Disclaimer: All characters in this story with exception of Ulwen Hlervu are right- and lawfully the property of Bethesda and Zenimax. I am only playing around a bit.
Warnings: There are several. First, this is the first fanfiction I have written in a long time and it's done in my second language. It went through a few beta-readers but the one or other mistake may still occur.
Second, I wrote this story mainly for myself and some close friends who know the original character which is depicted here. For anyone outside of our circle Ulwen may appear like a snotty, lovesick and overly annoying brat – let me assure you, he is, but we love him that way.
Third, this is going to be something of a romance in the furthest sense of the word. Frankly, I am not sure if one may name it that way when most of the time they're tiptoeing around each other and talk themselves into doing things.
And fourth, this story hints at male/male relationship, although nothing explicit happens. It also contains strong language but I have restricted it to resonable levels.
Setting: This takes place in the few days before the Battle of Bruma. Martin is searching for help to get the Amulet of Kings back and Ulwen is, more or less, his errant boy. I tried to give more space to personal decisions which were important for this part of the game (for excample why Martin is a the Battle at all, he is the only hope for Tamriel at that point after all!) and to people who play an important role but aren't pictured enough like Jauffre or the Blades.
Have fun!
Nothing to gain, nothing to loose
Chapter One
Baurus had already gone to bed – a sign for the lateness of the hour – but Captain Steffan still was on his post in front of the Emperor's bedchamber. He nodded curtly and stepped aside as the Hero of Kvatch approached. Night-time visits to the Heir of the Septim Throne were a common sight nowadays and after a very distinct speech of Martin's on behalf of his friend none of the Blades dared interfere when the adventurer came to see him. Mind, some of the more fierce and prejudiced members still gripped their sword-hilts nonchalantly when Ulwen Hlervu visited, but the Dunmer couldn't care less. In the last months he had survived more and worse horrors than a group of fanatic war-priests and he was sure that, given the right time and place, neither of them provided a challenge any more. Not since Oblivion or the King of Miscarcand.
„Seems you've had a rough journey, sir", remarked Steffan as he drew the door aside.
Ulwen snorted in sort of an answer and couldn't resist: „But I am alive – unlike every Blade who visited the Shrine to Tiber Septim in recent years. Get someone to fetch my saddlebags; the armour's in there", he added with icy loftiness.
He was tired beyond endurance, still bleeding in some places and he was angry again – as he had been every time he visited Cloud Ruler Temple since trying to retrieve the Amulet of Kings from the Mythic Dawn. And since Steffan was there he got the butt-end of Ulwen's anger, but the Captain was not only older in years but also in the ways of the world; so he nodded again and let him through. Ulwen shut the door and was instantly surrounded by murky darkness and the sound of sleep. He thought about waking Martin, but reconsidered – what was to be gained by a few hours? He slipped what little baggage he had from his shoulders, his weapons, too, and slumped onto one of the benches that lined the room's walls.
No more than two seconds could have passed when he was startled awake by a soft hand on his shoulder. „Gods be damned" he cursed as the sudden movement tore through one of the barely closed wounds on his back. „And why did you wake me?" he snarled at Martin who was watching him from a few feet away. It was either very early or very cloudy outside so that the features of Tamriel's future Emperor swam to his vision like a shimmering blur.
„You were snoring", Martin answered and went to light some candles. Darkness crept to the outer corners of the room but the light did nothing to raise Ulwen's mood.
„Well, excuse me!", he exclaimed. „Everywhere else is full and I'm not camping in the Great Hall like some outcast beggar."
„I wouldn't have it that way, anyway, but you could've woken me – „ „And where's the sleep in that?" „... could have woken me and taken my bed, instead," finished the man with barely a pause. „I wrestled with a very difficult passage in the Mysterium Xarxes yesterday and went to bed early – out of frustration I have to add." Martin grinned sheepishly.
Ulwen felt like an idiot but that wasn't new. He felt like an idiot most times when Martin was around. „I brought the armour", he said.
„This is great news, indeed! The armour of Tiber Septim himself." Martin grinned. „I had to promise Jauffre not to destroy it. The Blades are as touchy as priests about relics of Talos but I need only a scraping of the blood therein for the Mysterium Xarxes ritual."
Satisfaction about his completed mission had washed away hours ago and left him empty, so all Ulwen could do was to sit quietly through Martin's joyous outburst. „So, what else do you need?", he asked.
„Another thing I deciphered as essential for the ritual is a Great Welkynd Stone," Martin said. „You may have come across the lesser Welkynd Stones which can sometimes be found in Ayleid ruins, but a Great Welkynd Stone is a completely different matter."
Recognition dawned on Ulwen's mind as he thought about the great stone he had found in the bowels of Miscarcand. He has had it for some time now, but every time he wanted to sell it or even let someone else have a look at it the thing had mysteriously disappeared from his rucksack only to reappear in later hours in some fold of the cloth or a pocket which Ulwen had not known before. Which was remarkable alone for the fact that the stone was nearly two feet long and of a whitish-blue glow.
„Due to their extreme value for magicians and cultists most of these stones have been plundered," Martin went on. „Only in Miscarcand it is rumoured that a Great Welkynd Stone may still can be found and many adventurers, it is said, have lost their life in search for it."
„Hang on", Ulwen said and turned around to his bags. To his surprise this time the stone was already there, lying on top of everything else in his rucksack as if it wanted to be seen. „I think I already got the stone." He turned back an presented it to the amazed Martin.
„By the Nine! You truly are a wonder! Not only the Hero of Kvatch but the Master of Miscarcand as well!" He stopped as Ulwen raised his hand in alarm.
„Don't say that!", the Dark Elf ushered. „There's only one Master in Miscarcand and …" He stopped. He could not bring himself to admitting his fear that the King of Miscarcand, the sneaking, silently stalking, hunting nightmare of a Lich was still on his trail. He had killed the undead king, hadn't he? He shuddered. „... well," he finished lamely, „it's preposterous to say such things – you should know about that."
Martin raised one eyebrow but did not remark on it. „Well, I'm indebted to you, my friend. I can only guess what you must have been through and I thank you for your efforts." He gingerly took the stone from Ulwen and headed towards the door. „Wait here, I'll be back in a moment with some food and hot water", he said over Steffan's „Good morning, my Lord" and vanished down the corridor. The Blade and the Dunmer exchanged a look, then the latter spotted his saddlebags lying next to the door frame and blushed in embarrassment. 'I'm an utter s'wit, aren't I?', he asked himself and drew the door close again.
A few minutes later he swore under his breath again as he tried to dispatch various items of armour from his body. Really, he was no mer for the heavy iron or ebony stuff, but wearing an armour that held it's form in itself was likely more comfortable than wearing leather and elven armour which stuck to the skin or recently gained wounds. Damn it all! He was hopping on the spot, trying to shake loose the Saviour's Hide, which clung on to his shoulder blade and hissing and spitting under his breath. His bad mood was back and screaming for someone's head.
„If you need help, just say the word", came a dry voice from behind. Martin had returned and brought with him not only food and wine, but Cyrus, who was carrying a steaming basin and some towels. His dangling armour momentarily forgotten Ulwen crossed his arms – or tried to – and glowered darkly at the Blade as he stepped through and set the water down on the desk. Martin followed and carefully avoided making eye-contact with the enraged elf. „Thank you, Cyrus, you may go", he said instead.
Several seconds passed. „I hate that gods-damned smug fetcher", Ulwen burst out. „And his guts!" Martin laughed.
„Well, you should've seen yourself."
„That's got nothing to do with it", growled Ulwen and, pride momentarily hurting more than backside, decided to get rid of his armour the hard way. The next minute was spend in teaching Tamriel's future Emperor some of the more colourful phrases in native dunmeri.
„You know, you could have asked for help", Martin said, still chuckling, as he took the Saviour's Hide from him. Ulwen noted how he carefully avoided looking at the hideous face that adorned the armour.
„You know how it is ..." he said lamely as the silence between them grew thicker. He dabbed at a scratch on his forearm.
„You and your pride", sighed the priest.
„It's the only thing I've got", replied the elf.
„Here, let me handle your back", said Martin instead of an answer and turned him around into the light. „This one looks horrible!"
„Probably poisoned as well, wouldn't stop bleeding", boasted Ulwen and asked himself afterwards why he even bothered.
„It's going to be a nasty scar in any way. Something to show off with the ladies." Ulwen felt a slight pressure on both sides of the wound as Martin drew the cut together and spoke some words of healing. The priest carefully washed the fresh scar afterwards while the tingling subsided to a slight itch. „You have much more than your pride, my friend" he said quietly. „You're famous – the Hero of Kvatch – and some of the treasures you've found on your travels is worth more than a small town. You're wealthy, you've got a house in Chorrol, now."
„And a shack in the Waterfront."
„People admire you. You've got comrades and friends."
„And more enemies than I can count." Ulwen felt Martins exasperation more than he heard it in the priest's groan and stepped away from his still caring hands. But Martin wouldn't let go.
„You accomplished a lot, my friend. That is something you can take pride in."
„I couldn't care less about all that rubbish!", snarled Ulwen and turned around to face the priest. Martin had a withdrawn, cautious look as if he was dreading what Ulwen might have to say, but feared answering to it first in case of bringing it up. „It's worth nothing to me! There's only one thing I want and everything I did since closing that damned Oblivion gate in Kvatch and everything I will do henceforth is only to get that thing!"
„Which I cannot give you", Martin said quietly.
„Cannot or will not?", asked Ulwen equally quiet. He took a step forward and rested his hands on Martins shoulder. The priest did not flinch away, nor did he resist as the young Dunmer drew him nearer. „Have you never given that to anyone, my sanguine brother?"
Martin's eyes glazed over, became distant for a second and then turned into mirrors which didn't betray any emotion. „We all have our secrets", he said.
Ulwen drew away, disgusted with the carefully impassioned politician he saw. It was amazing what changes had already come over the man he had rescued from Kvatch. He had seldomly met someone so honest about his feelings, it had moved his heart despite everything he had done to harden himself towards the world. Ulwen also remembered the insecure man who had been greeted by all Blades as their Emperor – Martin had changed since that day. Already he had learned to weigh his words twice before speaking his mind; as the future ruler of a continent of dissented people even the slightest weakness could be his downfall. Ulwen wanted nothing more than to claw away that shell until he found the passionate man again.
„Let me share one of mine", he said and his smile was ferocious and grim.
„There's no need for –„
„Why do you think I was in that cell the day your father died?" The façade cracked and Ulwen knew Martin remembered his father; the farmer of course, he had never known the other one.
„I choose to think it was because the Gods placed you there."
„Is that going to be the official textbook version?", Ulwen replied with cutting sarcasm and proclaimed, as if reading an invisible Black Horse Courier: „Hero of Kvatch placed in prison by the Nine themselves! Famous saviour of the Empire found innocent of all charges against him – Chancellor Ocato investigating legal matters himself."
„My friend –"
„I killed someone! It was a bar fight that got out of hand and I still don't know whether it was my blast or someone else's – but I wanted to burn that fetcher to cinders and he ended up dead, so by all means I was sent there by right."
„I know that", Martin replied with a touch of impatience in his voice. „I saw the records – Cyrus makes a point of letting them lying around – but as I have already said to all Blades and will say to you now: it doesn't matter any more. In time of the greatest need you and you alone decided to risk everything for a cause that wasn't yours and saved me. I don't know, and I frankly don't care whether there is a divine plan that pushes us hither and thither – it was your choice to grip your sword and close that cursed gate. That has redeemed you in my eyes."
Ulwen didn't know what to say. Ever since he had left Morrowind, no, ever since becoming aware of the difference between himself and everyone else in his house he had longed for acceptance. Always striving for it but at the same time fearing to never really belong. And this priest granted something so precious to him just because of a thing done at a whim? And Ulwen wanted to belong so very very much.
„The night grows old", Martin said unexpectedly. „Why don't you sleep some hours and we'll talk later? There's some bread and smoked venison on that plate. I'll be in the Great Hall, toiling away on that wretched book." He smiled fleetingly and fled the room. Ulwen watched the door close and exhaled with a groan. He'd blown it all. Again. He took some moments to mentally berate himself for being such a prick, then let his body take over: washing, eating and sleeping were all equally done and even satisfying.
Despite his words Martin didn't go to the Great Hall but whisked through the barracks to clear his head in the cold night air. Most Blades were still asleep, but the night shift was as alert as ever: Jena guarding the entrance, Achilles patrolling along the battlements and Roliand gazing ever vigilant onto the road towards Bruma. The sun had barely had time to climb over the eastern mountains, so the temperatures were still very near the coldest which could be reached in the High Jeralls, but the icy air was clear and invigorating to his mind, which swam with fragments of the Mysterium Xarxes, snippets of lore and textbooks and over all thoughts about Ulwen Hlervu.
He started to briskly walk the battlements around Cloud Ruler Temple – not only to vent some of his restless energy but mostly to keep himself warm in the perpetual cold. This Dunmer was going to be the death of him. Such a wild and fey being! Ready to lash out at everyone who stepped a toe over the invisible line he had drawn around himself. Unfortunately, Ulwen changed that line every so often and Martin found himself always tiptoeing around the younger male's temper. He had not the slightest idea what had triggered the last outburst – surely Ulwen could not take offence in his being alive and asleep when he returned from his travels? So, what ailed the boy?
He noticed the ever present presence of Baurus, as he stood still for a moment to reflect on the last hour. Someone, Jena most likely, must have slipped into the barracks and woken his personal bodyguard. That, too, was something he still had to get used to.
He resumed his walk. He shouldn't have told Ulwen about the Sanguine Rose, but he had been so surprised to see the artefact in the dark mer's hands that it had just slipped out. Thankfully, they had been alone at that time; he would not like to know that Jauffre or any other of the Blades would know that the man they had sworn to protect had been involved with Deadra in his youth. Naturally, as a student of the arcane arts at the University he had come into contact with Conjuration magic – and been quite successful at that, too – but actual deadric worship was something the Guild was frowning on. But guild-rules had been tiresome and he had lusted for adventure.
Holding the staff in his hands, years after he had possessed it the first time, had been very disturbing. As if a small hatch in his mind had come loose and suddenly he heard the Deadric Prince's voice again – or was it the book, which seemed to enhance everything that was deadric? Even after grinding the staff to powder he felt the pull of longing which, once planted by Sanguine, never fully left.
He smiled ruefully as he remembered his self-imposed celibacy. People in Kvatch had thought him a saint, wholly engrossed with the faith and his services to Akatosh but in truth always wanting and never daring, because he could still feel Sanguine's touch in his mind and he did mind the Deadra watching. „Well", he sighed. „Back to work." He motioned to Baurus to follow him and strode back into the Great Hall.
Midday had not passed long as Ulwen stepped into the Great Hall. As usual only Martin and Baurus were there: the former reading and the latter standing guard. Jauffre would occasionally wander in and ask whether the future Emperor needed something, but the Blades generally left him alone and spend their free hours practising their art or rejuvenating in the mess hall.
„What happened there?" Ulwen pointed towards the round space in front of the fireplace, where some runes had been drawn in reddish-brown ink. Martin looked up from his book, bleary eyed, and turned around to to where Ulwen was pointing.
„The first step for the ritual: deadric and divine blood mixed together to encircle and separate a small space from the normal world. The Welkynd Stone is positioned in the Mundus-corner of the circle. And I think I've made some progress on the last item." He hesitated and stood up. „Come with me. I'd rather talk to you in private than provoking Jauffre again." He signalled Baurus to stay put as the Blade made attempts to follow them and led Ulwen back to the west wing.
„Good", he said as he closed the door to his room behind them. „As I said, I know the fourth item needed for the ritual and I have a plan how to retrieve it. But you won't like it. Jauffre doesn't like it and the Countess of Bruma certainly won't like it. The last thing we need is the opposite of a Great Welkynd Stone – a Great Sigil Stone."
Ulwen couldn't quite see where the problem lay. „So what?"
„A Great Sigil Stone anchors a Great Oblivion Gate – such as the Mythic Dawn opened at Kvatch", Martin prompted.
„Now I see where the Countess comes into play."
„Yes. We already know that the Mythic Dawn plans to open a Great Gate in Bruma to destroy the city and Cloud Ruler Temple. So our best way to proceed is letting them do it."
„This is madness!"
„I told you, you wouldn't like it." Martin shrugged, but his nonchalance was faked. „I don't like it either. The thought of endangering a whole city and all of her citizens just for a stone makes my blood run cold but it is our only chance. We cannot force the Mythic Dawn to open a Gate elsewhere. They have business here and they will do whatever they can to achieve their goal, although they must have noticed by now that we know of their plan."
„Well, at least you will be safe here", said Ulwen.
Martin went still then. „Ah", he said. „I feared we might hit that little snag." He raised his hands in a defensive manner. „I am their ultimate goal after all and I am tired about being mollycoddled. I can stand my own fights and I will lead the defence of Bruma myself." His tone bore no objection.
Ulwen granted him a sceptical look. „As you wish, my lord," he answered just with the merest hint of cynicism but Martin took him seriously.
„Please, my friend," he said and grabbed Ulwen by his upper arms. „I need your understanding and not your obedience so that you can explain to the countess!"
Ulwen stepped back, thus freeing himself, and nodded. He felt shaken. „I better get going then", he said and forced himself to smile. It looked more like a facial cramp, he noticed in the mirror next to Martins bed, but since his usual smile was very strong on the smirking side, Martin didn't notice. „If Narina Carvain wants my insolent self skinned, boiled and roasted, what part would you like to have send to you? Just that I can order ahead?"
„Your head on a stick."
„As you wish," laughed Ulwen and departed.
Martin walked over to the window and watched as his friend mounted Shadowmere and galloped down the flight of stairs just to annoy the gate guard who had barely enough time to open the gate for him. The priest remembered a talk he had had with Jauffre the day after his arrival at Cloud Ruler Temple – of his duties and responsibilities as future emperor. The Grandmaster had tried with painstaking care to outline Martin's future life in the Imperial Palace with all its glories and comforts, especially straining all points he thought interesting for a man in his best years and learned in the magical arts.
Martin had listened carefully and tried to envision this life, but living at Cloud Ruler Temple had given him a more precise notion of what was going to come. Sod the Do-Whatever-You-Want-talk! He wasn't even crowned yet and already people outside the walls hungered for his life or were dying in his name. Already he had become a figurehead and loathed it.
Up to now he had heeded Jauffre's advice and done his best to support their cause otherwise, but the Battle of Bruma was going to be different. He would lead the defence to show his subjects that he was willing to make the same sacrifices as them. He had always been someone who took matters into his own hands and in his youth had more often than not paid for his impatience. Harsh lessons had levelled his mind but he still wanted to be where destiny was unravelling itself, he wanted a part of the action, to be able to affect the outcome of it all and to prove himself worthy … to the world.
How anyone could overcook venison stew was beyond Ulwen's imagination but here he had perfect proof that it was possible. He poked at some roughly diced meat and wondered whether his jaw would cramp before he had chewn down his last bite of stringy flesh or if he should try to wash it down with some wine. He was, as usual, the only occupant at his table but Achille and the rest of the morning shift were sitting on the next and Ulwen could listen in to their talk – if he had wished to. But the barrack-talk of life-long soldiers grew tiresome after the first fifty anecdotes of glorious battles and willing wenches, so he glanced into the fourth volume of „The Real Barenziah" once in a while, wondering how such an important person in Morrowind's politics could ever have been such a naïve cow.
The talk to Narina Carvain had gone surprisingly well but as the countess had said, living near Cloud Ruler Temple and knowing who one dealt with gave oneself another dimension to think of. She had shouted, though, when he told her how soon Martin planned to get the Great Gate open. Not sure how many allowances he could make in Martin's name Ulwen had sternly insisted of any rescue and arming plans for Bruma being brought to an end in two days time. Well, his ears were still ringing, but in the end the countess had to yield. Her men could not close the gates forever, so ending the whole Oblivion-Crisis-and-Amulet-of-Kings-business as soon as possible was most desirable for both sides. Afterwards, they had talked for hours, scheming about how to move as many citizens to safe places without alerting the Mythic Dawn agents which roamed the outskirts of county Bruma. At one point Captain Burd had joined them with a detailed map of the Bruma caverns and other potential escape routes but he had been called away shortly afterwards when a new Oblivion Gate was reported on the road to Dragonclaw Rock.
He looked up as something big slumped onto the seat across him and was surprised to see Baurus there, alone. Knowing that only some very important business could have led the Blade to leave his post as Martin's ever-present shadow Ulwen pushed his plate to one side and fixed the Redguard.
„Mind, if I take a seat?", Baurus asked as an afterthought and opened two bottles of mead he had brought with him. After a healthy draught he stared fixedly back at Ulwen who hadn't touched his. „It's always down to business with you," he complained. „One might wonder why you even come into the mess hall."
„I wonder that myself, but since the food is here and it's the most reasonable warm room in the castle it's only logical." He stopped when he saw Baurus' expression. „Sorry," he said. „I've had enough small talk for one day. I know that you're not one for small talk either, so let's cut the courtesies, shall we?"
„Good", Baurus agreed. „I need to speak to you in private, about Martin", he said in a low voice and added loudly: „I never had the chance so far to thank you properly for your help in the Imperial City, friend. If you're finished eating, why don't you come out with me and I'll show you some moves with the sword?" He ignored Ulwen's gasp of horror and stood up, forcing the young Dunmer to follow his lead into the cold, drafty late afternoon.
„Why here? Why not in the Great Hall, where it's roomy and warm?", cried Ulwen and hugged himself as they stood on the small training ground on the battlements. For the occasion of speaking to the countess he had forgone the Saviour's Hide, but wasn't sorry, as the Deceiver's Finery was made from thick velvet and left barely no patch of skin bare. Still, it was late summer in the Mountains and already near freezing point.
Baurus on the other hand, didn't seem to feel the cold in the slightest. „Better remove that coat and vest if you want them to stay clean", he said impassioned and drew his sword. „You'll be warm soon enough and the things I'm going to teach you can safe your life."
Ulwen threw him a look of deepest loathing, but did as he was told. The fine linen shirt he wore underneath did nothing to protect him at all. He was suddenly very aware of the frills around cuffs and neck and felt quite silly. „I thought you were going to talk to me?", he quipped and girdled himself with Chillrend. „And if I may be so bold, friend", he stretched the word, „we're up in the High Jeralls, surrounded by glaciers and there's only one fireplace in the entire castle – as far as I am concerned saving my life means keeping me warm."
„Firstly, Martin's working in the Great Hall and we're not going to disturb him." Baurus lifted his sword and brought it down in a wide arc, Ulwen barely needed to lift his own to stop the attack. „Secondly, talking whilst training is normal, no one will want to listen in to us." The Blade made a big step forward, undercutting Ulwen's parry and forcing him to jump backwards. „And thirdly, you were quite snotty back in the mess hall, so you're getting what you deserve." He launched himself forward, pivoted on the spot and brought his sword down on Ulwen's blade with such force he knocked it right out of his hand. Ulwen swore and bent down to retrieve it.
„You're a natural", Baurus said dryly. „What do you do when someone's attacking you?"
„I run for cover", spat the youth, „then I cast Invisibility and do them in."
„Bah! Magic", spat the Redguard, showing every ounce of disdain his race held for the magic arts. „This won't do forever: if you have company for example or need to stall your enemy before reaching a certain point."
„In short, everything we will face at Bruma", Ulwen concluded.
„Exactly." Baurus mustered him shrewdly. „You know how to wield a sword, that's for sure, but you have no idea what to do in an all-out-frontal-attack, so let's start with blocking."
Baurus had been right; after a few minutes Ulwen had forgotten the cold and after half an hour he was sweating.
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