving shadows across the blue-green tinted stonework and transforming the dank cell into a foreboding storybook tale of anguish and despair.

There was a small table and a chair made of rotting pinewood with a clay jar filled with stagnant water atop it, as well as a small, cracked clay cup. A small pile of bones sat in the corner beside it, the off-white cartilage picked clean of all flesh by the rats that scurried across the cold stones of the Imperial City's dungeons.

The Dark Elf rubbed her wrists uncomfortably. The rusted iron clamps around them were irritating her soft skin, and had created bloody sores. Her sack cloth pants were stained with the blood and puss from when she tried to clean the open wounds, and her shirt, made from the same material, wasn't in much better condition. Running her fingers through her matted and oily hair, she grimaced at the texture of her once-silky mane. Sighing, she continued the motion, wincing every time her fingers ran through a particularly tangled clump of hair. The guards had confiscated the hairpins that held her usual twisted braid against the back of her head, but that was no reason to let her hair go unkempt. Besides, back in Mournhold, everyone remarked on how beautiful she looked with her hair down.

With a sigh, the girl let her hands fall to her lap, knowing that whatever state her hair was currently in, it was in the best she could manage. Lifting the hem of her shirt up to her breast band, she looked down at her slim form, slimmer than usual due to the lack of proper nutrition. She had been imprisoned for almost two full months, and all she got a day was a jug of stagnant water and a weevil-infested loaf of stale bread. If she was lucky, the prison cook, pitying the half-starved Elf, would sneak in a small morsel of moldy cheese or a rotting apple.

The Dunmer ran a finger down her side, feeling each one of her protruding ribs as the pad of her finger ran along it. She counted each one, wincing every time she got to the fourth and fifth ones. She remembered snapping them when she was thrown against the stone floor of the cell she was in, and receiving a swift kick to her injured side when she asked for a sip of healing potion. The guard came to torment her every day at the exact same time, like he was on some sick, twisted schedule. She preferred to ignore him, choosing instead to remain silent and impassive, and after he grew bored of mocking a stone wall, he would turn on Valen Dreth, her prison mate across the hallway. if anything, the man was much crueler to Valen than he was to Lethia, since he knew he could get a rise out of the old mer. It was cruel and unnecessary, and Lethia doubted that the issue was anything less than racial. Whenever a drunkard or a thief from the races of men was incarcerated, the guard was decidedly kinder towards them than he was to any of the mer or beast races. That miserable excuse for a man... If she could only get her hands on him...

The young noble mentally scolded herself for such negative thoughts and concentrated instead upon the warmth of the sun. Despite his cruelty, the guard was naught more than a man, a creature with faults just as she was. Suddenly, a deep voice behind her started to speak, breaking her from her thoughts.

"I must surely be dead, and in the halls of Azura to look upon such a vision. You are so beautiful, my dear Dunmer maiden." She turned sharply and saw, through two sets of bars, a middle-aged Dark Elven man smiling softly back at her.

"One of the guards owes me a favor, you know. I could get us put in the same cell. Would you like that?" He asked, cocking his head. It was some wonder that the mer had not noticed Lethia before; Lethia already knew more about the older Dunmer than she cared to. Instead of responding immediately, Lethia chose to further study the mer, as he had entered the small bit of light shed by the torch outside his cell. He was handsome and well-built, despite his incarceration. His hair was more brushed silver than grey or white, and his eyes were the color of freshly spilled blood. His skin was an ash-blue, a stark contrast to Lethia's light completion. Despite the slight wrinkles upon his face, he was quite handsome.

"You should have some fun before the end," he said, not giving the younger mer time to respond. She blinked in astonishment.

"E-excuse me?" She managed, thinking she had heard wrong.

"Yeah, you heard me," he grinned, his light auburn eyes narrowing in malicious glee. "No matter what the law says, no matter what they told you, you're going to die in here! You're going to die!" The young girl's crimson eyes narrowed to thin slits as she glared at the odious Elf. Choosing to ignore his mindless prattle, she turned back to the welcoming warmth of the sun and resumed her previous position in the small patch of light. Valen Dreth was obviously just as intelligent as she first judged; which wasn't very much. Her sharp ears picked up the sound of metal hitting the stone in a rhythmic pattern, just before the loathsome Elf piped up from his cell across the pathway.

"You hear that? They're coming. For you!" With that, the Elf fell into a bout of fiendish laughter as he retreated to the back of his cell.

"Baurus, lock that door behind us," a female voice commanded, which was shortly followed by a "yessir" and a click.

"My sons... They're dead, aren't they?" An old, gravely voice asked, submission in his tone.

"We don't know that, sire," the female voice consoled. "The messenger only said they were attacked."

"No, they're dead," the other voice replied. "I know it."

"My job right now is to get you to safety," the female voice said sharply. "Why is there a prisoner in here? This cell is supposed to be off-limits!" The Dunmer in question turned around and saw five people standing at the entrance to her cell, one of which was a very irritated-looking female Imperial in the most peculiar armor, flanked by a similarly-dressed Redguard and a Nord, an elderly man in expensive robes, and the prison guard, whom the Dunmer shot a glare at, pleased when she saw him shrink under her gaze.

"A usual mix-up with the watch," the guard stuttered as he turned his attention back to the Imperial, obviously flustered by the female's presence. "I-"

"No matter," the Imperial woman snapped. "Get that door open! Stay back, prisoner; we won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way!" The young Elf promptly moved to the back of the cell, pressing her back to the wall furthest from the commotion. As the strange posse flooded through the prison gate, she eyed it hungrily, a million different escape routes running through her head.

"Stay put," commanded the male called Baurus, almost as if reading her thoughts.

"Any sign of pursuit?" The female Imperial asked, shifting her feet and keeping her hand near her sheathed katana.

"No ma'am," came the other man's curt reply.

"Good," the Imperial nodded. "Let's go; we're not out of this yet."

The elderly man, his wispy white hair floating around his head, suddenly stopped moving and stared at the young girl as if in a trance. "You... I've seen you. Let me see your face." He gently elbowed himself through his followers and stood before her, gazing deeply into her eyes.

"You're the one from my dreams," he muttered, half to himself. "Then the stars were right, and this is the day." His voice wavered a bit at the end, but with more conviction, he stood a little taller and said, "Gods give me strength."

-x-

The young Dunmer flopped down, completely exhausted. She leaned back against the cold, mildewed stone and closed her eyes.

"By the Nine, what has this world come to?" She chuckled, listening to the quiet echoes of her voice. "Only a few weeks ago, I was in the great city of Mournhold, going through the motions of daily life, and now, I'm a prisoner in an underground escape route waiting for the Emperor and his guardians to return. Things have greatly changed since I was in Cyrodiil last."

The irritated Dark Elf sat cross-legged and cursed Barrus and Glenroy, the mysterious Blades that had been accompanying the Emperor, for leaving her amidst the corpses of Mythic Dawn assassins and the other Blade named Renault. Because of her incarceration, none of the strange group but the Emperor trusted her, and as such, she was left behind. The only crimes she had committed in her life were the liberation of one moldy chunk of cheese thrown atop the waste pile outside a guard house, insubordination of a Redoran guard who ordered her to bed with him, and illegal immigration; hardly enough to condemn her to a life-sentence.

Pouting slightly, the young Elf crossed her arms. She had papers at the border to prove she was a legitimate citizen of Morrowind who wanted to immigrate to Cyrodiil to study at the Arcane University, but the guard shredded the papers and attempted to ravage her, failing miserably and receiving a dagger to the thigh. The young mer hadn't wounded him fatally, but he would definitely be crippled for life. Nevertheless, he screamed for backup about an illegal immigrant and the Dunmer was promptly thrown into the Imperial city prison. The girl sighed in frustration over the unfortunate turn of events, rolling her cramped shoulder and shifting slightly.

Suddenly, the wall she was leaning against gave way, the mortar too rotted to hold fast any longer. Amid the echoes of the crumbling stone, she heard the sound of a sewage rat sifting through the wreckage. Springing up, the girl's hand tightened around the Akaviri katana she had temporarily commandeered from the fallen Blade.

A furry black shadow flew at her with a squeak, and in one fluid movement, the Dark Elf caved in its ribcage with the flat end of her blade, killing it instantly. As she knelt to examine the carcass, the Dunmer remembered where the rat had come from and directed her attention to where the crumbling stone wall had caved in. Peering into the inky darkness, her keen eyes adjusted and led her gaze to a wooden door, more than pleased with this new discovery.

-x-

The afternoon sun glared down at the coral-haired Dark Elf as she stumbled out of the sewer grate, shielding her sensitive eyes from the intense rays. The light reflected off the surface of the lake in front of her, almost blinding her with its radiance. Sitting heavily on the edge of the mossy cobblestone entrance, she sighed and flopped onto her back. Fumbling around in the pocket of her recently-acquired iron greaves, she withdrew the brilliant red gem necklace she had tucked in her pocket for safe-keeping. The emperor of the entire province had just been assassinated, but not before entrusting the fate of the entire world in the hands of a young Dark Elven girl.

"How ironic," she laughed, slipping the gem back in its hiding place. "To think that just an hour ago, I was being taunted in prison, and now I'm on a quest given to me by the emperor himself to find his heir. Oh, how the tides have turned."

-x-

Brother Jauffre pretended to study the book before him, his calm facade believable only to those that did not know him well. His sharp mind was running wild, contemplating the current chaotic state of Cyrodiil, and perhaps the whole of Tamriel.

The Emperor's sons Geldall, Enman and Ebel had fallen to the blades of Mythic Dawn assassins, leaving Uriel Septim VII, a fragile, elderly man aged at eighty-seven, to defend the Empire. Jauffre let out a tired sigh.

"Gods preserve us." His tentative prayer was shortly followed by Prior Maborel's quiet voice.

"Excuse me, Brother," Jauffre lifted his gaze to Maborel's, "there's a Dark Elf to see you." With that, the Prior stepped aside and the Dunmer in question game into the old monk's view. She looked young, and she would be beautiful if she wasn't covered in dirt and grime from the road. Her coral-colored hair was twisted into somewhat of a braid and held in place by four long hairpins, and she wore a rusted iron cuirass that looked a dozen sizes too large for her.

"I'm Brother Jauffre," the old monk sighed, not wanting to hear another tale of woe from a tired adventurer. "What do you want?"

"Good afternoon, Brother," the Dark Elf greeted, leaning into a small bow. "I apologize for interrupting your studies, but I do believe what I have to say is of the utmost importance. My name is Lethia Atherayn of Mournhold."

-x-

**I do apologize for the weird breaks, but you've all played the game, you all know what happens in the sewers; NOTHING. Well, it does introduce the main plot/quest line, but that's IT. I didn't want to write all that out when it's already been resolved.**

**Anyway, I hope you liked it! And many thanks to harmoniedusoir for pretty much being my beta for this chapter :) your help is greatly appreciated.**


	2. Complications

**Ah, apologies for being so late on the update. It seems I'm quite a deal more of a procrastinator than I had thought X) but henceforth, I will make my best effort to update on a more regular schedule (^w^)v**

**Disclaimer; I claim ownership of Lethia Atherayn, but nothing else. I doubt I have the capacity to create such an amazing franchise :)**

-x-

"Good afternoon, Brother," the Dark Elf greeted, leaning into a small bow. "I apologize for interrupting your studies, but I do believe what I have to say is of the utmost importance. My name is Lethia Atherayn of Mournhold."

Jauffre ignored the greeting for a chance to further study the young Elf. She stood with her feet slightly apart, her back straight and her head held high. She radiated grace and skill, but also a form of humility and empathy.

Her facial features were slim with a slightly angular structure, and her eyes were a deep red with flecks of gold near the irises. Her skin was a light, almost sky blue, and her hair color was much lighter than a Dunmer's. Simply put, she was clearly a half-blood. Her father must have been an Altmer nobleman who had an affair with a lower-class Dunmer, or something of the sort. Her over-sized armor was humorously large on her; it looked as if she was wearing something made for an orc. There was a thick layer of rust coating the metal, giving the impression of years spent in a dank hole in the ground. It took Jauffre a moment to register the rusted irons the Dunmer wore around her wrists. They looked much too tight to be worn for fashion.

Lethia shifted uncomfortably as the old monk's eyes traveled over her face and body, feeling suddenly vulnerable and exposed. His azure eyes were less like a monk and more like a seasoned warrior warily studying a foe.

"Good afternoon, Lethia of Mournhold," Jauffre greeted finally. "What brings you to Weynon Priory?"

"I bring news from the Emperor."

Jauffre stood sharply and gripped the edge of his desk, jolting his chair and making it slide a few inches across the rug. "Emperor Uriel?" He asked, his azure eyes wide. "Do you know something about his death?"

"I was there when he died," Lethia replied simply. Jauffre's eyes narrowed.

"You'd better explain yourself," the monk growled, his anger rising. "Now."

-x-

Jauffre leaned back in his chair, feeling as if the wind had just been knocked from his lungs. He had heard of the attacks in the Imperial City, but he had not received any word on the Emperor since a courier came to the Priory bearing the news of the death of the heirs.

"As unlikely as your story sounds, I believe you, and I thank you for telling me this," he sighed, running his hand over his partially shaved head. "But why come yourself? Why not sent a courier to deliver this information?" Lethia visibly winced.

"Ah, you see, the Emperor also had me bring you something to keep safe." Lethia slid her hand into the pocket of her greaves and withdrew the concealed amulet, holding it out to the monk.

"By the Nine Divines, the Amulet of Kings!" Jauffre snatched the blood red gem and stared up at Lethia, slightly narrowing his eyes. "How did you come across this? No one but the Emperor is permitted to carry this."

"Ah, well you see," Lethia sighed, uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot. "Just before an assassin ended the Emperor's life, he handed it to me, along with cryptic words about the Daedric Prince of Destruction and a parting, 'close shut the jaws of Oblivion.' I have yet to decipher the meaning behind them."

"His meaning is unclear to me as well," Jauffre drawled, rubbing his chin in thought. "The Prince of Destruction he referred to is none other than Mehrunes Dagon, one of the lords of the demonic world of Oblivion. Uriel's final words- "Close shut the jaws of Oblivion"- certainly suggest that he perceived some threat from Oblivion." Jauffre paused, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "But the mortal world is protected from the daedra of Oblivion by magical barriers."

"Then how can Oblivion threaten us?" Lethia asked, thoroughly confused by the cryptic words of the late Emperor. "Does it have something to do with the Amulet?"

"I'm not sure," Jauffre sighed. "Only the emperors truly understand the meaning behind the rituals of coronation. The Amulet of Kings is ancient. Saint Alessia herself received it from the gods. It is a holy relic of great power. When an Emperor is crowned, he uses the Amulet to light the Dragonfires at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. With the Emperor dead and no new heir crowned, the Dragonfires in the Temple will be dark, for the first time in centuries." Jauffre paused to clear his throat. "It may be that the Dragonfires protected us from a threat that only the Emperor was aware of." Jauffre laced his fingers together just beneath his nose, peering over his wrinkled hands at the Dark Elf, sharing her puzzled look.

"This is troubling," he said simply. "But we must find the Emperor's heir. We must find Martin." Lethia's eyes widened.

"You mean there actually is another heir?"

"Yes. I am one of the few who know of his existence. Many years ago, I served as captain of Uriel's bodyguards, the Blades. I believe you met a few of them on your recent escapade. One night Uriel called me in to his private chambers. A baby boy lay sleeping in a basket, swaddled in blankets. Uriel told me to deliver him somewhere safe. He never told me anything else about the baby, but I knew it was his son. From time to time he would ask about the child's progress, and a fond look would pass over his face as I spoke of his accomplishments. Now, it seems that this illegitimate son is the heir to the Septim Throne; if he yet lives."

"So, where is he?" Lethia asked. "How do we find him?"

"Patience, Lethia; I'm getting there. He serves Akatosh in the Chapel in the city of Kvatch, just south of here. You must go to Kvatch and find him at once. If the enemy is aware of his existence, as seems likely, he is in terrible danger." Lethia nodded and promptly turned to leave, but the monk's voice halted her.

"The fastest route is through the woods, of course, but the safest path is to follow the Black Road to the Niben Bay, and then onto the Gold Road." Jauffre raised his voice just enough to reach Lethia, "I also suggest going through Skingrad; skirting those hills will be difficult without a hewn path. And please, let me know if there's anything you need. My resources here are limited, but I will help in any way I can."

"Actually," Lethia began, turning on her heel. "Do you happen to have a reliable anvil around? This armor doesn't quite fit." Jauffre chuckled at Lethia's understatement.

"Better. I have someone who can help you fit that armor with minimal involvement on your part. I understand it's hard to try and shape armor to your own body without some extra hands. His name is Eronor, he's the shepard here, although he was a smith in his younger years." Jauffre looked pointedly at Lethia's over sized and misshapen armor. "He'll help you form that hunk of metal to fit you. I also keep some supplies in that chest over there. I have a limited supply, but I do keep some potions and weapons in permanent stock for Blades passing through. Help yourself to whatever you need. I believe there's a extra set of armor in that chest to your right. It's in better condition, and won't be as brittle when you're molding it, if you choose to accept it."

"I thank you, Brother," Lethia smiled as she bowed respectfully. "Your help is much appreciated."

-x-

With a friendly wave to Eronor, Lethia used the heels of her new iron boots to spur the horse Prior Maborel had given her into a gallop, tightly holding the reins as the horse and rider flew down the road. The horse's new iron shoes, smelted the day before, slammed against the smooth stone, sending pebbles flying in every direction.

-x-

Lethia hopped down from her horse, whom she had aptly named Hearthfire after the color of his coat at dawn, and stared at the mountaintop where Kvatch was situated, gazing up at the scorched walls and burnt trees.

"Must have had a forest fire," Lethia reasoned to herself, ignoring the sick feeling that settled itself in the pit of her stomach. Gently tugging Hearthfire's reins, Lethia continued down the path alongside her tired horse.

-x-

Hirtel flew down the hewn cobble of the Gold Road, his composure finally broken. After the terrible night before, the Altmer had milled aimlessly around the encampment until, finally, he snapped. He didn't notice the other pedestrian until he slammed into her shoulder, sending them both reeling back. As he regained his footing, Hirtel registered the fact that the Dunmer before him was headed **_towards_ **the ruins of the city. She was insane!

"Come on! Run while there's still time!" Hirtel cried frantically. "The Guard still hold the road, but it's only a matter of time before they're overwhelmed!" He studied the Dark Elf's confused expression.

"Gods' blood, you don't know, do you? Daedra overran Kvatch last night! There were glowing portals outside the walls! Gates to Oblivion itself! There was a huge creature – something out of a nightmare – came right over the walls, blasting fire. They swarmed around it... killing..." Hirtel trailed off, lost in the memories of the night before. Suddenly, he snapped his gaze back up to meet Lethia's.

"Go and see for yourself! Kvatch is a smoking ruin! We're all that's left, do you understand me? Everyone else is dead! Savlian Matius and some of the other guards helped some of us escape. They cut their way out, right through the city gates. Savlian says they can hold the road. I don't believe him. Nothing can stop them. If you had seen it, you'd know, too! I'm getting out of here before it's too late! They'll be here any minute – I'm telling you! Run while you can!" With that, the half-crazed Altmer moved to continue his flight down the road towards Anvil.

"Wait!" Lethia dropped Hearthfire's reins to grab a fist full of Hirtel's shirt, halting his movement. "What know you of a priest in the chapel named Brother Martin?" Her crimson eyes were wild with urgency.

"Y-yes, I knew a priest named Martin once," Hirtel managed, shaken from Lethia's sudden movement. "But I'm sure he's dead, just like the rest of them. They're all dead, don't you understand?!" The last part he yelled, his eyes widening to accentuate his terror. A sick look passed over Lethia's face, her lips parting in shock. Feeling Lethia's grip slacken, Hirtel tore himself free and dashed down the road, more desperate than ever to reach the haven of Anvil.

Lethia felt as though she had been hit in the chest with a Daedric mace. Martin, the last surviving heir of the Septim throne, dead? She tried to swallow past the growing lump in her throat and tugged Hearthfire's reins, desperate to reach the city.

-x-

The encampment was somber, with despair and frustration thick in the air. As Lethia passed each tent, she heard coughs from the smoke-clogged lungs of the survivors and muffled crying from the women and children from inside the scattered tents. The few men were outside the tents, doing their best to remain on the lookout for their families, and a few of the women were huddled around a tiny fire, working together to make a pitiful meal for the survivors. The ashes from the smoldering city fell like thick Jerall snow, and carried on the wind was the scent of burnt flesh.

As Lethia trudged through the sorry campsite, the survivors gave her blank stares, resignation and sorrow in their eyes. Lethia tried not to meet their eyes as she passed, knowing that she must find Martin and leave immediately, that she could not stop to help even one survivor.

-x-

As she approached the barricade, Lethia noticed that the sky seemed to suddenly change from the brilliant azure of mid-morning to the color of freshly-spilled blood. The once-white clouds that floated lazily above the land were now dark and foreboding, reflecting the state of the destroyed city. The formidable walls that used to surround Kvatch in a thick veil of protection were in a sorry state; the battlements were crumbling, and whole sections of the upper walls were missing, broken down to shattered masonry and old wooden frames. The thick black smoke mixed strangely with the blood-red sky, and every so often, a bolt of lightning would tear its way across the red sky, further adding to the ambiance of destruction.

Kvatch no longer looked like the small, happy city atop a mountain. It looked like a scene from Oblivion itself.

"How true," Lethia muttered, staring into the striking orange portal that seemed to have sprung out of the very earth.

"Stand back civilian! This is no place for you! Get back to the encampment at once!" The sudden shout jolted Lethia from her musings about the smoldering city, and turned to face a middle-aged Imperial man, dressed in a simple armor with an angular wolf-head design. His hair was cropped short, and he wore a tattered linen headband. He has crow's feet adorning the corners of his eyes, a testament to the happy and relatively easy life he had led up until the night before. He stood a couple of inches below Lethia's eye level, but was by no means a small man. From his broad shoulders to his thick arms, Lethia knew he was a strong man.

"Good day, sir," Lethia greeted, trying her best to remain calm and polite. "You must be the captain of the guard, Savlian Matius." The Dark Elf bowed respectfully. "I am Lethia Atherayn. Would you mind telling me what happened here?"

"We lost the damned city, that's what happened!" Savlian growled. "It was too much, too fast. We were overwhelmed. Couldn't even get everyone out. There are still people trapped in there. Some made it into the Chapel, but others were just run down in the streets. The Count and his men are still holed up in the castle. And now we can't even get back into the city to help them, with that damned Oblivion Gate blocking the way." Savlian gestured to the huge portal, inconveniently situated right in front of the huge city gates.

"What do you plan on doing, sir?" Lethia asked, anxious to get past the gate and inside the city.

"The only thing we can do. We'll try to hold our ground. If we can't hold this barricade, those beasts could march right down and overrun the encampment. I have to try and protect the few civilians that are left. It's all I can do now." Savlian turned to stare longingly at the still burning city, anguish in his gaze.

"My home... my goddamn home, in flames. It kills me that I can't get in there and _**do**_ something. We couldn't have been any less prepared for this. Seems like they came out of nowhere. There were just so many of them... If only I had a way to strike back at the enemy. But we can't leave the barricade until that Oblivion Gate is closed."

"I could go in and close it." Lethia's sudden suggestion startled even herself, but it had clearly shocked the captain.

"Y-you want to help?" Savlian sputtered over his words, Lethia's eagerness to be of assistance greatlt rattling him. "You're kidding, right?" Lethia shook her head, matching the stare Savlian was giving her.

"Hmm... if you're serious, maybe I can put you to use. It'll likely mean your death, though. Are you sure?"

"As sure as I have been about anything."

"Well, I- y- thank you." A dumbfounded expression played across the captain's face, but it quickly disappeared and was replaced with one of all seriousness. "I don't know how to close this Gate, but it must be possible, because the enemy closed the ones they opened during the initial attack. You can see the marks on the ground where they were, with the Great Gate right in the middle." Savlian pointedly looked at the scorched earth, where spikes had risen up from the ground.

"I sent men into the Gate, to see if they could find a way to shut it. They haven't come back. If you can get in there, find out what happened to them. If they're alive, help them finish the job. If not, see what you can do on your own. The best I can say is, good luck. If you make it back alive, we'll be waiting for you." Lethia nodded and skirted the captain, steadily making her way to the gate.

"Wait!" A hand clapped down on Lethia's shoulder, and she turned her head to meet Savlian Matius' gaze.

"It's a brave thing you're doing, Lethia," he said simply. "Thank you." With that, the captain released Lethia's shoulder and returned to his men, carefully guarding the road.

As Lethia approached the shimmering gate, a sudden wave of dread washing over her. Drawing her sword, Lethia gripped the bound leather handle and squared her shoulders. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, inhaling the sickening odor of burnt flesh and charred wood. The sharp scent stung her nose and cleared her head, and Lethia steeled herself for her endeavor. Snapping her eyes open, she stepped forward with conviction, passing through the mortal plane to the Realm of Mehrunes Dagon.

-x-

**It's finally up, friends! Chapter two!**

**Be proud of me :)**

**And I'm not kidding when I say it might be some time between posts; I figured I didn't have to write much for this when I still had classes, since I figured I would have ample time during summer break, but apparently, I don't. X3**

**If you're bored while waiting for me to update, you should go and read the Skyrim fanfic; "The Bear and the Wolf," by BrunetteAuthorette99; it is seriously amazing and deserves much attention :D She's wrapping the whole thing up now, so you can just read straight through it, unlike that lazy StoriUrahara, who is taking her sweet time typing and posting chapters ;)**

**If you're REALLY bored while waiting for me to update, then PM me and say "hurry the hell up, Stori!" And I promise to refrain from replying with "chill out, dude; I'll get to it... Eventually ;)"**

**Anyway (silence your rambling, Stori), thank you for reading! ^w^**


	3. Deadlands

The first thing Lethia noticed was the distinct change of atmosphere. Gravity seemed to be pressing down on her shoulders with more weight, and it was hard to breathe deeply without catching a lung full of ash. It was positively sweltering; Lethia broke out in a sweat the moment she stepped into the Deadlands. The whole realm reminded her of Red Mountain and the surrounding land, with the red-hued sky and the charred earth, with scrawny plants few in number and far between, and the whole place looked disturbingly similar to the Ghostgate and the surrounding areas. There were scattered pillars of bluish-black smoke rising from the parched ground, as if the sheer heat of the realm caused spontaneous burning of the ground. The distinct scent of burnt flesh was carried on the ash clogged wind, making Lethia's nose crinkle in disgust. The sky was a swirling, turbulent ocean of stars, and comets of flame shot across it, leaving swirling mist in their wake.

The second thing she noticed were the three huge spires that reached to the heavens, much like the White-Gold Tower of the Imperial City, albeit much more intimidating. They seemed to rise from the charred ground and slice the sky with the sharp thorn-like spikes that grew from the top and sides. A bridge spanned the river of lava, but a giant metal gate blocked the way to the three towers.

The third thing she noticed was a white-clad swordsman, desperately fending off a swarm of scamps.

"For Kvatch!" The guard, for Lethia recognized the angular wolf design on his uniform as the symbol of Kvatch, flung himself at the beasts, skillfully dispatching two of them. He turned to face the other two, but there were three more of the scamps alongside the previous two. Lethia appeared suddenly, slipping between the creatures like silk as she quickly dispatched each of them, only the tip of her sword gathering blood. With a quick flick of her wrist, Lethia wiped off her blade with the falling body of a scamp. She sheathed her sword and turned to face the guard.

"Are you injured?" Lethia asked as she approached the awestruck man. "I hope I did not arrive here too late."

"N-not at all!" The man sputtered, still in shock at the ease Lethia had displayed in dispatching the daedra. "Th-thank you! I never thought I'd see another friendly face. I'm Ilend Vonius; I came with some others, but they were taken to the towers... We were ambushed, trapped, and picked off..." The guard looked down, clearly distraught at losing his comrades.

"I suggest you going back through the portal," Lethia consoled gently. "I'm sure Savlian and the others could use your help holding the road. I'll take care of the gate." At that, Ilend jerked his head up, meeting Lethia's gaze.

"You mean to say that the captain survived?" He asked, breathless. "I figured I was the last one alive!" Lethia gave Ilend a moment for the information to sink in.

"Alright," Ilend finally said, nodding slightly. "I'll head back to the barricade. Thanks again, miss." With a light smile, he turned on his heel and dashed up the hill.

Lethia looked again at the towers, mulling over which one to tackle first. The largest one looked the most promising; Lethia knew of the pride and arrogance the Daedric Princes displayed, and judging by the sheer size of that particular spire, it was her best bet.

Continuing down the hill, Lethia wiped away the sweat that had gathered on her brow. After this endeavor, she would definitely be bathing in the nearest possible source of cold, running water.

-x-

Lethia inhaled sharply when she stepped over the threshold of the circular chamber. Some sort of red-hued skin was stretched across a hole in the ground, and the pillar of fire from the lower rooms was spouting from the hole in the center. The flame reached through a metal ring that was suspended by chains from the outer rim of the open roof, and seemed to stop there.

"Curious," Lethia muttered, wondering at the strange pillar of flame. Pushing her musings aside, Lethia began to explore the chamber. Spikes protruded from the walls and made a sort of staircase to the upper level, connecting in the middle with a circular stone platform. As Lethia stepped from spike to spike, she noticed that the same reddish skin covering the hole to the lower part of the tower was also being used as a sort of ramp to the highest section of the chamber, stretched between long, cylindrical beams, and supported by huge, curving spikes.

As Lethia reached the stone platform, she noticed that there was a large circular terrace connecting the two skin-made ramps, and the suspended metal ring was almost right next to it. From her new angle, Lethia could see that the pillar of fire actually did stop at the ring, but there was something over the ring that caused it.

Lethia was torn away from her study by a heavy mace slamming into her side, sweeping her off of her feet and sending her flying. All the breath flew from her chest as she slammed against one of the stone spikes, and her head swam in an ocean of numb pain. Weakly lifting her head, Lethia gazed up at the Dremora Churl standing triumphantly above Lethia's stunned body. His red eyes gleamed with malice, and two red horns protruded from his forehead like a pair of fangs. With an evil grin, the demon raised the mace above his head and held it there for a fraction of a second,

Her daze fading, Lethia drew her sword and blocked the downward swing of the Churl's mace, wedging the edge of her blade between two of the mace prongs. Quickly flicking her wrist, Lethia twisted her sword and ripped the mace from the Churl's grip, sending it skittering across the stone floor. With a sweep of her left leg, Lethia tripped the Churl and used the momentum of her leg to spin around, standing up before she made a full circle.

Now standing, she sunk her blade deeply into the demon's chest, hearing the sick _thunk_ of the sword piercing his heart. The Churl opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out but a gurgle and a mouthful of blood. Transfixed, the Churl stared up at the red sky through the opening in the roof, seeing nothing.

Satisfied, Lethia pressed her heel into the Churl's midriff and pried her sword loose, wiping off the deep purple blood on the demon's robes. Walking over to the ramp, Lethia tentatively placed a foot on the stretched skin, surprised to find it taunt. She strode up the inclined platform, and when she reached the stone terrace, her eyes widened in shock.

Suspended slightly over the metal ring was a floating ball, darker than the Void and radiating a form of terror and adversity. The pillar of flame seemed to either be stopped by it or fueled by it, but either way, the orb was definitely something of importance. Staring into the depths of the strange object, Lethia slowly approached it, reaching out to grasp it. As her fingers closed around it, she noticed it was strangely cold, as if it was made of ice that did not melt.

Suddenly, the world started to fall apart around her.

-x-

**I was on a roll this chapter, and I wanted to publish it as soon as possible, seeing as how I didn't post the last chapter until yesterday. It's kind of a cheesy cliffhanger, but I'm replaying Oblivion as I write this, and I REALLY want to get back to playing, so I decided I would halt progress right there.**

**I apologize for the shortness of this chapter; I intended for it to be much longer, but I started to lose my creativity as I neared the end, so I thought I would just post it as-is.**

**I really hope you all are enjoying it thusfar, and thank you SO much for reading :)**

**And many thanks to harmoniedusoir for helping me fix up this chapter!**


	4. The Meeting

**This chapter is dedicated to SixthSeason, an amazing and awesome writer who bothered to read my story. Thank you! 3**

**Double disclaimer (forgot it last chapter); not mine, Lethia is mine, not mine**

-x-

The terrace beneath her feet shook violently, and Lethia struggled to keep her footing. Large chunks of the tower were breaking off and falling, crashing through floor after floor. The pillar of flame that had been held dormant by the black orb was now spreading, engulfing the whole place in flame.

And no matter how hard Lethia tried, she could not release the orb from her grip.

-x-

Savlian Matius ran at the scamp running out of the gate, accentuating his charge with a yell. Swinging his longsword in a wide arc, he cleaved the creature in half. Breathing hard, he looked around wildly, searching for any other threat. Instead, he was met with the sight of his fellow guardsmen sheathing their swords. Following their example, he sheathed his own sword and joined his men gathered at the mouth of the road.

"How do you think the Dark Elf is faring, sir?" Jesan Rilian asked, taking off his helmet to run his fingers through his hair.

"I don't know, Catius," Savlian admitted, shaking his head. "She seemed strong enough, but Ilend's whole crew was killed, and they were all well-trained, seasoned fighters. I don't want to jump to conclusions just yet, but judging by how unbelievably small she was-"

The rest of Savlian's sentence was cut off by a tremendous explosion by the city gates. The four men all spun to gape as the Oblivion Gate imploded on itself, sending a beam of light shooting upward. The light seemed to spread across the sky like a splash of water on canvas, dispersing the unnatural crimson coloring. Ilend looked back down to the place where the gate once stood and gasped, vaulting over the wooden barricade and sprinting over to the collapsed figure of a young Dunmer.

"Lethia!" Ilend fell to his knees beside Lethia's fallen body and gently cradled her head. Small nicks and bruises peppered the skin of Lethia's arms, and there was a thin gash on her cheek, along with a cut across her left eyebrow.

"Lethia, wake up!"

With a groan, Lethia's eyelids fluttered open.

"By the Nine," she groaned, shifting uncomfortably. "That was an ordeal I never want to repeat." Sitting up, Lethia moved to stand, but her head swam and colors danced across her vision. Taking a moment to regain her stability, Lethia stood with Ilend's help and leaned heavily on him, drained from her endeavor.

"You closed the gate! I knew you could!" With a newfound confidence in his stride, Savlian Matius walked up to the pair, giving Lethia a gentle clap on her shoulder. "This is our chance to perform a counterattack, men!" As the guards gathered around Lethia, she winced and lifted her head to meet Savlian's eyes.

"Do you happen to have any healing potions?" Lethia's voice was shaky. "I seem to have been wounded slightly." With alarm, Savlian glanced down at Lethia's body, immediately noticing what was ailing her. A large chunk of the right side of her armor was smashed in, and blood oozed through the cracks in the broken metal. Judging by the position of the indentation, a couple of Lethia's ribs were probably cracked.

"Of course!" Savlian fumbled around in the small pouch at his waist, withdrawing a small pink vial. "Here you are, miss." He uncorked the vial and lifted it to Lethia's lips, helping her tip back her head as the sweet liquid emptied into her mouth. Just as she swallowed the last drop, Lethia felt the magic weaving ripped flesh and bones back together, and energy flowed through her body.

"Ah, thank you," Lethia smiled, the light in her eyes restored. As the skin on her side started to heal, Lethia became aware of the crushed armor. She reached back to take off her armor, but the movement stretched the still-healing muscles and skin, sending a bolt of pain shooting up and down Lethia's side. She let out a soft yelp of pain and clasped her side.

"Could I beg assistance from one of you to help me remove my cuirass? It seems to be a bit, ah, broken." Ilend promptly unlaced the thin straps holding the front and back of Lethia's armor, gently pulling them off of her and exposing her once-white undershirt, soaked through with blood. Lethia sighed as the area that had been smashed in continued to heal, unhindered by the crumpled armor.

"Again, thank you," Lethia smiled warmly, this time directing her gratitude at Ilend. "It's much appreciated." Glancing down at her ruined cuirass, Lethia winced.

"I assume that I won't be able to wear that again," Lethia reasoned, pointedly staring at the indentation.

"Wrong." With that, Ilend placed the two halves of armor on the ground, and with two quick stomps of his foot, he bent the divot in both halves back into the relatively original shape.

"Here," he said cheerily, picking up the two pieces and pressing them back on to Lethia. She smiled at him in thanks and laced the straps back together, the armor fitting rather nicely. It was slightly uncomfortable, but no more than it had before.

"I'm ready when you are, sir," Lethia smiled, patting Ilend on the back. "Thanks to this gentleman." Ilend's cheeks reddened slightly at the compliment.

"Then let's be off!" The group drew their swords, and with a resounding cry of "for Kvatch!" they all charged the city gates.

-x-

Brother Martin gently lifted a woman's head, holding a loaf of bread up to her lips.

"Now eat up, Veaka," Martin smiled as the wounded woman nibbled on the loaf. "You must regain your strength as soon as possible." Letting Veaka take the bread in her own hands, Martin stood and started to walk over to the next survivor in need of nutrition.

Suddenly, a heavy pounding came upon the chapel doors, making all of the survivors jump. Teirra, one of the guards who had made it to the chapel with the other survivors, shot a look at Berich Inian, the other guard, as if to tell him to stay put and protect the remaining civilians. Drawing her sword, she slowly approached the shaking door, peering through one of the many knot holes to see if it was friend or foe. With a short gasp, she fumbled with the bar across the door and lifted it off, tossing it aside. Throwing open the doors, she nearly screamed.

"Captain!" She cried, overjoyed to see a friendly face.

"Report, soldier," Savlian deadpanned, a spark of amusement in his eyes. As Teirra relayed all the relevant information to the captain, Martin studied each of the soldiers. He recognized them all, having lived in Kvatch for the majority of his life.

Suddenly, all the breath left his lungs.

In walked the most stunningly beautiful Dark Elf he had ever seen. Her skin had the softest blue coloring, and her hair was a bright coral. Her sharp eyes were the color of a burning sunset, and the gentle curves of her body only added to Martin's first impression of beauty. He stared transfixed at her for what seemed like an eternity.

-x-

Lethia tried to keep her concentration on the conversation Savlian and Teirra were having, as she would definitely need to help free the city before she could find Martin, but she couldn't ignore the burning sensation in the side of her head. She reached up to tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear, hoping that the movement would give her a clue as to what was giving her the strange feeling, but to no avail. Finally, Lethia turned to see if someone was looking at her, and she locked eyes with one of the most handsome men she had ever seen in her life.

His dark brown hair fell around his face in gentle waves, and his piercing blue eyes looked like the Niben Bay on a calm evening. His cheeks colored as their eyes met, and he looked away, as if he was ashamed for staring at her. Before, Lethia would have never used the word "cute" to define a grown man, but the way his cheeks went rosy and he averted his gaze was just too adorable.

"Civilians, it's time to leave! Let's go!" Tiarra's sudden shout shook Lethia from her trance, and she snapped her gaze back to Savlian and his men. Tiarra began leading the survivors out of the chapel in a single file line, eager to escort them and return to the battle as soon as possible. As Martin passed Lethia, he looked at her from the corner of his eye and realized she was full-on staring at him as he walked by. It was her turn to blush and look away, embarrassed at being caught. Martin found the slight purple color spreading across her cheeks absolutely precious.

-x-

**Things are finally heating up, eh?**

**Story aside, I'm on a ROLL this week! ^_^ I'm writing like my life depends on it, getting reviews from one of my favorite authors (double shoutout, SixthSeason :3), and feeling awesome! :D**

**Thanks for reading, friends!**


	5. The Discovery

**Disclaimer; not mine, peeps :3**

-x-

"We've done it! I-I didn't think this would work! Maybe we do have a fighting chance!" Savlian had a new air of confidence about him as he laughed with his subordinates. Lethia smiled and her eyes drifted over to the spot where she had first seen the young man that wouldn't leave her thoughts. From his wavy hair to his broad shoulders, that man was definitely handsome. Lethia hoped they would meet again.

"You've come this far with us, miss, will you go further?" Lethia was snapped out of her musings and turned to face Savlian and the others, all looking at her with expectant looks.

"Ah, of course!" Lethia grinned. "I wouldn't just leave you all to flounder!" The soldiers all cheered and patted Lethia on the back, comradery born between the warriors.

"By the way, miss," Ilend chirped, "you never gave us your name."

"It's Lethia," the Dunmer chuckled. "Lethia Atherayn."

-x-

"Dammit! This is no good; the gates are locked, and the only way to open them is from the gate house, and the only way there is through the passage at the North Guard house, but that's always kept locked." Savlian huffed in defeat, kicking the corpse of a scamp in frustration.

"Sir, doesn't Inian have the gate house key?" Ilend asked.

"Inian! Yes!" Savlian exclaimed, his fighting spirit restored. "Lethia, go and find Berich Inian, he's probably still in the chapel. Get the key from him, and once you've got it, get to the North Guard house, find the passage, and open this gate! Once it's opened, we can get inside the castle and secure it." Lethia nodded and dashed back to the Chapel.

Throwing the doors open wide, Lethia walked into the main hall of the Chapel of Akatosh, looking for Berich.

"We saw the smoke from the White Road while on patrol. How can we help?" Lethia looked up to see three Imperial Legion soldiers.

"Find Savlian Matius and stick close to him," Lethia suggested. The soldiers nodded simultaneously and walked around Lethia, marching out to the ruined city.

"You sure have a commanding air about you, Elf." Lethia turned and noticed another Kvatch guard leaning against the stone walls.

"Thank you," Lethia smiled. "Are you Berich Inian?"

"That would be me," Berich grinned back, shoving himself off the wall. "What do you need?"

"I need the key to the guard house."

"That's right!" Berich exclaimed. "They managed to close the castle gates just before we were forced in here." Berich sighed and scratched his head. "I'm afraid you're in for a rough time, friend. The city's in bad shape, and it will be difficult to make it to the guard house by yourself. I'd better go with you. We'll have to go through the Chapel Undercroft, and then through what's left of the city." Lethia nodded and pointed.

"Lead the way."

-x-

Turning the large wheel, Lethia drew up the gate. Hearing it click into place, Lethia released the wheel and dashed down the stone steps and into the courtyard, drawing her sword as she charged into the fray. Raising her sword to cleave the head off of a scamp, Lethia was about to bring her arm down when an arrow embedded itself in its chest.

"Have to be faster next time, Lethia," Jesan grinned, nocking another arrow to his bow. Quickly dispatching the remaining daedra, the group of soldiers converged around Savlian, waiting for his orders.

"This area is secured! Now, we have to enter the castle and make sure the Count is alright! Come one!" With that, the soldiers moved into the Great Hall as one.

-x-

After clearing the Great Hall, Lethia moved into the Mess Hall on Savlian's orders. The Mess Hall was, well, an absolute mess. The chandelier had fallen and broken the table, and the furniture was burning and strewn across the room. Quickly running through the hall, hopping over the debris and cutting down the scamps along the way, Lethia weaved through the carnage and threw open the door to the count's quarters, only to see a scamp standing over the count's bleeding body. Rage flooded through Lethia, and, with a charge and a yell, she ran at the scamp and swung her sword with all her strength, removing its head from its body.

Lethia sunk to her knees beside the count's body, pressing two fingers to his neck, fervently hoping that she wasn't too late.

She was wrong.

-x-

Savlian was pacing back and forth, waiting for Lethia to return with the count.

"Savlian." The guard turned on his heel and grinned at Lethia.

"Lethia! I'm glad you're okay! We were thinking- wait, where's the count?" Lethia closed her eyes and shook her head, sending the message clearly enough.

"We... We were too late." Ilend wasn't asking a question.

"This is indeed a dark day, but I thank you for risking your life to help us all." Savlian clapped Lethia's shoulder, giving her a reassuring smile. "Did you happen to pick up the count's ring?"

"I did," Lethia smiled, taking the ring out of her pocket and handing it to Savlian.

"Thank you, Lethia. I'll hold on to this until a new count is approved." Lethia nodded and moved to walk around Savlian.

"Lethia, your armor..." Savlian pointed to the crumpled section of Lethia's cuirass and began pulling his own off.

"Here, Lethia," Savlian smiled, holding his cuirass out for Lethia to take. "I'm getting old, and you definitely need this more than I do." Lethia opened her mouth, but closed it again.

"Th-thank you, Savlian," Lethia finally managed, getting past the lump in her throat. She had know this man for under two hours, and he was giving her his cuirass. "It's very much appreciated."

"Of course," Savlian smiled, grasping Lethia's hand and shaking it. "And don't be a stranger, either. Come visit anytime; once we start rebuilding Kvatch, that is." The remaining soldiers shared a laugh, and Lethia left the castle only after receiving a hefty shoulder patting from every guard and soldier.

-x-

Martin was leaning against a tree by the exit of the encampment, his mind occupied with thoughts of that beautiful Dunmer woman he had seen earlier that morning. He wondered if he would ever see her again, or maybe even learn her name. The way she averted her eyes shyly when he noticed she was looking at him had been so unbelievably adorable.

"What happened?"

"Is the city safe?"

"Is it safe for us to return?"

Martin looked up at the commotion gathering around the mouth of the encampment and stood, curious as to what was going on.

"We cleared the city just a couple of minuets ago," a feminine voice explained. "But I wouldn't recommend returning quite yet; the city is still in shambles and there are still corpses flooding the streets." Murmuring discontentedly amongst themselves, the crowd dispersed, revealing who the woman was.

Martin immediately recognized her light blue skin and coral hair, but this time, his attention was drawn to her new cuirass, the symbol of Kvatch proudly adorning her chest piece. It hung a little off of her frame, but she didn't seem to mind.

The Dark Elf turned and looked directly at Martin, their eyes locking once more. The color of the woman's cheeks deepened, but this time, instead of breaking eye contact, gave a small smile and began walking towards Martin. With every step she took, Martin could feel his heart beat faster and faster, until finally, she stood less than two feet in front of him.

"Good afternoon, friend," she greeted, bowing slightly. "My name is Lethia Atherayn."

Martin's heart leaped into his throat. Lethia. What a beautiful name, and well suited to such a beautiful face.

"I'm Brother Martin," the young priest smiled, bowing his head in greeting. "How may I help you this afternoon, Lethia?" When Martin looked back up, Lethia's eyes were wide in shock.

"Yo-you're Brother Martin?" she stammered, her striking red eyes widening.

"I am," Martin solidified, puzzled at Lethia's reaction.

"Then I am honored to be in your presence, sir," Lethia said breathlessly, going down in to a one-kneed bow.

"W-what do you mean?" Martin stuttered, even more confused than before.

"You are Uriel Septim's son."

-x-

**:o cliffhanger! Well, not really X3 we've all played the game, haven't we? :3**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed thusfar; but a special "thank you" goes out to SixthSeason and MissFabulous09! Your reviews make me smile, friends :D**

**Thank you for reading, everyone! ^_^**


	6. Sketching Character

**Disclaimer; not mine, friends :)**

-x-

"W-what?" Martin felt as though he had been struck in the chest by a sack of broken masonry. "Emperor Uriel Septim? Y-you think the emperor is my father?" Lethia did no more than nod, still bowing to the young priest.

"You must be mistaken," Martin said with a nervous laugh. "I am a priest of Akatosh; my father was a farmer."

"No," Lethia replied, rising to look directly into Martin's eyes. "The Emperor sent me to find you, Martin."

"You spoke to the emperor before he died?" Disbelief was written across Martin's face. "And he told you to find me?"

"Do you have any reason to not trust me?"

Martin was at a loss for words. The Dark Elf had risked everything to free Kvatch from the clutches of Mehrunes Dagon, all to find him and tell him that he was the son of the late Emperor Septim.

"Y-you might just be telling the truth," Martin relented, nodding slightly. "But what do you want from me?" Lethia placed a hand on Martin's shoulder.

"Come with me to Weynon Priory, my lord. It's much safer there rather than here. Besides, I'm sure Jauffre can explain your position much better than I." Martin nodded and was silent for a moment, thinking.

"You destroyed the Oblivion Gate, they say," Martin said, impressed. "You gave them hope. You helped them drive the daedra back. You are an extraordinary woman, Lethia." Martin was pleased to see the color darken over Lethia's cheeks. "I'll come with you to Weynon Priory."

-x-

Martin squatted and used a stick to turn the charred wood of the campfire, pulling the bowl of raw potatoes wrapped in leaves alongside the empty one. He plunged the wooden stoke deep into the heart of the flame and dug out one of the cooked bundles, snatching it quickly and dropping it into the empty bowl. Reaching for the other upturned potato, a stalk of flame licked Martin's arm, and the young priest yelped sharply and clutched his seared wrist.

"Something the matter, my lord?" Lethia's inquiry from behind him caused Martin to whip his head around to see Lethia's crimson eyes boring into him, dark with worry. There was a large bundle of wood in her arms, and her hair was falling from its braid. In some places, it stuck out at strange angles, and there were a few twigs tangled in her coral hair, as if she had run into more than one tree while searching for firewood. If his arm hadn't felt like it was engulfed in flames, the priest would've either laughed at the Dark Elf or fawned over how cute she looked with her hair all tangled.

"Ah, it's nothing." Martin smiled weakly, gingerly cradling his burned wrist. "I was careless and burnt my arm, but I'll be okay." Using his good hand, Martin picked up the bowl of cooked potatoes and held it out to the Dark Elf. "Would you like one?" Lethia shook her head, her falling braid coming even more undone.

"I'll have one later. I'll be right back with something to put on that burn," Lethia said, dropping her armful of firewood next to the priest. "Avoid any contact with your wrist. I'll be back shortly, my lord." With that, she shot off into the woods, leaving Martin to stare at her retreating form. Sighing, he placed the bowl next to the fire and reached again for the troublesome potato, this time paying more attention to the flame. As his fingers closed around the charred leaves, Martin heard a snap and whipped his head up, looking directly into the blue-grey eyes of a wolf. The beast was only four paces away from the fire, and Martin could hear the growl coming from deep inside the wolf's chest.

"How troublesome," a feminine voice sighed, catching the attention of the beast. The wolf whirled around to face its new prey, a young Dark Elf with a small bundle of flowers held casually in her small fist. The beast growled and lunged at the Elf, barring its yellowed fangs. Lethia raised her right leg and kicked up, snapping the wolf's neck with her foot and sending its body falling to the ground. Casually stepping over the corpse, Lethia walked over to the fire and sat down beside the awestruck priest, tearing the flowers into smaller pieces and lifting the crushed flowers to her lips. Lethia chewed the vile-tasting herbs into a paste and spit it into her hand, leaning towards Martin.

"This is Dragon's Tounge, my lord," Lethia smiled as she gently spread the polluce across Martin's seared wrist. "It is a well-known fact among adventurers and herbalists that when the plant is chewed or ground into a paste and then spread on a burn, it will help heal the skin faster and with a better end result. After a few days, you won't even notice the blemish." When the paste covered Martin's entire burn, Lethia tore off a long strip of cloth from her bedding. Martin watched as her blue fingers danced, gently pulling the cloth up and over Martin's arm, thus binding the priest's wrist.

"There you are, my lord," Lethia smiled, gently tightening the knot around Martin's burnt forearm and standing up. "You should be feeling better within the hour." Lethia started to return to her spot on the opposite side of the fire, but a hand caught her wrist and pulled her back down to the earth.

"Thank you, Lethia." Martin smiled at the Dark Elf, his good hand still holding her wrist. "I'm impressed at your skill in healing; my hand is already starting to feel better," Martin paused to flex his burnt wrist, "and at your prowess in fighting without a weapon. You dispatched that wolf very skillfully." Lethia smiled shyly, casting her eyes down to avoid the priest's gaze.

"It was nothing, my lord," she said, "think nothing of it."

"Please, call me Martin." The priest's quick reply startled the Dark Elf, and she lifted her gaze to look into Martin's cerulean eyes.

"As you wish... Martin," the Dunmer whispered. The name tasted strange on Lethia's tounge, but it flowed easily from her lips. Martin smiled gratefully and turned back to the dancing fire.

-x-

Pulling the pins from her hair, Lethia shook out her twisted braid and ran her fingers through her silky hair to untangle it. Unhooking her sheathed sword, she tossed it to the side and fell to the river bank, tugged off her boots. She didn't bother to unbuckle the many straps, and she pulled off her worn woolen socks soon after. Fumbling slightly with the leather buckles of her new Kvatch uniform, Lethia lifted the light cuirass up and over her head and set it on the bank next to her small pile of discarded clothing. Unbuckling the leather straps that held the iron greaves together, Lethia slid the whole garment down her thin legs, hopping out of the greaves and stretching. Her fingers brushed the gold amulet around her neck and she considered taking it off, but decided against it. Now in no more than her underclothes, Lethia took a deep breath and dived into the river.

She rose to the surface almost immediately with a gasp and a shiver.

"It's freezing!"

Martin laughed heartily at the Dark Elf's reaction, pulling off his own shoes.

"Little cold, eh, Lethia?" He teased, tossing his socks and shoes aside and pulling his robe up over his head. Discarding that, too, he was left in noting but his undergarments, and he barely stifled his laugh when Lethia's cheeks colored.

"M-must you bathe here, Martin?" Lethia stammered, trying her best to keep her voice level. "There's quite a lot of room upriver."

"I have to bathe too, you know," Martin smiled, calmly slipping into the water. "And this spot seems as good as any." With that, Martin took a handful of sand from the river bed and used it to start scrubbing his arms, pretending to not notice Lethia.

Suddenly, a small wave crashed over Martin's head, startling him and making him wheel around in surprise. His eyes were met with noting but the river bank, and he was about to resume his scouring when a larger wave attacked him from the front. This time, a large portion of water got into Martin's mouth, and he took a moment to cough and spit, trying to get the offending water from his mouth.

"You should've seen your face, Martin!" The priest looked up to see Lethia laughing hysterically, her coral hair plastered to her head. Martin growled playfully and swept his arm over the surface of the water, sending a huge wave towards Lethia. Sinking below the surface, Lethia disappeared before the wave reached her. Martin held his ground, waiting for the Dunmer to surface and make her move when his leg was pulled out from under him, and he fell beneath the surface.

"Two strikes, Martin," Lethia taunted when Martin rose, spitting the water from his mouth. "You'd better catch up quick." Martin smiled inwardly and threw two large handfuls of water at Lethia. She raised her arms and effectively blocked the water from her face, but then her arms were pulled behind her and she was pinned to Martin's chest.

"I think I win this round, Lethia," Martin grinned, holding Lethia against him with his arms around her midriff.

"So it would seem," Lethia chuckled, not even struggling against Martin's hold.

-x-

The stars began glowing dimly as the copper sun slowly receded from the horizon, and the twin moons were just beginning to take shape. Lethia was perched in the higher boughs of a young Colovian oak, carefully scanning the surrounding area. When she was satisfied that there were no immediate threats, she glanced down at the form of the sleeping emperor and the dying cinders of their tiny fire. As she gazed into the glowing embers, she recalled the events just a couple hours before.

Put quite simply. Lethia was ashamed. She had no idea of what had come over her and prompted her to act in such a manner. It was shameful in every possible way, despite the innocent intent, and Lethia felt terrible for acting so disrespectful to the man who would take the throne in a matter of days. She had just felt so at ease around him, his kind and friendly manner a wonderful change from what Lethia had dealt with recently, not to mention the warmth that found its way to her chest every time their eyes met, and that unmistakable feeling of rightness that settled over her whenever they were close. Maybe...

No, Lethia had to separate herself from Martin, before any further attachment could ensue.

-x-

**I REALLY hope that I didn't lay it on too thick this chapter. I wanted Lethia and Martin to develop a bond/relationship before I went and make them... Well, you all will find out soon enough :)**

**Heads up; I _might_ not be posting another chapter for a couple days, simply because I've pretty much drained my reserves of Sweetness XD but who knows; I'm pretty worn out at the moment because I just spent the last four hours watching eight kids X)**


	7. Declarations

**I apologize for the time gap from the previous chapter to this one. The past couple months have been very busy, and despite my passion for writing, I found it hard to squeeze in any time to write, and even when I was able to pause and write a bit, I got stuck in the sticky mess that is writers block. But! Success is hard-earned, and I finally popped this sucker out, much to my great pleasure :)**

**I hope you all enjoy!**

**Disclaimer; the Elder Scrolls is not mine; it belongs to Bethesda. I'm just using it as a metaphorical diving board, if you will :)**

**-x-**

Lethia urged Hearthfire forward, Martin holding on to Lethia's shoulders and digging his heels into Hearthfire's flank to remain on the horse.

So far, they had met little resistance, and they were almost to Weynon Priory. The few incidents had been minor - a couple of disturbed predators defending their territory and a single bandit party - and Lethia had calmly and swiftly dispatched each and every threat. The pair had actually stumbled right into the bandit camp, when Lethia pointed out the off-road shortcut that she had taken on her way to Kvatch. The expressions of the three dumbfounded khajiit had been priceless, and Lethia had taken the initiative, moving in with a fireball followed by a few well-placed swings from her short sword. They had made a nice meal of the corn and potatoes in the food bags around the campfire that night. As Martin studied the back of Lethia's neck, he wondered about the Dark Elf.

Why was she so adamantly helping him, risking everything to save one man? How had she spoken with the emperor before he died? What were her motives? Was she a loyal citizen of Cyrodiil, or was she just an immigrant caught in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Martin shook his head at that thought. No matter the circumstances, past, present, or future, he knew in his heart that Lethia had been chosen by the Nine to be the one to bring stability back to the Empire.

But yet another question plagued the young priest. Whatever was that feeling that he felt in the pit of his stomach when Lethia looked at him? What was the meaning of the missed beats of his heart when he saw her eyes twinkle and the edges of her mouth curve upwards? There was no doubt in his mind that he enjoyed Lethia's company. Not only did she have a refreshingly witty sense of humor, but she was well-studied and knew much about the world around her.

In short, Martin was utterly confounded by the strange Dark Elf he was sitting behind, but despite his confusion, he trusted her entirely. There was something warm and friendly about the way she smiled and spoke with everyone she met, but when it came to battle, she was precise and deadly, carefully calculating each move before she executed it. If Martin could chose one person to guard and protect him, Lethia would be his first and last choice.

-x-

The sky spilled forth tears, like some divine warning of impeding doom to the oblivious inhabitants of the monestary. The sheep, no longer peacefully grazing the fields, were quickly herded under the thatch canopy and they huddled together under the wooden lean-to, baying incessantly at their Dunmer shepherd.

"Yes, I know," Eronor sighed, herding the last of the sheep under the cover of the small stall. "The rain came with no warning, but that's no reason to be in a fuss about it." Lightning broke across the sky, casting a ghostly light on the white stones of the chapel and briefly illuminating the grounds. Closing the fence gate, Eronor ran for the cover of the small archway built into the house walls. Leaning against the cold stone, Eronor sighed and glanced out at the foreboding clouds and the buckets of rain that fell from the heavens. Suddenly, a terrified scream tore through the air, and Eronor whirled around to see an armor-clad entity wielding a mace and standing over the bleeding body of Prior Maborel.

With a cry of fright, Eronor turned to flee to the sheep fold, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the other assassin closing in on him. The Dunmer shepherd let out a second cry and turned again, running as fast as he could past the assassin who had felled the Prior.

And almost ran right into a galloping paint horse.

Hearthfire reared up on his hind legs and neighed, startled by the sudden appearance of the shepherd. Lethia gripped the reins tightly and dug her heels into the spooked horse's flank, with Martin following suit. As Hearthfire's front hooves clicked back down on the cobblestone, Eronor began speaking frantically.

"Help! Dear gods, you must help! They're killing everyone! I don't know what happened, but they're right behind me! Prior Maborel is dead! I was in the sheepfold when they attacked. I heard the Prior cry out and I saw them! I-"

"Where is Jauffre?" Lethia cut off the babbling elf, trying to get him to focus. "I must know where he is."

"I-in the chapel, p-praying I think," Eronor stuttered. "You have to help us!" With that, Eronor continued running.

"Out of the frying pan into the fire, eh?" Lethia nodded grimly at Martin's comment and swung her leg over Hearthfire, leaping to the ground. Lethia took Martin's hand and steadied him as he slid off the horse. Flipping open the saddlebag, Lethia withdrew a dagger and handed it to Martin by the blade.

"To defend yourself with, my lord," Lethia smiled as Martin took the small weapon. "Now, let's go find Jauffre." The pair turned and ran towards the chapel, Lethia not batting an eyelid as she sent a fireball right into the chest of the assassin who had just run Brother Piner through. She was about to throw another one when the assassin was knocked off his feet by a snowball spell. Martin looked at her surprised expression and chuckled.

"You're not the only one to have dabbled in destruction magic, Lethia," he said simply, pointing at the chapel. "Shall we?" Lethia grinned and nodded, and the two flew up the few steps and threw open the chapel doors.

-x-

Jauffre was backed against the wall, trying desperately to block the strikes of the mace. His attacker was obviously unskilled - his defense was full of holes - but he had speed on his side, and was utilizing that perk well; the much older blades master was beginning to tire out. Jauffre cursed his old age and lack of daily practice; his dai-katana was heavier than he remembered, and that added with the fact that Jauffre had already dispatched the two previous assailants made the old blades master's arms feel like leaden weights.

Suddenly, the door of the chapel flew open, and Lethia burst through the opening, followed closely by a young man dressed in the blue robes of a priest. Jauffre's attacker was temporarily distracted, and the blades master used the diversion to shove his attacker backwards, sending the man stumbling over the short pews. The man went flying when he was hit in the chest simultaneously with a fireball and a snowball, and when his head cracked against the stone wall, his conjured armor dissipated, signaling the death of the assassin.

"You're back! Thank Talos!" Jauffre smiled weakly at Lethia. "They attacked without warning. I was praying in the Chapel when I heard Prior Maborel shout. I had just time to arm myself." Jauffre suddenly gasped and his eyes widened.

"The Amulet of Kings! I fear that was the target of this attack. I kept it in a secret room in Weynon House. We need to go make sure it is safe!" With that, Jauffre motioned for Lethia to follow him as he dashed past her and her companion.

-x-

"They've taken it! The Amulet of Kings is gone!" Jauffre sunk in to one of the scattered chairs in resignation. "The enemy has defeated us at every turn."

"Not quite, Jauffre," Lethia smiled and motioned for Martin to step forward. "I have found Martin Septim." Jauffre gave the young priest a once-over, nodding in satisfaction.

"So it has not all gone against us. Thank Talos for that! We gained Uriel's heir, and lost the Amulet of Kings." Jauffre stood and clapped his hand down on Martin's shoulder. "But Martin cannot stay here. We have driven them off, but they will be back once they learn of Martin's survival."

"But if not here, where else?" Lethia asked. "Is there anywhere that is still safe?"

"Nowhere is truly safe against the power arrayed against us. But we must play for time, at least." Jauffre paused, thinking. "Cloud Ruler Temple, I think. The hidden fortress of the Blades, in the mountains near Bruma. A few men can hold it against an army. We should leave at once." Jauffre glanced out the window.

"Correction," he sighed. "We'll leave when the rain stops." Jauffre sighed and sat down heavily.

"We might as well get some sleep while we wait for Kynareth to stop watering the earth," Lethia supplied, giving a reassuring smile to Martin.

-x-

"Ah, Lethia? Could you help me with this?" Lethia turned and saw Martin smiling helplessly with his foot caught in the stirrup of his horse's saddle. The sun was just beginning to rise, and the earth was still damp from the night's downpour. The dark elf chuckled and hopped off of Hearthfire and walked over to the struggling priest. She grabbed his foot with one hand and the stirrup with the other and separated the two, nearly making Martin topple over backwards.

"There you are, my lord," Lethia smiled, her crimson eyes sparkling with mirth. "Just remember that your left foot goes in the left stirrup, and you won't have this problem again." Martin's cheeks flushed in embarrassment and he nodded, turning back to his horse. Successfully mounting it, Martin settled himself and proudly grinned at Lethia, who was shaking her head. Smiling back, the dark elf pointed ahead at Jauffre, who was doing his best to stifle his laughter. Martin looked from the laughing monk to the smiling elf, and started laughing himself.

Still grinning, Lethia mounted Hearthfire and waved to Jauffre, who was on his own horse, to lead the way.

-x-

As the small party rode through the Great Forest, Lethia took the time to look up and admire the scenery. The soft reds and oranges blended with the brilliant blue sky, and the sunlight filtered through the leaves, leaving spots of yellow on the green forest floor. The white clouds drifted lazily over the earth, thin and spread across the sky.

A large array of plants lined the road, from berry bushes to Tiger Lilies and primroses, and every so often, a small herd of white tailed deer could be seen bounding through the foliage and leaping over rocks.

As the trio reached the crest of one of the many hills, the forest thinned and the Imperial City came into view, the rising sun casting a golden light on the White Gold Tower. Lethia gently tugged Hearthfire's reins, making him slow to a halt.

"How beautiful," Lethia breathed. The scene was picturesque, and the dark elf was enraptured by the beauty.

"Lethia," Jauffre called. "Come, we should keep moving." Broken from her trance, Lethia turned to Jauffre and nodded.

"Never seen such a sight, eh?" Martin remarked as he brought his horse alongside Lethia's. "I haven't either."

"You sure don't see this kind of beauty in Morrowind," Lethia smiled, glancing back at the wondrous view. "Especially on Vvardenfell; the whole island consists of volcanic waste and swamp land." Martin chuckled and shook his head.

"It's beautiful, that's for sure." With that, Martin urged his horse forward, steadily catching back up with Jauffre. Lethia stared out at the sprawling land for a few moments before nudging Hearthfire and returning to the rest of her party.

-x-

The brilliant colors of the Colovian Highlands began to melt into the bland hues of the Jerall Mountains when the sun was just past its peak. The party had set off at about seven in the morning, and judging by the position of the sun, Lethia figured it was about one in the afternoon.

The trio had stopped about two hours earlier for a short lunch break and to rest the horses, who were completely exhausted from the journey. The fed and watered the horses at a small mountain stream before they themselves ate the apples and bread left after the horses had eaten their fill.

"Not much farther now," Jauffre smiled hopefully. "Just another hour or so following this road, and then we'll be at the doors of Cloud Ruler."

"Indeed," Lethia sighed, staring out at the winding road before them. "I'll be glad when we finally reach our destination."

"Not used to being on the road?" Martin asked.

"On the contrary," Lethia supplied. "I travel quite often, but usually by myself and through places I am familiar with."

"We should probably keep moving," Jauffre said, shifting in his saddle. "It is of the utmost importance that we get you to Cloud Ruler Temple, my lord."

"Very well," Martin replied. "Lead on, Jauffre."

-x-

"Wow. That's, ah... Some door."

Lethia nodded in agreement with Martin's statement; the huge oaken doors of the stone fortress reached almost to the top of the walls, and looked to be at least a foot thick.

As the three approached the fortress, one of the doors slowly swung open, and a young Blade came out to greet the trio.

"We saw you approaching from the battlements, Master," the man said, bowing slightly to Jauffre. Straightening, the Blade glance over at Martin. "Grandmaster, is this-"

"Yes, Cyrus," Jauffre supplied. "This is the emperor's son, Martin Septim." Lethia watched Cyrus as he bowed to the flustered priest.

"My lord! Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple! We have not had the honor of an Emperor's visit in many years!"

"Ah, well, thank you! The honor is mine, I assure you." Martin looked extremely uncomfortable, but his voice was steady. Cyrus smiled and turned slightly, motioning for Martin to follow him.

"Come! Your Blades are waiting to greet you." With that, Cyrus turned and started up the stone steps.

Martin swallowed past the lump in his throat and fell into line behind Jauffre, nervously fingering the hem of his long sleeves. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand come down on his shoulder, but smiled when he met the eyes of the hand's owner.

Lethia gave Martin a reassuring squeeze and dropped her hand before they reached the peak of the stairs.

"Blades," Jauffre began once everyone was in their place. "Dark times are upon us. The Emperor and his sons were slain on our watch. The Empire is in chaos. But there is yet hope. Here is Martin Septim, true son of Uriel Septim!"

"Hail, Dragon Born! Hail, Martin Septim! Hail!" Martin's cheeks colored slightly at the cheer.

"Your Highness," Jauffre smiled, glancing over at Martin. "The Blades are at your command. You will be safe here until you can take up your throne." With that, Jauffre knelt and bowed his head, the Blades and Lethia following suit.

"Jauffre. All of you. I know you all expect me to be Emperor. I'll do my best. But this is all new to me. I'm not used to giving speeches. But I wanted you to know that I appreciate your welcome here. I hope I prove myself worthy of your loyalty in the coming days. That's it. Thank you." Martin gave a light smile and bowed his head slightly, signaling that he was done speaking.

"Well, then. Thank you, Martin. We'd all best get back to our duties, eh, Captain?" The collection of Blades dispersed, all heading in different directions to return to their posts. Martin caught Lethia's eye and quickly fell into step beside her.

"Not much of a speech, was it?" Martin chuckled nervously, still shaken from his speech. "Didn't seem to bother them, though."

"They all understand that you're new to this, Martin," Lethia consoled, placing a hand on his shoulder. "After all, you've never been an emperor before, now have you?" The two shared a short laugh before Jauffre cut in.

"Excuse me, your Highness, Lethia, but the Blades, myself included, wish to hold a celebration of sorts to welcome you two to Cloud Ruler. Of course, you will have plenty of time to settle in, as the party will begin when the sun sets." With a respectful nod, Jauffre turned on his heel and resumed his journey towards the grand hall.

"Well, I guess we'll be attending a party, then."

"Yes, it would seem so," Lethia mused. "But I am sure I may safely assume that once this celebration is over, we will plan out how to retrieve the amulet."

"Of course," Martin affirmed. "So we, well, I, can take it to the Temple of the One and light the Dragonfires, thus stopping the Oblivion invasion."

"And then you will be the Emperor." A light smile graced Lethia's features as she reminded Martin of his station.

"The Emperor…that's an idea that will take some getting used to." Martin stared off into the distance as the full weight of his position settled on his broad shoulders.

-x-

The Blades may be the ones trusted to protect the whole of the Empire, but that didn't mean that they didn't know how to have a good time. Kegs of ale were rolled into the grand hall, and tankards were passed around quickly. The assortment of warriors wasted no time in drinking themselves under the many tables, and did not hesitate to boisterously tell sultry tales, all of which were no doubt embellished greatly by alcohol-boosted egos. Only a single table remained sober amongst the chaos of the party.

"Your people sure know how to have a good time, eh Jauffre," Lethia smirked, sipping at her goblet of Tamika wine.

"Indeed they do," Jauffre chucked as he took a swig from his own goblet. "They're all outstanding men and women; they deserve a good time. I'm glad they're taking a night to relax."

Lethia quirked an eyebrow as Cyrus, one of the younger blades, grabbed a jug brimming with mead and forced it into Baurus' hand, the whole room erupting into cheers as he downed the whole container. "If you could call this chaos 'relaxing.'"

Jauffre chucked at Lethia's comment and raised his goblet. "Touché, my friend." Lethia joined in Jauffre's laughter, touching the rim of her goblet to his before they both took a sip of their slightly bitter drinks. Jauffre glanced at the empty place next to Lethia, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Whatever happened to our emperor? This is his party, after all." Lethia's eyes widened in shock and she turned to see that the heir had indeed left the table.

"He must have slipped away when we were toasting," Lethia sighed, placing her goblet on the table as she stood up. "I'll go make sure he's alright."

-x-

Martin leaned against the battlement and stared out into the surrounding forest, from the tree boughs weighed down heavily by snow to the dark stone walls surrounding the small city of Bruma, situated right down the road. Shivering slightly, he pulled his cloak tighter against his cold frame, trying to retain as much body heat as he could. Breathing hot air into his cupped hands, he rubbed them together in an attempt to circulate his cooled blood.

Try as he might, he could not for the life of him repress thoughts of a certain Dark Elf. She dominated his every thought, her and her deep red eyes. He couldn't forget the feeling of her small body against his own back at the river, nor could he forget his absolute lack of embarrassment or shame at his antics.

Martin was furious at himself. He was a priest, for Talos' sake! He was supposed to separate himself from worldly desires, women being chief among them. From the first moment he entered into the service of the Divines, Martin was honor bound to follow the tenets of the Church, including separation of desire and lust. But despite all of this, Martin couldn't stop thinking about the Dark Elf who came into his life just days before. He would never forget the shy smiles Lethia gave him, or the subsequent feeling of warmth rising in his cheeks.

"So this is where you escaped to." Lethia's gentle voice came from behind Martin, breaking the priest from his thoughts. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Martin said sharply.

"You do realize that you're terrible liar, right Martin?" The heir sighed and turned to face Lethia.

"What did you come here for?" Martin asked tiredly.

"I didn't come here to reprimand you for leaving in the middle of your welcoming party, if that's what you're worried about, my lord." Upon seeing Martin's unresponsive expression at Lethia's sly jab, she sighed and walked over to him, placing a hand his shoulder. "Seriously, Martin. Tell me what's plaguing you."

"Everyone expects me to suddenly be the leader that they need," Martin whispered after a long pause, his wavering voice radiating trepidation. "I'm supposed to suddenly emerge from the shadows of simple chapel life and know exactly what to do and how to go about doing it. These Blades, they want an emperor to tell then what to do, and I haven't the faintest idea of what to do, how to behave, how to lead them." Lethia lifted her hand off of Martin's shoulder and slid it into his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"No one expects you to do anything of the sort, Martin," Lethia consoled. "They only expect you to be the best you can, and you're doing a damn good job so far." Martin gave a returning squeeze to Lethia's hand and turned to face her, their hands still entwined.

"How do you always know what to say, Lethia?" Martin asked sincerely. "No matter the situation, your words always provide comfort and reassurance." Lethia's cheeks colored slightly and she suddenly became aware of their close proximity. Flustered, she gently pulled her hands free.

"Thank you for the compliment, my lord," she said, not meeting Martin's eyes. "But we should return to the Hall. I'm sure Jauffre and the rest of the Blades are eager to speak with you." As Lethia turned and began walking in the direction of the Grand Hall, Martin was left dumbfounded. Why had she been so quick to leave?

Determined to quiet the incessant nagging in the back of his mind, Martin quickly closed the widening gap between himself and Lethia and caught her hand, halting her progress.

"Lethia, wait," he said, gently pulling on her arm. "Please, just listen to me." Lethia, after a few painfully long moments, finally turned, still refusing to meet Martin's eyes.

"Lethia, I wanted to-"

"Martin, you're an emperor." Lethia suddenly cut off Martin. "I am no more than a commoner. I had no right to act the way I did back at the river, and I hope you can forgive me and forget that it ever happened." With that, Lethia pulled her hand free for the second time and all but ran towards the Grand Hall.

Martin was taken aback, but his shock only lasted as long as it took him to realize that Lethia was getting further away from him. He broke into a run, catching up to the running Dunmer quickly. When he was close enough, he reached out with both hands, and in one quick movement, he grabbed Lethia's shoulders, whirled her around to face him, and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers.

"Lethia, please," Martin whispered when they parted, his eyes boring deeply into Lethia's. "Let me finish." Lethia nodded dumbly, still in shock at Martin's actions. Martin swallowed past the lump in his throat before he began.

"Lethia, since the day we first saw each other in the chapel of Akatosh, I have been captivated by you. You dominate my every thought, and I can't erase your beautiful smile from my mind. It was your beauty and grace that first caught my attention, your courage and your iron will that attracted me, but it was your kind heart and compassion that made me yours." Taking Lethia's hand in his, Martin placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "I love you, Lethia."

Lethia blushed furiously and lowered her gaze, choosing to look at her hands instead of Martin.

The priest's heart fell.

She didn't return his feelings.

He had misjudged and misread everything, from the soft smiles to the deep purple her cheeks would become when he caught her staring at him. She didn't care any more for him than she did Jauffre.

When she finally looked up again, Martin saw that her eyes were rimmed with tears and there was the faintest trace of a smile on her lips. Gently cupping Martin's cheek in her hand, Lethia leaned forward.

"Martin," she whispered, her warm breath washing over his mouth as she closed the gap between them.

Martin had never been so happy in his life to be wrong.

**-x-**

**Cute little ending, I guess...**

**XD**

**Sorry, I finished this up at almost midnight, operating only on a chicken sandwich, some crackers, a bowl of chocolate chips, and about two hours of sleep in the span of about twenty hours. Needless to say; I'm tired, hungry, and do NOT want to go to class tomorrow .**

**But! I will prevail! I owe it to y'all to upload somewhat regularly, so here it is, short as it may be; the newest chapter!**

**Oh, and I edited a lot of chapter one, so if you want to check out the changes, go see for yourself and let me know what you think :)**

**Hope you all enjoyed! :D**

**And thanks again to harmoniedusoir for being my faithful little helper :3 love you lots!**


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Elder Scroll series, Adventure, Romance