literature

Cyrodiil Can Wait a Little Longer

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It wasn't unusual for Martin Septim to awaken earlier than the Blades that resided at Cloud Ruler Temple. Quite the contrary, it would be worrying if he were to sleep even a minute longer. As it were, he frequently found himself walking around hours before they awoke, alone within the protective sanctuary he had come to call home in the time he had spent there.
One such early morning found him sitting in the main section of the Temple, a thick book laying upon a desk on which his elbows rested, hands on his chin as he stared intently down at the pages. He knew full well what dangers resided within such scriptures; he hated just how vast his knowledge was. Something that worried him was the fate of the one who had brought him this malevolent book. Although reassured that she had merely transported it from the Mythic Dawn shrine to his own hands, he couldn't help but feel uneasy. It wasn't a matter of trusting her -- far from it, he had put his life in her hands many times -- but more of knowledge of her personality. He knew how she would hide details such as pain, mental or physical, depression and other such feelings. She could go a month with a broken bone and no one would know the difference. She could be missing a head and be able to fool them all.
Almost all, anyway. Martin could see through her disguises, he coud see the suffering in her eyes. She was aware of his knowledge, but would still refuse to have anything done about whatever troubled her. For that, Martin had to admire her. Not many could live a life like she had and still have the strength to go on without aid.
His concentration by this point was far from on the book in front of him. Instead, he thought back to past memories with his friend: she said she had met his father, the Emperor. She had often told Martin this particular event and he would often ask for it -- he had never known his father and hearing how he had knowingly walked to his death always touched his fragile heart. He had seen his Blades die around him to assassins, he had knowledge of his sons -- Martin's brothers -- deaths, he had been followed by proffessional assassins... and still he had put every bit of his faith into a face he had seen only in a dream. A face of a prisoner, a criminal. The prisoner's crime was unknown -- she refused to mention it and if asked, would change the subject -- yet she was trusted. She could have massacred an entire city, slaughtered the men and tortured the women and children. The fact remained that his father had not wavered in his trust for her.
A smile flickered across Martin's face. He knew of one particular crime she had commited -- a particular theft of a particular part of him.
Creaking to his right alerted Martin that he was not the only one awake. Looking up, he saw Jauffre emerge from the living quaters, stretching one arm out and rubbing his eyes. Upon noticing Martin, he smiled warmly and approached him.
''Good morning, my lord.''
''Martin, Jauffre. My name is Martin. I'm nobodys lord this day.''
The old man chuckled, ruffling Martin's hair, much to the boy's protest. ''Good morning Martin, then. You're up early, as per usual.''
''And you're up late, as per usual.'' Amusement crossed Martin's face a brief moment. Jauffre offered an uncharacteristic grin before stretching his arms once more. ''Have you eaten?''
It was at that moment Martin's stomach decided to complain about it's apparent emptiness. The young man rubbed his neck sheepishly as his older friend wandered towards a door opposite the living quaters, ''I'll take that as a 'no, Jauffre, friend, I haven't eaten'.''
''I'll get something in a minute, Jauffre, I'm just--''
''No, no, stay there,'' Jauffre's eyes flickered with a faint humour as Martin watched him from his desk. ''I'm up, I may as well do it.''
''There's no need--''
''There's every need. Anything in particular?''
Sighing with defeat, Martin sank into his chair. ''Just... bread.''
''Bread? How exciting. Although I don't think I've ever witnessed you eat anything but bread.''
''There's nothing wrong with bread,'' Martin murmured as he turned a page of the book in front of him. The Mysterium Xarxes. Just looking at it sent shivers down Martin's spine. After a short while, he was joined by Jauffre, who pulled up a chair beside him and handed him a plate of bread.
''Here,'' he announced with a friendly smile, ''your exciting breakfast.''
''When did you become sarcastic, friend?'' Martin took the plate and set it beside the book, taking small bites every now and then. Jauffre chuckled lightly, munching on a carrot. ''I thought I might give it a try.''
''It doesn't suit you as much as your seriousness.''
''You've been working hard, Martin. You barely take a rest from this book -- the least I can do is give you some humour ever now and then. You're a person, not a working machine.''
Touched by these words, Martin smiled. ''Thank you, friend.''
They ate in silence, the only sound within the room being that of a page turning and the light breathing of the pair at the desk. With company, the Mysterium Xarxes didn't seem nearly as threatening, although their danger still lurked within every rune as Martin worked to decipher the strange tongue. It felt like hours had passed before a new sound startled both Martin and Jauffre: the front doors of Cloud Ruler Temple burst open as a strong gust of wind blew inside, scattering papers, much to the young heir's dismay.
''Tielva?'' Jauffre was the first to rise from his chair; Martin blinked before looking over at the doorway.
Stood between the open doors was a slender figure, black robes covering their body complete with a black hood to shroud their face. As they closed both doors and approached the pair, Martin noticed the robes were undone to show dark leather armor worn underneath, and what looked to be a bag hanging at her waist, it's single strap around the shoulder opposite it's current position. Once the figure had reached the desk, gloved hands raised to pull back the hood shrouding their face: Martin felt Jauffre relax beside him as he, too, recognised the one who stood there.
Ashen, if pale skin appeared tight upon the Dunmer woman who stood before them, dark red hair hanging loose around her shoulders. Red eyes flickered from focusing upon Jauffre to Martin, then back again; a small smile twitched at her lips as she reached for a strap across one shoulder, untied it in one swift motion and brought out a large golden shield from under her robes.
''It's been a while, Martin, Jauffre,'' she finally spoke, holding the shield out. ''I managed to get ahold of this -- 'Spell Breaker', is it?''
Martin reached out and took the shield from the Dunmer's hands, looking over it incredulously. ''Not many people would give up the Spell Breaker for destruction, my friend... Your sacrifice honours me.''
Tielva rubbed the back of her neck, shrugging lightly. ''I always hated shields. They get in the way.'' She looked over at Jauffre, ''How are you both?''
''I am fine, thank you, Tielva.'' Jauffre offered a polite smile; Martin could only nod idly as he turned the shield over in his hands, glancing down at the Mysterium Xarxes. The Dunmer lowered herself onto the bench opposite the pair, resting her arms upon the desk. ''How are things here?''
''All is well. After those spies were dealt with, we've had little to no troubles. What of yourself, Tielva? You were limping as you entered...''
Martin looked up at Jauffre's words, Tielva shifting slightly in her seat. ''I found another Gate,'' she said slowly. ''A Daedra managed to get me, it's nothing big.''
''If it makes you limp, it's worth resting over.'' Jauffre said gently. Tielva looked away, ''I'll survive. Besides, we need to hurry with the remaining pieces, right, Martin?''
A small sigh left the young man's lips. ''I still haven't fully translated the next piece, Tielva. Rest a while, my friend.''
''If you've nothing for me to do, I'll just find work elsewhere,'' the Dunmer rose from her seat and turned on her heels, striding towards the doors. It wasn't until she had opened them and stepped outside that Martin fully registered what was going on: he was on his feet in an instant, racing after her.
''Tielva!''
Tielva stood beside her monsterous steed, Shadowmere, checking the saddle upon her back. The beasts red eyes fixed upon Martin as he approached, her nostrils flaring as she stomped on the ground. Tielva turned, eyes narrowing as he reached out, placing a hand on both her shoulders.
''Martin, let me be. I can't just sit back and watch as the world crumbles before my eyes... Surely you understand?''
The Imperial blinked, expression softening at the sadness Tielva tried to hide within her eyes. His own eyes watered slightly at the memory of Kvatch -- his home, all he had ever known, his friends. Everything obliterated by a single gate, a thousand monsters pouring from it's depths to wreck havock upon all he knew and loved. He hated the memory, and there was the magic he had tampered with...
''I know, Tielva, I know. But please... the world can wait a little longer for it's champion to recover--''
''Don't call me a 'champion'.'' Tielva hissed. ''I'm not a champion, I'm just the only one with enough damn guts to be able to stare death in the eye and spit in it's face.''
Martin was taken aback by the sudden venom in her voice, enough to loosen his hold on her shoulders and allow her to escape his grasp. She stepped back, fists clenched as her red eyes burnt holes within the Imperial. ''I'm just like you. I didn't choose my path, it was forced upon me -- you didn't choose to become Emperor, you just so happened to be born of the previous one and your brothers murdered without ever knowing them. I never chose to be the one to rescue you from Kvatch, I was just conveniently in the prison cell that held your fathers escape route.'' She shook her head, voice breaking. ''I want people to know me as Thielva, not as the 'Hero of Kvatch', the 'Champion of Cyrodiil'... I want to be normal.''
''I, too, dream of being someone I am not,'' Martin whispered softly, carefully approaching her once more. She didn't protest as he held her shoulders this time, nor did she flinch as he pulled her into an embrace. She returned his gesture, allowing a small glimmer of vunerability to show.
''We'll get through it together,'' Martin promised. Thielva swallowed, then nodded. ''I'll stand by your side forever, if need be, friend.''
Martin wasn't sure why he did what he did, but he didn't regret it. As soon as those words had left Thielva's mouth, he held a hand under her chin and gently tilted her head to hold his lips against hers. He didn't force the kiss; he was gentle, giving Thielva any chance she wished to pull away, likely with a fireball if he knew her nature. To his surprise, however, no fireball burnt him that day. Thielva remained in his hold.
The pair only broke apart when they heard Jauffre's voice; ''Martin, Thielva, where are you?''
Martin shot an apologetic look at Thielva, his cheeks burning. ''I'm... sorry about that.''
''Don't be,'' Thielva softly carressed his burning cheeks; it was all Martin could do to not show how his breath was stolen by the move. ''I enjoyed it.... really.''
''I'm glad,'' Martin leant forwards to brush his lips against hers one last time before taking a few steps back. ''Will... will you be staying, then?''
Thielva looked from Shadowmere to Martin, eventually giving a small nod. ''I suppose leaving in this state would risk more danger than it would solve.''
Jauffre finally found the pair and, upon seeing Shadowmere glowering at him, frowned. ''Thielva? What--''
''I'm staying, Jauffre, if only for a little while. I just thought Shadowmere would need some fresh air...''
Beside Jauffre, Martin blinked. When his older friend nodded with a smile and was called away by one of the Blades who had by now woken up, Martin murmured lowly to the Dunmer; ''So you were never planning on leaving?''
''By Talos, no,'' she waved a hand with a playful smile. ''I just wanted to see what you would do.''
''...You're cruel and unreasonable,'' Martin sighed. Thielva laughed; ''I love you, too, Martin.''
Their eyes met once more as they smiled to each other, Thielva eventually turning to finish her previous job of untying Shadowmere's saddle. Martin watched a while before stepping back to see Jauffre looking at him with a humorous look in his eyes.
''You finally told her, then.'' He remarked, a hand to his chin. Martin slowly nodded, glancing back to Thielva. ''It's like you said, there's no waiting when Cyrodiil's fate rests upon our shoulders.''
''Your father would be proud.'' Jauffre placed a hand upon the young heir's shoulder, who smiled a the thought of Uriel Septim. ''Come, now -- you have a book to study, do you not?''
A small sigh passed Martin's lips as he trudged back to the Main Hall. The dangerous book contaminated his mind and plagued his dreams each time he so much as thought about it. Although, he reasoned, the instability of his mental condition would be easier to endure when he knew that Thielva was safe and nearby.
It was only a matter of time before I ended up doing this. :iconsasukefacepalmplz:

A little one-shot for all Martin fans out there. Excuse my terrible ability at keeping people in-character (Or lack thereof), I am in dire need of practice.

Written for my good friend :iconjuulasjugs: as an apology for narrating everything I see and do. But damn, those Bellend Cheerios are out to get us!

Martin, Jauffre, Blades & Elder Scrolls (C) Bethesda, I'm nowhere near as good as to create such a masterpiece.
Random Dunmer #231, AKA Thielva (C) :iconmelafy-starbringer: Although:iconjuulasjugs: can steal her anytime.
© 2011 - 2024 epochai
Comments14
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baratron's avatar
Hmm. I think your Martin is considerably younger than the one in the game - I can't imagine Jauffre tousling the hair of game-Martin. Other than that - they're all pretty well in character. Well done.

Perhaps I am strange though, because I read the line "He knew of one particular crime she had commited -- a particular theft of a particular part of him" and went "What? His PENIS?!" I don't know why my mind leapt to penis before heart! ;D