(My first Oblivion fan fiction! (Fan girl squeal) Even if you have never played or heard about Oblivion, I made it easy for you to understand. Well, sort of. Note: The italicized bits in between the twinkly doodads are either things that happened in the past, things that are going to happen in the future, or are a dream. You'll be able to figure it out. I promise. Cross my heart and all that crap. Try to guess who the characters are. If you can't figure it out, you'll get it by the end of this chapter. (Really, you should already know if you read the description of the story, but hey, who am I to judge?) Wow, I really suck at writing these summaries at the top. Any ways, it took me a really long time to write this, so I hope you like it. Do enjoy! Kisses!-R for Rebel)

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Oblivion; Bioware does.

Perfect Mornings

****

His hand was the only thing that was warm out here. He leaned his face in so it nearly rested on my shoulder. His breath tickled my ear, and I would have giggled under better circumstances. But now was not the time for laughter. Not from me. I frowned as new tears slid down my face.

"Who needs me? Please, Error, tell me. Please tell me someone on this plane of existence needs me. Not to be a hero or a healer, but someone who needs me for me."

I turned away from him, my sobs choking me, refusing me further use of my voice. I swallowed hard and began walking the parapet back to the east watchtower. I heard his light foot falls behind me pick up until he was walking beside me. I glanced at him through my tears. His face was twisted in a look of deep concern and worry. I also noticed his mouth open more than once, as if he wanted to say something meaningful, but the words never came and his mouth always ended up shut. I felt sick to my stomach.

Why couldn't he just say it? That he loved me? That he cared despite the fact that I was a werewolf? That he would be there for me if I ever needed to talk? If I ever needed a shoulder to cry on, like right now? I was pleading silently for him to say something.

I stopped abruptly and turned back to the wall. He stopped too. I couldn't see him through the tears, but I sensed his halting. I looked out over the frost bitten forests of Bruma, wishing for the unthinkable.

That's when the unthinkable happened.

****

I looked down at my only companion on the dirt road and smiled.

"So, Alima. What kind of fresh hell do you think we've gotten ourselves into now?" The large, pitch black wolf looked back at me with her big topaz eyes and whined with an almost human tone. She was nervous, or at least she sounded like it.

"My thoughts exactly."

From what I had gathered from the survivors, the city of Kvatch had been attacked by Deadra in the wee hours of the night and been reduced to a pile of smoking rubble. I hadn't actually seen it, but the absurd amount of smoke spewing from the ridge was enough evidence. As I walked through the camp, I did a head count. I was altogether floored when I only counted five people. Oh my Gods, only five?!?

I walked along the road leading out of the camp, heading toward the barricade set up by Savlian Matius and his guard. As I walked, my mind wandered back to the last few days. The first place I had gone after getting out of the damned Imperial Prison was Weynon Prior. Baurus, a Blade in the service of Emperor Uriel Septim IV until his highness' untimely demise, had told me to visit Grandmaster Jauffre. Jauffre, who was now living under the facade of an old monk, had once been a great Blade. With the Amulet of Kings in hand, I told Jauffre of my situation and asked for an explanation to everything I had witnessed. Jauffre had complied and began to basically tell me half his life's story.

Supposedly, a good couple years back, Jauffre had been given the mission of delivering the illegitimate son of the now late emperor to Kvatch in the hopes of securing the Septim throne. The baby had been named Martin and had been raised in the Chapel of Akatosh, with no premonitions of his royal heritage.

Which leads us back to my current situation; I have to find Martin, convince him he's the royal heir, spirit him out of Kvatch and back to the Priory, and try not to attract the attention of the Mythic Dawn. That had seemed relatively easy until the Deadra had destroyed the city in an attempt to kill the only thing standing in the way of their return. I sighed. Just another day at the office.

By this time, Alima and I had reached the top of the hill. I looked around and gasped.

The city walls were scorched. The surrounding forest was nothing more than burnt timber. There were no birds or wild life to be seen. Ash and soot covered the cobble stones and floated down around us. The sky had turned a deep, writhing crimson. All of this was reason enough to gasp, but the real thing that scarred me was the giant glowing red portal to Oblivion.

"Damn." I breathed. Alima whimpered, her ears and tail pressed low and her fur on end. She was ready to fight to the last. I smiled faintly and patted her head.

"Calm down, my friend. There is no need for that." Then looking around, added, "At least, not at the moment."

I tasted the air. Flesh, smoke, dirt. I had smelt that a mile away, though at the time I didn't realize what it meant. I sniffed again and was rewarded. Worn flax cloth and tarnished steel. The guards must be close. We traveled on, Alima pressed to my side, whimpering despite my gentle coaxing. I sighed again. This was going to be one hell of a day.

****

Deadra swarmed up the steps. I breathed rapidly. I reached the edge of the chasm. Legs bent, I pumped hard and went flying. Arms wrapped around the glowing red orb, I began to fall.

****

5 hours, 3minutes, and 39 seconds after departure

The Gate vomited me back up onto the charred ground of Kvatch. I had landed face first and was losing conscience rapidly. Through a curtain of pain, I heard Alima barking. Coarse hands on my shoulders, flipping me over. A sigh of relief. Matius' voice.

"She'll be fine. Let's get her to the camp."

Everything went black.

****

A pleasant breeze caressed my face. I smiled at the man next to me. Every time I looked at him, I was surprised by how handsome he was. Brown hair riming a chiseled face. Slightly tan, with a good build. And those eyes. A gorgeous mayflower blue.

"Another week, give or take a few days." I shrugged my shoulders and turned to look out over a large grassy plain. I tried to hide the blush creeping over my face as I turned back. He groaned in mock annoyance. We smiled at each other for a moment.

"Well," he said, the smile still there even when he turned away to grab his sack. "At least we've got each other."

****

My stomach flipped. I sat up, my drowsiness melting into surprise. I hadn't had a dream that vivid in a long time. That stranger, the one from my dream…he seemed familiar. Where did I know him from? My thoughts were interrupted by the realization of what time it was. Alima's loud and obnoxious snoring halted for a moment as I stepped over her and cautiously snuck outside. As I sashayed noiselessly between the silent tents, I felt my canines sharpen and grow. The hairs on my body lengthened. My sight focused and my arms and legs morphed. I dropped to all fours and stretched my limbs. By this time I was out of the camp and in the forest. I licked at an unsettled tuff of white fur and, after looking around at my surroundings, lunged into the denser parts of the forest. I was hungry, and it was time to eat.

****

No one ever had a clue I left that night. In the early hours of the morning, I stepped back into my tent and got ready for the day. I slipped into my plaid shirt and soft leather pants, then pulled on my cuirass and laced up my boots. Alima yawned and stretched in the corner. She sleepily trotted over to where I was sitting on the bed. I patted her head.

"Good morning, my friend. Did you sleep well?"

She rolled her shoulders, much like a shrug, and sauntered out the flaps of the tent. I smiled to myself. I grabbed an apple of the table and walked out into sun. I turned right and began following Alima up the road. As I expected, Captain Matius and the Kvatch guard were back at the barricade.

"Matius." I said with a nod as I approached.

"Ah, Wentaral. Good to see you up and about. Sigrid said you should be fine by the morning, but I was a little worried…" He trailed of as he realized he was rambling. He coughed an apology and continued. "We decided to wait. Didn't want to start the push without you."

"Glad you did, captain. I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Are you prepared?"

"I was born prepared."

We began to walk towards the large oak doors leading into the city. Alima tried to follow, but I clicked my tongue at her, a signal for her to stay. She whimpered, but did not follow any more. I counted the distance. A quarter way there. A half. Three quarters.

There.

The doors opened and Deadra poured out.

****

The cathedral was dim, a few candles strewn here and there. I could hear them. The survivors. Moans of pain and sadness, cries from little children, sobs from men and women alike. Matius turned to me after a few moments of speaking to the guards who had been trapped in the cathedral.

"Some of the survivors were injured during the escape. Would you mind...?"

I was already walking down the stairs before he finished. "I'll be back in a minute."

I went around to the various occupants of the chapel; healing who I could and comforting others. My long red hair kept getting in my face, so eventually I pulled it back into a braid. I was working particularly hard on stopping an advanced infection on an elderly Imperial female's arm that I didn't hear someone come up behind me. I was trying to apply a salve of strawberry and comberry extract to the wound, but the woman was delusional from pain and would not let me anywhere near her.

"Back, you demon, back!" she screeched. "I've lived far too long to be taken down by you damn Deadra!"

I was about to give up when an Imperial male kneeled beside me.

"Calm down, Jezren." He whispered to the older woman, grasping both of her arms gently. His voice was both commanding and compassionate. He smiled at me before continuing. "This demon is here to help you. She'll take away the pain."

The elder looked up at this stranger. She opened her mouth, and then shut it. For the rest of my healing, she did not fight, just whimpered every so often. When I was done, she lay on her pallet, fast asleep from the drugs. I turned to the stranger to thank him and gasped.

He was very handsome. He had long brown hair that rimmed a chiseled face. He was slightly tan, and I could tell he was very fit under his cloudy blue robes, but it was his eyes that caught me off guard. They were a beautifully clear, mayflower blue. The man from my dream…

"Th-thank you!" I managed to stutter.

"It was not a problem at all, my lady. I was trying to find the ingredients for the balm myself, but we were running out of previsions, and I couldn't find the exact amount." He stopped and looked around. "Really, I should be thanking you. You have helped more people than I have." He stopped again. He seemed embarrassed to ask, but he did anyway.

"May I ask your name?"

"Wentaral, and yours?"

"Martin. It's a pleasure to meet you."

That threw me for a loop. The man from my dream was the heir to the Septim throne? Maybe it hadn't been a dream after all. Maybe my visions were coming back. But without any provocation..,?

"It's a pleasure to meet you." I answered back faintly. We began walking around the chapel, finishing any healing that was still needed. When that was finished, we sat in one of the pews to relax. We were both tired and I knew I had to break the 'your-the-heir-to-the-throne-and-your-father-was-an-emperor' news to him at some point. I sighed and decided to get it over with.

"Actually, Martin, I have something I need to tell you…"

****

8:32 pm

Matius lead the survivors out of the chapel and Martin and I brought up the end. It was a somber procession. I knew what was going through everyone of their minds. Survive one hell, enter another. Buildings were still burning and crumbling after two days and the air smelt of flesh and smoke. It looked like the hell I had seen in my picture prayer books as a child. We walked out the gates and down the road. Alima came and trotted beside me. Even she seemed a bit sad. After a few minutes trek, we made it to the camp. Martin and I did not stay to see how everyone reacted to each other, but instead made for my tent. I had told him it would be best if we stayed inconspicuous until we were fully prepared to head for Weynon Priory. Martin understood the caution and agreed. We decided that we would stay inside the tent as much as possible, and we were bent on keeping it that way.

Once inside, we sat down, him in a chair, me on my pallet. Alima curled up next to me and fell asleep. We sat there, avoiding the others gaze until I noticed Martin was frowning at my lap.

"Ummm…Excuse me?" I asked him with a slightly devilish smile. "Mind me asking what you're looking at?"

"Oh! I'm sorry!"He blushed a deep crimson and I fought the urge to laugh. He continued on. "I know what that must have looked like, but I…I wasn't…you're…Ummm…leg…its bleeding!"

I looked down and saw the blood too. I felt silly for embarrassing him and almost wished I hadn't said anything at all.

"Oh. I wonder when that happened." I stretched my leg out and noticed the leather had been cut clean through and there was a deep gash in the flesh underneath. It hurt as well. I wondered how I had not noticed it sooner. Then I thought I probably didn't notice it because I was preoccupied with a certain handsome priest. He came to kneel in front of me.

"May I?" He said as he began lifting the hem of my trousers.

"Go ahead."

He rolled up the sleeves of his robe and then rolled up the fabric of my pants until we could both see the gash in all its glory.

"Wow. You did a pretty good job at injuring yourself."

He set about fixing my leg. I took this opportunity to ask him about himself.

"What would you like to know?"

"How did you get that scar?"

He laughed, a low base to the high soprano of the crickets outside. It sent chills rippling through my body.

"Which scar? I have at least a dozen."

I smiled at him. "Tell me about them all, if you like. We do have time to kill."

He smiled and started telling me about his boyhood.

****

10:56 pm

"…and so I wrote my will down in the chapel undercroft with a piece of charcoal and parchment, thinking I was going to die. Ends up that Brother James found me fast asleep on the top step, huddled against the door. He woke me up and asked me why I was down there and my answer was I wanted to see the 'ghosties'."

We laughed so hard we ended up leaning against each other, trying to catch our breath. We had cracked a bottle of wine about an hour ago and were already on our third. You wouldn't have guessed it, looking at him, but Brother Martin could drink under the table with the best of them

"So," he said, "Which one do you want to hear next? The time I nearly got mauled by a bear or the time I nearly drowned?"

"Whichever has your fancy." I said, pouring more of crimson liquid into our glasses. "Cheers." I whispered before we both drained them of their contents.

He stretched out his legs and set his glass down on the dirt floor.

"Hmmm…Actually I have a better idea. Why don't you tell me something about yourself, seeing as I've nearly told you my whole life story."

"What would you like to know?" I asked with a smile, though I bet I looked like I was grimacing in pain, I was so liquored up.

He looked like he was deep in thought. Then he said, "Tell me about your childhood. Where did you grow up?"

"In Valenwood, with my mother, father, and my sixteen siblings."

Martin's eyes bulged as he sat up straighter. "Did you say sixteen?"

"Yep. Eleven of them where from my father's earlier marriage. The priests said the poor old hag died of phenomena, but I think she died of exhaustion, if you know what I mean."

We both chuckled at the joke. I continued on.

"I'm the oldest of all of them."

Martin leaned forward in either interest or drunkenness and asked, "How old are you exactly?"

I chuckled again. "Now, Error, you never ask a lady how old she is. It's not polite!"

Throughout the last few hours, we had found fitting nicknames for each other. I had decided to call him Error do to the many stories of the mischief he had told me and he had decided to call me Trial because it was easier to say than my full name and it fit nicely with his. Trial and Error. He chuckled too at the use of his nickname but kept pushing the matter until I gave in.

"You really want to know how old I am?"

He nodded and waited. I sighed and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"I'll be one-hundred and four on the fourteenth of Frostfall."

"Wow." He breathed and looked at me in wonderment.

"Yep." I said, a bit embarrassed.

He seemed to struggle with the next question and, I guess, not being able to say it gently, he decided to ask it bluntly.

"What race are you, Trial? I've been curious about it ever since I met you today. You're obviously aren't pure Bosmer, but you can't be a full Breton. You've got the elf ears."

I sighed. I had expected this. "I'm half Bosmer, and half Breton. And I'm a werewolf."

"You're a werewolf?" he slurred.

I nodded my head. I averted eye contact until I couldn't stand it anymore. He hadn't said anything yet, and if he didn't soon, I might go crazy. I decided to chance a glance at him. He was fast asleep, snoring softly into his chests. I smiled at the simplicity of it, and deciding I should get some sleep too, curled up next to him, resting my head on his shoulder. I was far too drunk to think straight. Or, at least, that would be my excuse.

****

11:57am

My first thought when I woke up was Damn, my head hurts. My second thought was Shit, where's Martin? I lifted my head from the sack-clothe pillow it had been resting on and looked around the tent drowsily. He wasn't there. I got up clumsily and was about to go outside when the flaps to the tent opened and Martin stepped inside. Well, at least he looked like Martin. This man was wearing a worn green button down shirt and a pair of leather pants. His hair was also pulled back in a low ponytail.

"Martin?"

"Yes?"

"Either there was something in that wine that made me delusional or I'm seeing this for real, but you're wearing a shirt, a pair of pants, and your hairs pulled back. Am I hallucinating?"

He laughed. I shivered. "No, I'm guilty as charged. No one recognized me, either. They thought I was a traveler who had just come in." He chuckled again. "Poor Sigrid. I nearly gave her a stroke when I came up behind her and called her by name. That dear woman, she hit me outside the head." We both laughed.

"Where have you been?" I asked, sitting at the table and cutting off a piece of bread off the loaf.

"Getting supplies for the journey." Then addressing his disguise, said, "I hope you don't mind, because this is what I'll be wearing on the way to the Priory."

As he sat down with me, he took the rest of the loaf and devoured it in seconds. I shrugged. He must be hungry, after his ordeal yesterday.

"No, you look…handsome." I answered, and it was true. A few curls of hair had escaped from the thong holding his hair together and hung in his face slightly. The shirt accentuated his physique nicely and so did the pants. His features stuck out more with nothing to hide them, and his eyes shone like jewels. I guess I had been staring at him for some time, because when I looked back at his face, he was smiling at me devilishly.

"Well, if I get that sort of reaction from every woman I meet, I think I'll dress like this all the time."

I blushed a deep shade of red. "I'm…Ummm…sorry…I didn't mean to…Ummm…"

He laughed and I shivered again. I seriously wondered if I'd do that every time he laughed.

"Trial, you are the most amusing person I have ever met."

"Thanks, I think." I looked down at the table then closed my eyes. "So you don't mind that I'm…Ummm…" He looked at me, and then said, in all seriousness, "Wentaral, why should I mind? You're a werewolf. It's something about you. It defines you. There's nothing wrong with that. I do have some questions about it, though."

"Such as?" I replied, relieved.

"What do you eat? I've heard some things, things I don't think you would actually do, but…"

I smiled. I swiped a loose strand of ginger, tucking it back behind my ear. "Don't worry, Martin. Wolves need blood in general to survive. There is an alternative to eating human flesh, and that's eating animals. You can tell the difference between a feral wolf and a pure wolf."

He looked at me questioningly.

"Well, there's only one way to tell, and that's the eye color. Feral wolves will usually have colorless or dark eyes while as pure wolves usually will have colored eyes, such as gold or green."

He leaned back in the chair.

"What color are yours?"

"Well, my pack uses to tell me they were green with purple near the pupils."

I hadn't meant to let it slip I had once lead a pack. I looked down at the table. Crap.

"You lead a pack of werewolves? Would you mind talking about it?"

I decided to take the easy way out. Avoid it all together. "Now that's a story for another time."

"How do you know there will be a next time?"

I hadn't really thought about that. I smiled, reached across the table and took his hand. It was so warm and big. "I'm almost certain there will be a next time, Martin. We'll be there for each other. Promise." He smiled back. Thinking I had let go of his hand, I leaned back. I was studying his face when I realized I actually hadn't let go of his hand. I looked down at our clasped hands, resting on the table.

"We…Ummm…should probably start packing." he said quietly after a few moments. I nodded. Slowly, Martin removed his hand from the top of mine. After another eternity of silence, I got up from the table. Deciding I had to lighten the mood, I smiled at him and said, "Well, I have to get ready first, and if you don't want to make this anymore awkward, you'll go outside and wait." Then I smirked at him and added, "Unless you want to stay." Before I could say any more, I saw his eyes widen and his mouth open.

"What kind of man do you take me for!?!"

"An extremely gullible one." I laughed. "Now get out. I'll let you know when you can come back."

He got up from the table, shaking his head and smiling, and left. I changed my attire, smiling myself. I called him back in when I was done, and as he entered he had his hands over his eyes. He pulled one away.

"Is it safe?"

I laughed. "Yes, it's safe. What kind of woman do you take me for?"

He laughed as well, and again, I shivered. He leaned against the middle post. I guess he thought I wasn't looking at him as I leaned down to tie my boots, because I saw his eyes travel to places priests' eyes shouldn't. He looked like he was about to say something when he looked around. His eyes narrowed questioningly.

"Trial, where's Alima?"

I looked around and sighed. I was about to reply when the wolf in question walked through the flaps, a dead rabbit clamped between her jaws. My mouth dropped open in disgust. After a glance at Martin, I saw he had the same reaction.

"Oh my Gods! Alima, that's disgusting! You have no idea where that things been! Drop it. Now!"

Alima, obviously enjoying the fact she got a reaction out of me, shook her head and bolted out the door. I took off after her, with Martin close on my heel, both of us calling after her. I couldn't help but start smiling again as I tripped over the uneven road. It was turning out to be a perfect morning.

****

(Wow, it's finally done! (wipes brow of imaginary sweat)I hoped you liked it. The second chapter will be out soon. Authers Fact: I used my little bros name for the preist Martin mentioned in his story of getting trapped in the chapel crypt. I think I'll leave Author Facts in all my chapters. Make it interesting. Until next time!-R for Rebel)