Chapter 1: The Problem of a Wicked Soul
Summary:
Sometimes, you start your day by going back to your old workplace to clear off your desk, and you end up thrown in prison.
It happens to the best of us. We've all been there.
Notes:
"Well her hometown was built by a few greedy men,
And people tell me she was descended from them
She's been playing in the darkness ever since she was a kid."-"Black Dresses" by The Builders and the Butchers
Chapter Text
Jael Sevarine was many things: the last scion of a noble family, the (former) department chair of necromantic studies at the Mage's College, one of the youngest mages to have attained the rank of Grand Wizard, and the author of several books concerning the ethical practice of necromancy.
Now, much to her shock and chagrin, she was a prisoner.
Hannibal Traven still had it out for her even after she submitted her resignation-- not that she had a choice in the matter! He was completely against everything she stood for, and he made no attempt to hide his distaste.
The little spat they had upon their last encounter did her in. She had returned after what she felt was an appropriate amount of time to the college to collect her research papers and supplies, and he tried to stop her.
Her arrest after the following altercation was rather swift and certainly rage-inducing.
Apparently, Jael was also someone who resisted arrest.
Perhaps she could have bested the soldiers of the imperial watch, but Traven, the awful bastard, hit her with a silencing spell, and then a battlemage hit her with the hilt of his sword.
Bastards! Bastards, all of them!
She awoke wearing awful rags that were none too flattering on the dirty floor of a gloomy cell somewhere deep in the belly of the imperial prison.
Her head hurt, and dried blood adorned the back of her head. Her intricately braided bun had come half-undone, and her pale blonde hair spilled unevenly about her shoulders.
A rough leather collar had been placed around her neck, enchanted to negate her magic, which she immediately attempted to remove.
She had no desire to go into hiding and live in a nasty, dank little cave somewhere like her contemporaries, but it seemed she had little choice. Her two possible fates were execution or spending the rest of her life behind bars. She had to escape.
Some Dunmer in the cell across from her shouted insults but his voice was naught but a distant droning as she struggled to free herself from the collar. If she could just get it off, she could get herself out of this damned--
The creaking groan of her cell door immediately pulled her from her thoughts.
Her eyes widened, and her hands stilled, still gripping the blasted collar.
Perhaps she was in more trouble than she thought because she'd be damned if it wasn't the Emperor himself and three of his personal guards standing in her cell.
She immediately fell to her knees and bowed her head, hoping that a show of deference would soften whatever was awaiting her.
Time seemed to slow; the woman who appeared to be in charge of the guards asked what she was doing there and spat angrily that her cell was supposed to be off-limits.
Someone else blamed the incompetence of the watch, but from her prostrate position, she couldn't see who was talking, and she was too wrapped up in her thoughts to try.
Jael wracked her brain, trying to comprehend what exactly was happening. Had necromancy become a serious enough crime that it required the attention of Uriel Septim himself? She hadn't even killed anyone! She wasn't some awful stereotypical necromancer trying to achieve lichdom or raise an army of the undead!
Her research was entirely ethical! Well-documented! Benevolent, even! It wasn't her fault that others completely abused the black arts and demonized all who practiced it!
A rich and soothing voice cut swiftly through her panic, and she knew at once that it was the Emperor speaking.
"You... I've seen you. Let me see your face," he said softly as his hand lifted her chin and brought the two eye to eye.
She had seen him from afar a mere handful of times in passing at public events, but she had no idea he had seen her. By now, she was shaking.
There would be no escape now; she was about to meet a bad end, and she knew it. Such was the fate of the house of Sevarine, it seemed. Her parents had certainly earned their doom. She'd tried not to follow them, hadn't she? Perhaps it wasn't enough. Perhaps she would see them again much sooner than she had anticipated.
She hated to think of them. Her mother and father were driven by vanity, greed, and deceit. They had abused their authority as nobles and mistreated the commoners who served them. They lied and stole and cheated their way through life, and they deserved what happened in the end. There was no love lost there. She despised them; they knew it and ignored her unless they needed her. Somehow, their influence hadn't truly corrupted her. She was not evil or particularly greedy. She helped people when she could and devoted her studies in the black arts to using the power for good, not for her own gain. None of this was going to save her now.
Was she getting what she deserved? Was the taint of her bloodline so severe that nothing she could do would be sufficient to redeem her? Had she been born with a wicked soul from the start? That could be the problem. The game had been rigged against her from the beginning, and no matter how she played her hand, she still held the wrong cards.
Jael was soon to meet her doom on the very road she had taken to avoid it.
He nodded, confirming something, "You are the one from my dreams, then the stars were right. This is the day."
She swallowed. That was an ill portent if she'd ever heard one, "Am I to be put to the sword, Your Majesty?"
A warm chuckle escaped him, "No, you are not the one who is to die today. The Gods have placed you here so that we may meet. Whatever you have done is of no consequence. It is not what you will be remembered for."
She shook her head, "Sire, I don't understand, what's happening?"
His eyes closed briefly, the sky blue suddenly becoming as cold as winter rainfall, "Assassins attacked my sons, and I'm next. My Blades are leading me out of the city on a secret escape route. By chance, that route leads through your cell."
She looked wildly around; the Blades stood in stunned silence at this strange interaction between Emperor and prisoner.
Here was her chance to escape! Surely, if she helped the Emperor, that would gain her a pardon and she could return to her studies in peace.
Her voice was strained; her attempts to loosen the collar had only made its grip on her throat tighter, "I can be of use to you, Your Majesty; I am a grand wizard of the Mage's Guild. I can help see you safely on your path if you will have me."
He gave her the ghost of a smile and looked to the captain of his guards, "The prisoner comes with us. Remove her silencing collar, and let us make haste."
All of his small entourage began to protest, but he held up an authoritative hand, and they fell silent, deferring to his odd request.
One of the Blades, a Redguard, approached and cut the leather from her neck.
She muttered a thank you, rubbed her throat, and followed the entourage straight toward her unlikely fate.
It was a blur. The assassins in bound Daedric armor and red robes, the dank caverns she wandered when she was split off from the group, slaying goblins and sewer rats. She wished for her things, her amulet, black robes, and cloak, all enchanted by her own hands. She missed her dagger, the aptly named Frostbite that dealt severe damage to her enemies by subjecting them to winter's icy grip.
The only things that were stark and cemented in Jael's mind were her conversations with Uriel Septim as they ventured through the maze of forgotten tunnels. The Blades seemed annoyed by the Emperor's apparent interest in the disheveled prisoner. Still, they held their tongues when she immediately began unleashing hell upon the assassins that came for their sovereign.
Being more than proficient in the school of destruction, her magic was far more effective than the Akaviri katanas of the Blades. The assassins died bathed in frostbitten agony and sheets of ice from her graceful hands. She favored frost damage; it seemed appropriate for a mage whose area of focus was death. What was colder than the grave?
In the span of a few hours, the old Emperor had become rather dear to the young mage. He had talked of the gods, of his impending doom, and insisted repeatedly that a great destiny awaited her. She attributed it to the stress of his situation and assured him that she would keep him safe. This was not the end; she would get him wherever he was going and do so with the same single-minded determination that marked her career as a grand wizard.
He asked her about herself, the sign of her birth, and her beliefs in the Gods, and he made no harsh judgments based on her honest answers. He spoke with such calm dignity and had evident compassion that she couldn't help but care for him beyond the fact that he could provide her with a much-needed pardon. Perhaps he was in need of another court wizard; she might have to keep her studies a secret, but it would please her to be of use to him as she had been feeling woefully jobless after her resignation from the guild.
Yes, she had protected him and did so gladly until she couldn't.
He hadn't blamed her; he hadn't bemoaned his fate. He knew it was coming, and even she couldn't thwart the machinations of the divine. The memory was so fresh, it wasn't even an hour ago, but already it haunted her.
They had stood in the side chamber of the sanctum while his guards fought the ambush that had been lying in wait for them in the next room. She could have helped them, but she would not leave Uriel alone.
She was listening to the sounds of fighting, glancing between Uriel and the doorway, her hands ready to defend him, when he grabbed her and spun her around.
A mixture of sadness and urgency in his eyes made her stomach drop.
To her horror, she realized he had taken off his amulet and was pressing it hard into her hands. She took it reluctantly and entwined the golden chain in her fingers.
"Listen to me now, Jael. I can go no further. You must take my amulet to Jauffre. He alone knows where to find my last heir. You must close shut the jaws of Oblivion."
She shook her head frantically, "This isn't the end, Sire! Please--" the words died in her throat.
What happened next was so sudden that she seemed frozen in place, unable to do anything but watch those few seconds as the panel behind Uriel slid open, and one of the assassins put a wicked blade through the Emperor's chest.
Jael roared, still clutching the amulet in one hand; she put up the other and sent a shard of ice through the head of the heartless cur that had slain her friend. He fell back into the next room, revealed by the panel unceremoniously.
She dropped to her knees, but there was nothing she could do. The life was draining from him too quickly, and she was not well-versed enough in Restoration magic to save him.
Even as blood trickled from his mouth, he smiled at her, "Stand true, my friend. May your heart be your guide and the Gods grant you strength."
Tears pooled in her eyes, "With all my heart, farewell…"
And then he was gone.
Now, she stood at the exit grate from the sewers. Scant light poured in from the outside.
She took a steadying breath and made a mental list of what she had to do now.
Return to the inn, gather her things, saddle Balthazar, and make haste to Weynon Priory.
As she stepped forward through the ankle-deep water, the strange words of the Emperor rang in her ears as she opened the gate.
"But in your face, I behold the sun's companion…"
What a strange thing to say to a necromancer. Did he truly see the divine light of Akatosh in her pallor? She doubted it, and while she was confident she could handle the task at hand, she wasn't sure she was the right person for the job or that she had any business' closing shut the jaws of Oblivion,' whatever that meant.
Someone, however, had to do it, and she didn't see anyone else stepping up. Her research could wait in the face of something like this; other than that, she had little else to do. The estate was pretty self-sufficient in the care of her steward. She had no family to speak of, and most of her friends at the college had stopped speaking with her after her resignation, likely to protect their statuses and reputations, and she didn't blame them.
She shuddered. The pounding in her head that had begun when she awoke in that cell had reached a fever pitch, and she was grimly certain that it wasn't going away anytime soon.
Chapter 2: Waking Nightmare
Summary:
Martin meets his savior in black. He has a lot of questions but he only asks a few.
Chapter Text
Martin had prayed all through the night as the Daedra ravaged the city of Kvatch, if it could even be called a city now, Was a smoking pile of rubble and charred bodies a city? Perhaps the Gods had gone deaf; maybe they couldn't hear over the screams of the doomed citizens, the roar of the Dremora, and the chittering screeches of the scamps.
Or perhaps they didn't care.
He was questioning everything, and no answers revealed themselves.
Trying to occupy his tortured mind, he tended to the wounded. When the unscathed survivors following him to the chapel amid the city's destruction asked for his counsel, he had nothing to offer. He made excuses, finding other things to do to avoid their words and questions.
Anything to avoid thinking too hard about why exactly the Nine had allowed any of this to happen.
How was a stable gateway to Oblivion even possible? It defied the natural laws of the material plane.
Perhaps this was all a strange and terrible dream, and he'd awaken suddenly in a cold sweat. He'd had the thought many times, but the nightmare showed no signs of ending.
They were going to die here. He was torn between outrage and acceptance. These people didn't deserve to die this way. Perhaps he had earned such a doom long ago, but they hadn't made the mistakes he had, and Kvatch was not a den of iniquity in need of a blood and fire cleansing.
If this was the will of the Gods, of Akatosh, whom he had served so faithfully for so many years, perhaps everything he had made of his life, simple as it was, had been a colossal mistake.
At least the survivors he had gathered into the chapel had remained calm, even if only outwardly so. They spoke in low tones; some knelt on prayer mats to pray.
The noise from outside had quieted, strange. He couldn't decide whether that was good or bad.
As he thought about it, the chapel door flew open, and a hooded figure rushed through, slamming the door behind them.
They were cloaked in black from head to toe and resembled a walking shadow. The remaining guards drew their weapons immediately, and the figure held up their hands as if to say they meant no harm.
He couldn't quite hear what was said but saw shock and awe register on their faces as they sheathed their swords and parted for the mysterious stranger.
The figure stepped forward and pushed back the hood with gloved hands. It was a woman.
Her hair was such a pale blonde it reminded him of moonlight. It was artfully pulled back into an intricate bun with loose strands framing her face.
She appeared to be scanning the room carefully and purposefully as if searching for something.
Then, her eyes found him, and she strode toward him with an air of authority.
Up close, he could see that she was a figure of beauty. She would have looked more like she belonged in the court of a count or countess than here, were it not for her black robes.
Her large, luminous eyes, the color of cloudy jade, fixed him with an intense stare like she thought she might find whatever she was looking for somewhere in his face.
"Are you Martin, priest of Akatosh?" Her voice was soft and scratchy, as if her throat were hurting.
He swallowed, almost worried she would see the fracture in his faith just from looking into his eyes.
"Yes, I'm a priest. Do you need a priest? I'm afraid I won't be much help to you. I'm having trouble understanding the Gods right now," he glanced down at the floor to avoid her gaze and saw blood steadily dripping onto the floor around her left foot.
She coughed; she must have inhaled a great deal of smoke from the burning city.
"In general, perhaps I do, but I highly doubt any priest could or would help me. This is irrelevant, though. You are the one I am looking for…"
She trailed off, her eyes traveling his body, her brow furrowed slightly, "You're unhurt, yes?"
He was confused, "I'm fine. Who are you, and why… why are you looking for me?"
She sighed, smoothing her hair with her hand and closing her eyes. She spoke with them closed as if she were in pain.
"My name is Jael. As for why I have come to find you," her eyes opened slowly, a mixture of deep concern and exhaustion written across her delicate features, "That is a difficult conversation, and I am not sure how or if I can explain."
He glanced down at the blood around her foot again, deciding to put his attention there for the moment.
"You're hurt," he said quietly.
She gave a questioning look and followed his gaze down to her foot, "So it seems," she said softly, like she hadn't noticed until he pointed it out.
She pulled her cloak aside and lifted the hem of her robes to reveal a very nasty-looking bite on her calf and made an annoyed huff, "Damn, scamps. These robes are warded to protect me against their fireballs but not their bites.
She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow, "Bite wards… now there's an idea," then, seemingly to herself, she muttered, "I'll have to research that further."
Unsure what to make of that, his training kicked in, and he led her to a pew. She sat as he knelt in front of her, taking her foot in his hand and rolling the skirt of her robe up to her knee.
"This is nearly to the bone," he glanced up at her, "How did you fail to notice it?"
He didn't mean to take such a scolding tone.
She shook her head, "I know not if it's the rush of having closed the gate to Oblivion or the five stamina potions I have consumed in the last hour."
She leaned forward and looked at the wound herself; as she did, an amulet freed itself from the high collar of her robe, and the pendant fell to her chest.
It was amethyst set into silver and inlaid the eerie image of a skull with a rose clenched in its teeth.
He quickly tore his gaze away from it and stared into her face, "You… closed the gate to Oblivion?"
She shook her head sadly, "Yes. That is probably where I was bitten, scamps everywhere. Awful little creatures."
He shook his head, "I'm certain you have the gratitude of the whole city, and you have mine, but… how? How did you do it?"
He carefully picked a couple of scamp teeth out of the bite as he waited for her to answer.
She fished something out of her pocket and opened her hand; it was a small, round stone that seemed to glow red with its own inner light.
"This," she held out the strange stone and turned it this way and that so that he could see, "Was apparently the stabilizing force that kept the gate open and functional. Upon removing it, the entire pocket dimension collapsed around me, and suddenly, I found myself standing in Mundus again."
She looked at it thoughtfully, turning it slowly in her fingers, "There was a man trapped in a cage in one of the towers within the plane," she frowned deeply, "He called it a sigil stone. He told me that its removal would close the gate."
Martin uttered an incantation and began a healing spell to repair the torn muscle of her calf, listening carefully. She spoke more like an experienced mage than a roving adventurer. Perhaps she studied at the university in the Imperial City.
He looked at her, creasing his brow, "What happened to the man?"
She shook her head slowly, "I couldn't get him out of the cage. I don't know what happened to him after I closed the gate."
She shoved the sigil stone back into her pocket, and it looked like she was about to say more when the chapel door crashed open again. They both jerked their heads around to see Savlian Matius and a few of the remaining guards come running in.
The captain looked around until his eyes fell upon Jael, and he came over and nodded to them both.
"There are no more survivors that we have found. I appreciate your help clearing the streets, but we need to get these civilians out of here and down to the encampment."
She nodded, "Yes, Captain, that would be wise."
He left them and spoke with Tierra and Berich Inian about getting those in the chapel out.
Martin was almost done closing the flesh on her leg when he glanced up at her; her elbow rested on the back of the pew, and her face was in her hand; she looked unspeakably tired, "There are others who made it out?" he asked softly.
She nodded with her face still in her hand, "Yes, I passed them on my way up to the city. Not many, but more than one would expect to escape unscathed from such an invasion."
Captain Matius returned and shifted from foot to foot in a strange mixture of excitement and unease.
Jael lifted her head, "The survivors will be safe?"
He nodded, "I have another favor to ask of you. You've done a great deal for Kvatch, but would you be willing to do a little bit more?"
She met Martin's eyes, and to his puzzlement, she looked concerned. She glanced slowly at Matius and nodded in a manner that was not by any means confident.
He grinned, "I thank the Gods that they sent you tonight! I ask that you come with us to retake the castle. We must liberate it from the Daedra and rescue Count Goldwine. Take a moment to think it over, but we really do need your help."
She nodded again, and as he walked away, she turned back to Martin. Her leg was healed, and the scarring was not as bad as it could have been. Excellent work on his part, he had to admit.
"I want to help them, I do, but I can't let you out of my sight."
He sighed, giving her leg a once-over and then pulling her robe back down to cover it, "I suppose this has to do with the 'difficult conversation' about why you came looking for me?"
She nodded miserably, "Please trust me, neither of us are ready to have that conversation. All I can ask is that you bear with me and believe me when I say that my intentions are far from nefarious."
She seemed so sincere but he knew that things were seldom what they seemed. However, he also knew that she had closed a gate to Oblivion and saved several people, himself included, from terrible, violent deaths.
"Alright," he said quietly, "I will trust you for now."
She let out a sigh of relief and stood, looked down, and lifted the hem of her robe to see his handiwork.
"You have my thanks for this. I am concerned for your safety, Martin-- may I call you Martin?-- I don't want us to be separated."
He shook his head, this was all so strange, "Yes, Martin is fine. I can't say I understand, but if you're that worried about me, I'll come with you to the castle."
She looked at him skeptically, "You are capable of fighting?"
He chuckled, "I assure you, I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Think about it: I'll be within your sight the entire time, and if something unfortunate does happen, I'm sure a mighty Daedra slayer such as yourself will come to my rescue."
Jael seemed to think about it for a few moments and then acquiesced, "I suppose you're right. It is the only thing that makes sense."
He was a bit sad that she had no reaction to his calling her a mighty Daedra slayer, but she seemed to have a great deal on her mind.
She offered a black-gloved hand, "Shall we?"
Onward, they went into the fray.
Chapter 3: We Need To Talk
Summary:
Martin goes off with Jael and finally gets some answers.
Notes:
"Did you ever meet a girl who was born the victim of a name?
I know 'cause I'm a boy who was born the victim of a name."
-- Black Dresses- The Builders and the Butchers
Chapter Text
"We can talk about it when we get to the inn; I don't want to get into this with wolves and bandits about," Jael said softly, one hand holding the reins, the other brushing through Balthazar's black mane.
Martin was behind her in the saddle, his arms linked around her middle, but very lightly as if he wasn't trying to be untoward.
She felt him shift behind her before answering, "As much as I hate to be kept in suspense, I agree."
The Sobbing Stag was a few miles up the road from Kvatch- well, perhaps the ruins of Kvatch or 'the city formerly known as Kvatch'- towards Skingrad. She'd never been inside before, but the weeping buck on the sign made her chuckle when she passed it.
She traveled this road on occasion, on guild business, and because her ancestral home was located not far off from Skingrad.
She turned her head back enough to get a glimpse of him. His resemblance to his father was shocking. There was no question, in her mind at least, of the identity of his father.
She had no idea how he was going to take the news. She would have asked the Gods for guidance if she were the praying sort, but she doubted they were particularly fond of her.
"I truly appreciate your willingness to come with me, Martin. I know it's asking a great deal, especially when I haven't explained why."
He made a sound in between a chuckle and a sigh, "Well, Jael, it's also asking a great deal of someone to transcend the mortal realm in an attempt to close a gate to Oblivion. At best, we're even."
She hummed her assent. They had dubbed her The Hero of Kvatch. She didn't consider herself a great choice of hero. Necromancer and hero seemed to cancel each other out. However, in their defense, they were unaware of her proclivities regarding arcane research and application.
How Martin, the priest, would react was an area of concern. She was torn between telling him and lying by omission. Of course, omitting that fact could possibly backfire if he found out from someone else. Rumors made her out to be much worse than she actually was, and if someone told him a lie about her that was somewhere along the lines of trying to achieve lichdom, he may run away from her for all he was worth, and it would be very difficult to guard him in that scenario.
Just another difficult conversation to add to tonight's roster.
They rode in what could possibly have been considered companionable silence for the next hour, the only sounds were the rustling of the winds through the brush that framed the road and the steady hoofbeat and occasional snort from Balthazar.
She had him at a steady trot, not wanting to tire him after the long ride from Choral to Kvatch without really stopping and then the added burden of an extra person on his back. She doted on Balthazar, he had been dear to her from the moment she saw him.
His owner had been a toady nobleman who didn't feed him enough and didn't treat him well either. She offered more than double what the beautiful black gelding was worth from her generous private funds and had given him all of her love ever since.
Jael had seldom been loved throughout her life, but the gentle headbutts and occasional lick up the side of her face from Balthazar did a bit to assuage the loneliness which she generally avoided by burying herself in her studies.
When the inn and accompanying stable came into view she patted his flank and leaned close to his velvety ear, whispering, "See there, my love? You'll have a nice bed of straw soon and plenty of grain."
As if Balthazar understood completely, he broke into a canter and they made good time, taking less than ten minutes to reach their destination.
Once Balthazar was unsaddled and contently enjoying his dinner, Jael took her necessities from the saddlebags and led Martin on into the inn.
The Sobbing Stag was a small, rather cozy establishment, the main room was empty save for a traveling merchant and two legionaries eating quietly. Jael donned her hood again and asked the innkeeper for a room.
Martin's eyebrows raised when she asked for a single room and she just pointed to her eyes and pointed at him very emphatically before handing over the coins from a very sizable coin purse.
She was never short on funds. Her family had made their fortune centuries ago, staking claims to several rich gold and iron mines. That was where their wickedness began. They stood on the backs of poor people they used and abused to make every septim they had.
After her parents' deaths, she closed the mines, gave the miners and their families enough to start over elsewhere, and washed her hands of it to the extent that she could. She never involved herself in the politicking or the ridiculous posturing of the nobility.
The innkeeper handed over the key, Jael thanked him and, with Martin on her heels, went upstairs to find their room.
It was small and modest, lit with a few candle stands illuminating a double bed with a simple linen coverlet, a chest, a dresser, and not much else. For ten septims though, this was more than enough.
Jael put her leather travel bag on the dresser, sat down on the edge of the bed facing the wall, and put her head in her hands for a long time before sitting up and turning back to Martin, whose expression was unreadable.
She patted the spot beside her and waited. He seemed a bit unsure, but seemed to think better of his hesitation- likely sensing that he was about to get answers- and did as she bade.
She looked at him and then back at the wall, focusing on a chip in the plaster near the ceiling.
"I thought that if I had more time, I would know how to put this. I was wrong."
She looked at him miserably, "Alright, okay. Martin… I was looking for you because the Emperor sent me."
He scoffed, "The Emperor was assassinated more than a week ago."
She nodded, "I'm well aware."
He looked at her in disbelief, "Why in the name of Akatosh would the Emperor send you to find me?"
She took a deep breath and turned to face him, "Because he is your father. Just before his death, he asked that I find his last son and you are that son, his last living heir."
He suddenly scowled at her, "You have to be lying, this can't be true. My father was a farmer. I can't believe I followed you out here for-"
She- somewhat to her shame- emulated her father exactly at that moment, fixing him with a deadly stare and putting up her hand, causing him to stop midsentence. As soon as she realized that she must have looked just like her sire, she tried to soften her features before speaking, "Explain to me then, what motivation I could possibly have here. I ride all the way to Kvatch, I enter and close a gate to Oblivion, I slay numerous Daedra to clear the city, all to keep you safe… only to tell you a false and fantastical story?"
She waited and they merely stared at each other, his eyes searching hers. She had no idea what he saw there. Probably nothing good.
He raked a hand through his hair, looking away suddenly, "I… you're right."
They sat there in silence for a few moments, Martin was now also staring at the chip in the plaster while Jael fiddled with her gloves.
She broke the silence first, softly, "You look just like him. Your eyes especially, the gentleness there."
He swallowed and turned to her, "Did you know him well?"
She shook her head, "No… we were only acquainted for a few hours. Right before the end but… in a way, I know this sounds ridiculous, but he felt like the only real friend I've had for a long time."
The memory came back and a knot formed in her stomach.
The panel in the wall. The assassin. The sickening sound of the killing blow. The way Uriel had smiled at her just before he passed on. How he'd called her his friend.
She covered her face with her hands, ashamed that a good man like that was dead because she had failed him at that crucial moment.
Martin's gentle voice cut through the thoughts tearing at her, "Jael… Jael, what is it? What's wrong?"
She wouldn't uncover her face and her voice was muffled when she answered him, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I failed him, Martin. I wasn't quick enough to save him. If I had just been faster he'd still be alive."
She heard him sigh softly and then felt him grip her forearms as he pulled her hands away, "Don't speak that way. I watched you slay Daedra, and you protected me, and you protected the men who fought beside us. Sometimes… sometimes unforeseen occurrence befalls us all."
She nodded quickly and wiped her eyes on the back of her glove, "Thank you for saying that of me. I… I suppose you wish to know where we're going. I am to take you to a man called Jauffre. He is the Grandmaster of the Blades and he is in possession of the Amulet of Kings…"
She put her head in her hands again and gave a low groan. By the Gods, she had one hell of a headache. It had not improved even marginally since her escape from the sewers and that was a week and a half ago.
She had them fairly often, perhaps a side effect of the massive amount of magicka she expended each day, or it was the stress of her current situation, probably a combination of the two.
She looked up at Martin and she must have looked something like she felt because he looked touchingly concerned.
"Are you alright?" His voice was soft and gentle, and it actually soothed her a bit, which was something of an odd feeling because most people only caused her stress.
"I have a terrible headache. It's been bothering me for more than a week and has become rather tiresome at this point. That isn't the important thing right now,"
She shook her head and sat up a bit, giving a shaky smile that didn't reach her stormy eyes before continuing.
"Jauffre seems to believe that if the Dragonfires in the Temple of the One are re-lit, the barrier between Mundus and Oblivion can be repaired, making attacks like the one you experienced impossible once more. Of course, being the last Septim, only you can wear the Amulet and only you can light the Dragonfires."
She shrugged, "You see now, why I wanted to wait to have this conversation. I apologize that I was unable to put it more delicately."
He rested his elbows on his knees and seemed to be having trouble deciding if he wanted to look at her or not.
His voice was remarkably steady when he answered her, "This is a great deal to take in. I don't think there is a delicate way to say any of that."
She nodded, "I cannot imagine having such things put upon me."
He nodded solemnly and then looked down at his hands.
She was not adept at comforting people; she supposed it was because she herself had never received much comfort, and so she had nothing to go upon, but she felt a pang of sadness for Martin. Some level of empathy too.
Somewhat awkwardly, she gripped his shoulder and attempted solidarity, "I… I cannot claim to know the depth of your burden, Martin, but I do know what it is to be bound to a name you didn't ask for. Even if you only just found out about yours."
He sighed softly, giving her a little smile, "So you carry a weighty name as well? Jael, you evoke a great deal of curiosity. Right now though, the thing I am most curious about is why you've had a headache for so long."
She got up with a great sigh, "Oh, they plague me often. I've learned to ignore it, but they usually loosen their grip over the course of a day or two, and this one has hung on."
She removed her gloves and boots, then began unfastening the collar of her mage robes and pulling the bodice down to reveal the simple white shift she wore underneath.
"Jael!" Martin's voice was sudden and sharp.
She pushed the rest of the robe down to the floor and turned around giving him an unamused expression, "Relax, I'm not undressing any further, we'll have to become far more acquainted if I am to-"
He interrupted her, "That's not what I- it's just I believe I may have discovered a clue to solving the mystery of your persistent headache."
"Oh," she gave him a rare smile, "Why thank you, Martin, do tell!"
He beckoned her over and had her sit back down facing away from him.
He sighed, running his hand up the back of her neck and she felt a sharp stab of pain when he got to the back of her head.
"Hey!"
He gave a deep sigh, "You have a head injury. Please, hold still and let me see."
She knit her brow, not recalling having taken a blow to the head during her romp in Oblivion or the liberation of Kvatch. Of course, in the heat of battle, many things tended to go unnoticed.
Then it hit her, the knockout blow from the hilt of the Battlemage's sword.
"Ah, I now recall," she turned her head slightly to look back at him, "During my arrest, I took quite a hit and awoke several hours later… in prison. Which, coincidentally, is how I met your father."
Martin sighed deeply, "I have many questions."
She turned back away as he began a restoration incantation.
"I suppose this is as good a time for this discussion as any. I recently resigned from the Mage's Guild. In my tenure, I was a Grand Wizard. I was also the department chair of Necromantic Studies." She stopped there, waiting for the inevitable horror from Martin.
He paused, "You're a necromancer?"
She nodded, "Before you make a judgment upon my character, please let me explain. I was a proponent of the ethical use of necromancy and the study of the animus. My main research concerns the restoration of people who have been trapped between life and death by magical and unnatural means. My goal is to keep the soul completely intact without causing trauma and recalling them to life. I solemnly swear I have no interest in undead servants, desecration of bodies, or wielding ghastly powers."
He was silent for a short while and she sincerely hoped that his opinion of her would not be as extremely terrible as Traven's. But, of course, he was a priest, and priests tended to take a very negative view of her work.
His voice was soft when he responded, "I have never heard of anything like what you describe. Ethical necromancy… honestly, I have never heard those two words used together."
He returned to healing her wound and the aching in her head slowly began to lessen.
"I am not the evil that others make me out to be," her voice was quiet and uncharacteristically timid.
She wasn't exactly sure why his opinion mattered so much to her. A large part of what made her work possible was specifically not caring about what others thought of her. She couldn't reason her way out of it and so she waited for his verdict uneasily.
"I don't think that you're evil Jael. Just… unique perhaps. You saved Kvatch and its citizens, myself included, and traveled to Oblivion to do so. Those aren't the actions of an evil person, at least not to me."
He ran his fingers over where the brunt of the trauma had been located, and this time, it didn't hurt, "Was your research what landed you in prison?"
She sighed, "Not exactly, or at least I am not sure that it did. I returned to the University to collect my research materials and the manuscript of the book I am working on and Arch-Mage Traven refused to let me into my office. This upset me; we had words, and he called for the battlemages. I… resisted. I was knocked unconscious in the struggle and subsequently ended up in the Imperial Prison."
He seemed satisfied with the healing he had performed and she turned back to face him.
He looked deep in thought over her story and the lines that had formed on his forehead reminded her very much of the late Emperor.
"How exactly did this lead to you meeting my… father?"
It was a good question, "Soon after I awakened, he and three of his Blades appeared and entered my cell. They were attempting to get him out of the city and the entrance of the route they intended to take was a false wall in my cell."
Martin nodded, "But why would he give you the task of finding me?"
She sighed and laid back to stare up at the ceiling, "Well Martin, this is where my story becomes very strange. As soon as your father saw me he asked to see my face and when he did… he said that he had seen me in his dreams and said that I must go with him. Something about him… I can't quite explain, but I was compelled to help him. I slew many of the assassins that came for him as we made our way through the tunnels. Until… until I wasn't fast enough. Just before he died, he told me to find you and he called me his friend. I have not had many friends and this meant a great deal to me. Having gained something of a pardon, I made my way out, gathered my things, and set off immediately to do as he bade."
Martin nodded slowly, obviously trying to process this information.
She frowned thoughtfully and then met his eyes, "He said the strangest thing to me as I helped escort him."
He held her gaze steadily, "What was that?"
She pursed her lips, trying to recall his exact words, "He said 'In your face, I behold the sun's companion. The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness,'" She shook her head, suddenly looking away, "I thought that was such a strange thing to say to the likes of me… either The Emperor's vision was somehow obscured, or Akatosh has a strange sense of humor."
Martin rested his chin in his hands, glancing her way, "What makes you say that?"
She chuckled, "Is it not an odd thing for the Gods to send a practitioner of the black arts to fight the forces of darkness?"
Martin seemed to choose his words carefully, but he replied with unexpected confidence, "Perhaps it is strange in our eyes, but the ways of the Gods are ineffable."
She raised an eyebrow, "I cannot argue there but do you see the sun's companion in my face? I think I am rather too pale for such a thing."
He made a show of scrutinizing her and smiled, "I can't say that I do, but in this light, it's hard to tell."
They both laughed.
The last Septim and the necromancer they called a hero had a great deal on their minds and sleep was a long time coming.
ABlueFox on Chapter 3 Wed 13 Nov 2024 05:50AM UTC
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BoozieRu on Chapter 3 Thu 17 Apr 2025 10:45PM UTC
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