SPOILERS especially if you haven't played Oblivion but you may want to.
"Ma'am!"
They wouldn't touch her, no matter how bad she looked. She was the hero, the champion. She'd closed countless gates as well as the Great Gate, had entered Paradise and survived. She'd saved the world and if she wanted to be up, she'd was going to be up.
"Sifth, are you okay?"
Okay, maybe not everyone would leave her in peace. She faced Jauffre who'd shed his armor and was wearing his monk robes. There was exhaustion in his face, mixing well with his sorrow. She had to remember that, while she was one of them and mourning a friend, they were mourning their would be Emperor as well as facing the reality that they had failed. She didn't answer his question, crossing the distance beside them in a sort of desperate lunge, her arms wrapping around his neck in an equally desperate hug. All her strength was gone, something Jauffre sensed as he held her, returning her hug as well as supporting her near dead weight.
"He should be here," she whispered, her words breaking into sobs. "I should have done more."
"There was nothing more you could do. Nothing more you could give," Jauffre assured her.
"I could have given my life," Sifth insisted.
Was she bleeding again? It was entirely likely that she'd opened her wounds again, especially since darkness swam on the corner of her vision. Jauffre said something else but she didn't hear as she plunged into sleep.
His scent was all around her and for just a second longer, she kept her eyes closed, breathing deep. If she just never woke up, she'd never have to face that he was gone. Not dead, just gone, all that was left a stupid statue that she couldn't talk to or even wrap her arms around just for human contact. She recalled her conversation with Jauffre. Yes, she could have given her life. What was her life compared to his? She'd been born a Count's bastard, grown up another servant in his already vast collection and then she'd run away to improve her skill with a sword. It was enough that she'd been declared a hero. If she had just died, her story would be complete instead of the gaping hole that it was now. Would any end be good enough? She finally opened her eyes, rolling onto her side. She was in his bed, which explained the hovering smell of him. To a point. Every time she saw him, he was tenaciously camped out in that damnable chair, pouring through his books, trying to pull his own weight. She'd had the hardest time convincing him to get some rest and he'd only done that because she'd made him an offer that no warm blooded man could resist. She sat up, curling her legs beneath her, strands of her ivory hair tumbling over her shoulder. She shook them back into place as she cracked her back. She knew better than to get up again. Her wounds were still fresh and it had been a risk just to get her back to the temple but Jauffre had insisted. The Mythic Dawn was still out there, scattered though they were and she was a target. The only place she'd be safe was surrounded by her fellow Blades. Her eyes went upwards, unable to handle the room's emptiness. He was completely moved out of the room, the thing the Blades had spent a good few hours doing, systematically packing away his clothes and books, a testament to his life, sealing them in a chest and taking them to the Imperial City. So, why, she wondered, was she staring at the taunting corner of a book as it peeked down at her from the rafters. Her curiosity was quickly getting the better of her and she looked to the nightstand, glad to see that knick knacks, such as the oddly placed kitchen knife were still in the drawer. Her aim had greatly improved and she threw said knife with deadly accuracy and speed, watching it slide into the roof even as the book fell, right into her waiting and eager hands. Even as she opened the worn pages, she made a note to retrieve the knife before Jauffre took note. The script, the delicate dip on some of the letters, there was no doubt. As if the fact that it was in his room wasn't proof enough. Sifth gulped, touching one of the pages gently, her hands shaking.
"Martin," she whispered, finally.
She hadn't said his name in what felt like forever,even though it had only been a week. At least she didn't burst into hysterical sobs. No, the name just sounded so hollow.
"Forgive me," she whispered to him.
This was his journal, the one he brought everywhere and wrote in even when they were together. She was not allowed to take Martin outside of the temple, a rule she'd broken once or twice until reports of spies on Bruma's road had brought those to a halt. Her choice,much to his disappointment. She flipped through the pages, admiring the evolution of his hand writing from a child's shaky script to the delicate flow of the man she'd met in Kvatch. Speaking of Kvatch, as she turned the pages near the end, she came across an charcoal rendition of her. She knew it to be because she recognized the descriptive doors of the chapel as she crouched amongst the Kvatch guard, the only one not wearing armor but a plain dress instead. She smiled at how well Martin had captured such a fleeting moment, returned to the arguing over what was the best plan even as the city burned outside the doors, taken over by little scamps. Curiosity mixed with some sort of desperate need urged her to move on, and she came to a shakier page of script, as if it had been written with an unsteady hand. The page was smeared with ink.
"I can only remember fire and smoke. And panic. The gate opened just outside the city, blocking escape. Gods forgive me but in that moment, in this moment of weakness, I did not seek out my fellows but rather sought my own refuge. Let any who call me a coward do so. I am not ashamed as I am alive where so many are surely dead. The guards whisper of taking back Kvatch and they have brought with them a stranger wearing nothing but a dress. I cannot help but watch her as she watches me, her eyes stars from the sky itself. Surely, she is not a warrior.
Sifth did not realize she was holding her breath until she let it out, realizing that yes, he was talking about her, about that first night in Kvatch where she'd stared at him in his priestly garb, seeing his father's strong features in him and known that he was Martin. She'd weighed the decision to tell him that he was to be Emperor before or after she'd taken back the city, finally deciding to wait. That way, it would be easier to get him back to the Priory and more time to talk him into it. She flipped through a few more pages, mostly scribbles on the journey to both the Priory and the temple, until one entry caught her attention because her name was mentioned in it. Mentally checking the date, she realized it would have been only a few days after they'd arrived at the temple.
I am to be Emperor. I am a Septim. I feel there is truth to these words and yet I still cannot believe them. The Blades have placed so much faith in me but what if I am not what they seek? I cannot voice these thoughts to them. In truth, the only one I feel like I can converse with on such thoughts is Sifth but she has been gone a week and I dare not ask Jauffre when she will return, lest he know something is wrong. I have been an ordinary man my entire life and she just an ordinary woman but these Blades, they have been in service to the Emperor and the empire for much of their lives. Many have seen Emporers pass and have been there as the next takes his place. But now, I am to be that Emperor and she has been put here as a hero. Are the Gods mad? They are asking too much of two such ordinary people, though I have no doubt that she will succeed in this task. She has already closed her fair share of Oblivion Gates, faced innumerable dangers. And she has returned, walking through these creaking doors as if I have summoned her. I must go.
She remembered that. It was when she'd brought the Mysterium Xarxes, remembered walking in to find Martin scribbling away. She'd scoffed just a bit that he was sitting on his behind, writing when he could have been learning to fight from some of the best fighters in the Empire. But she had said nothing because it wasn't her place. She flipped through some more pages, the final pages, realizing that there was so few. He really had spent much of his time trying to find a solution to getting the Amulet of Kings back, neglecting his journal. Much of what she found was his research notes, his suspicions on how to open a portal into Paradise. She feared the journal was a lost cause into Martin's thoughts leading up to the end until she came across another page, a flower slipping out. She picked it up, recognizing it as one of the Ambrosia she'd brought back from Paradise for him. She picked it up, gently, admiring it. Even after being pressed between the pages of a book, she was impressed to find that it was still as beautiful as when she'd picked it. She'd planted a few, stealthfully, in the Garden District of the Imperial City and made a mental note to check on them when she healed. It was her only real plan. She was unsure of what to do now. Before Martin had... vanished, she had planned to stay with the Blades, throw herself fully into the role and defend Martin with everything she had. He was the only one who knew her, the only one who knew why she wore the wrist cuffs from her time as a prisoner in the Imperial Jail as well as the only one who knew about her father. He'd joked that he'd make it better,that he'd get her a place in her father's household even though she was perfectly content not having to run around a proper little high class girl. She smiled at the memories that sent daggers into her heart. There was no Emperor and thus no point to the Blades. She was not ready to cut ties with Jauffre or Baurus but before the Oblivion Crisis, she had barely lived. She did not want to remain secluded in this stuffy temple. To banish those thoughts, she turned back to Martin's journal. He had made lists and drafted ideas for various things to do when he became Emperor, many things on them making her smile. He was a scholar through and through and just as equal to share that knowledge with his soon to be citizens. He talked of a school, not just one for magic and swordsmanship but for those that were not so fortunate to be able to read or write, a worthwhile mission in this time and age when many of Sifth's own contacts were barely literate and only knew the names of places because they'd spent their life memorizing where the place was and so associated the weird letters on the sign outside as its name. They weren't wrong, they just didn't understand that the letters were normal. The Empire needed Martin, if only for his ideas. The pages were thinning, the book was ending. This final glimpse of Martin in his last days was coming to an end and she was desperate to keep hold of him. But in time, all things had to be let go and her need to keep reading drove her as she read on.
There is nothing else to be done. I become Emperor today. I have agonized over what to decree, what to do to help shape my rule. I am no warlord, no great warrior and fear that my people will suffer for that. I am a scholar at hear and seek to better my people through education. But wars are not just won with thinking and strategy but with might and strength. I overheard Jauffre speak of candidates for my wife, women he will parade before me, subtly, in an attempt to strengthen my rule. I have known him for but a short time and I know the man is anything but subtle when it comes to his duty to the Empire and in this, we share responsibly. He must see that the Empire lives on, with a Septim on the throne and I must make sure that there is a Septim after me. There is only one woman for me and I have lain with her. If all goes well,when I am Emperor, when my realm is strong again, I will ask Sifth to be my Empress. No one can object as she is of a prestigious blood line and we are both bastards. If she will have me, I will be the happiest man alive.
The book fell from her hands, onto the sheets. He was going to marry her. Or at least ask. Did that make it worse? Yes. The ache in her heart was tenfold now as she cursed Mehrunes Dagon and Akatosh alike for taking him away. She could not stop the tears that flowed down her face as she bowed over the journal as it lay on the bed before her, resting her forehead on the smooth leather, not caring that her tears would probably ruin its worn cover.
"I would have said yes," she sobbed, whispering the secret to the book. "Martin."
That night, Jauffre, Grand master of the Blades, would forever remember going to check on the newest addition to their ranks, knowing that it was not just her wounds that kept her so weak and that she was just as important to the empire as Martin Septim had been. He would remember how he hesitated at the door before opening it, only to be faced with a room as empty as it had been before Martin had been lodged there. The bed was made, no trace of its former occupant left behind or even its temporary occupant there. Never before had he felt such sadness and panic, especially as he ran for the stable, praying that he was wrong, that she wasn't gone. But the paint horse that had become her faithful steed was gone when he arrived and, after months of looking, he knew they would not find her.
It had been several months,several long months of rebuilding and for a city that had seen the worst Oblivion had to offer, life had returned to normal, with a few exceptions, namely the large tone avatar that would have been Emperor. Another was the school, opened shortly after the disappearance of the Hero of Kvatch and Bruma from Cloud Ruler Temple, operating on the Waterfront. As per usual, the schoolmarm makes her daily walk to the stone avatar, waving to her students as she walks, her hand resting on her pregnant belly. As soon as she arrives, she wastes no time placing the Ambrosia she brings with her once a week at its feet before resting her hands on the cold stone and staring up at the statue. Respectfully, she is given wide berth, even though many burn with curiosity to know what she says to the statue and on this day, one of the beggars creeps forward, just close enough to hear,
"I will always love you. Martin."
A/N: I just finished the Main Questline for Oblivion last night, just needed a break from Skyrim, and the damn quest end always destroys me just a bit, especially since this time around I slacked a bit so both Baurus and Jauffre died on me. And my horse. Like, everyone I cared about just up and perished.