Mehrunes Dagon's realm of Oblivion truly is hell. In the Shivering Isles I couldn't have cared less about time or what was happening in Tamriel. Here, time drags by the second. I'd give anything just to be topside of the gate. This cave is a maze, a dark, hot, rank maze. Every time I think I got a little bit closer to the top, I open the door and I'm back where I've started. I could be delirious from the blood loss and hunger, but I've dealt with worse for lower stakes and always found my way out.
I must to travel to every corner of the country to rally the best fighters to aid in the fight against the imminent attack on Bruma. Jauffre sent me on my way over a month ago. Did he ask if I needed any help? No. Why would he? I am nothing but a disposable pawn to him. Am I capable and strong? If I wasn't, I am now. I am technically a Blade, but I believe it was just a formality given to me so King Shit Jauffre would look good in front of his new Emperor, who happens to think somewhat highly of me.
I never asked for this. I am resenting every person I know or have known in my entire life right now. If I never landed my stupid ass in prison in the first place, I would not be here, lost in Oblivion. I could be married with children by this time. Cooking stew for a mediocre man and his spawn I birthed, in the comfort of a home. Even that is less of a terrifying thought than surviving in the hottest pits of Oblivion right now. I considered impaling myself on the big spike of one of those ridiculous gore elevators.
I would go face down, with a note on my back, adhered by the guts of a daedra, saying "It was my dying wish to have Martin Septim kiss my ass." He would probably do it, because he's a good man, a man of the divines.
Curse him! And his wretched divines! He's sitting comfortably in the main hall right now, reading, comfortable, fed, wearing clean clothes and probably not wondering how he's going to get this mess of blood and pus from his hair. He didn't ask for this any more than I did, I cannot hate him. But I know I will never be remembered. It's strange to think that we both have the weight of the world literally crushing us, and the only difference regarding how we will go down in history is the blood that pumps through his veins. However, my burden is gone when this is all over. The priest from Kvatch who grew up on a farm will be responsible for everything until he dies.
I just KNOW Dagon is looking at me and laughing from whatever twisted lava ridden hell throne he sits on in this wretched place. Writing is the only way I've ever been able to sort my thoughts, I barely have the energy to do this, but if I don't, I will never find my way out.
Why do I have to be the one to do this? If the gods considered me so special, why was everything before this the way it was? They wouldn't have let my parents die, they wouldn't have let the city take our home away. This is my punishment for all of my misdeeds for the last 10 years. I know it. Martin would have the answers. Or at least know the right thing to say to get me to shut up and focus on saving the fucking world.
The Shivering Isles is my kind of paradise. I wanted to escape from my earthly problems and duties, and I did. No sense of time or direction, nothing made perfect sense and nobody expected me to solve all of their problems. Well, perhaps they did, but I could ignore them. I thought nobody would ever find me there. By some divine power they did, they were all more upset about me consorting with Daedra than disappearing, which makes sense considering the evil power we're all fighting. I can understand that, but I'd give anything to go back. When I'm done here, I will take up permanent residence there. I'll even deal with everyone's insane problems they think they have. I don't give an imp shit if it's the Oblivion plane of a Daedra, at least it's not this one.
Martin promised me a position in his court when this is all over. Personal body guard, or some such thing. He joked about making me his Queen once; I would probably do it if it didn't include having his children, or hiding my true self from the entire world. Even if we actually did want to, it would never be allowed, I am common scum who his dad found in a prison by accident. The thought of having a comfortable life when this is all over kept me going for months. Now, I don't even want to live on this plane of existence anymore. I will be done with Tamriel forever, and good riddance.
I need to escape this place. This is the closest I'm going to get to a clear mind considering my state, and I have to do it. This is a cosmic joke that nobody is laughing at…I've seen enough blood and death for three life times, and the last thing I wanted to be in this life was a hero. Martin said the same thing about being the Emperor of Tamriel, I told him that's what's going to make him a great one. He has no agenda; he just wants to do his best. I can only attempt to believe the same thing about myself.