Disclaimer - I don't own anything (world, known oblivion Npc's)... Except the stuff that I do own (My original characters, my bad sense of humour).

Written for a very dear friend of mine with whom I can harmoniously share an Xbox and a copy of Oblivion. That's without fighting.

A number of characters that will be portrayed here are solely his. I do, however, have full permission to do whatever I like with them. *Evil Grin*

My Genre-tag type thing is also not entirely accurate. As well as Adventure/Romance (Currently without the romance, I'm getting to it Dammnit! Just wanted to tag it as romance so that people can kind of guess the reasons why this might be tagged 'M') there is also a touch of parody, a dash of angst and a sprinkling of friendship.

I greatly appreciate feedback of any kind. Constructive reviews are very much loved, but I also love it if people just drop a line to say they have enjoyed what I've written. Or even to tell me that I fail as a writer, have no talent whatsoever, am an embarassment to the sacred art of fanfiction... It's all good stuff. Makes me feel as if I'm not writing into a vacuum.

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She awakes. The first thing that she sees, are her hands. They are paler than she can recall. She chooses to ignore her torn and bloodied fingernails. It is a path through her fragmented memories that she does not want to take. Or perhaps she can no longer remember the way, even if she wanted to. Awareness seeps in at around the same rate as the terror. She trembles. The urge to flee or to cower is almost overwhelming. But, for now, she remains still.

Cautiously, she reaches out, fingers scrabbling ineffectually for a hold on something. What, precisely, seems of little importance. They find a thin layer of fouled straw, and beneath that is cold stone, slightly slick in the damp. She whimpers as her eyes begin to adjust to the gloom.

"Awake are you?" a voice floats across her consciousness. That voice needed no accompanying expression in order to give a bitter taste to its nasty little messages. It sneered at her, all by itself.

Were those shackles around her wrists?

"What? No screaming? Crying? Begging? Thank the Nine Divines! All that raving really did make you a most tedious cellmate."

She crawls. Outstretched arms feel only more cold stone. Walls. Walls all around.

"Really, with all that fuss you've been making, anyone would have thought you were innocent."

Dim light casts the shadow of bars across her face.

"Well I know differently!" She recoils as she hears him throw himself against the bars. "There's blood on your hands! I can smell it. The stench of it! Is it the guilt that sends you the nightmares?"

Her eyes threaten to grow hot with tears, but some little spark of resolve will not allow her to spill them. She makes no sound; she doesn't want the filth to hear her.

"Oh hush darling. Don't cry now. You've been so brave." He drawls mockingly. "It will all be over soon. Did you know that they're coming to kill you? Oh yes. I think I hear footsteps now, in fact."

The shadows in her cell shift as the guttering torchlight grows nearer. She can no longer take it. She rises, trembling, to her feet. With a primal scream she flings over a small wooden table that is probably intended for her use. The pottery atop it shatters into fragments as it falls. The shards litter the floor, scattered amongst the bones… There are bones in her cell. Actual human remains. The screams tear themselves from a throat that is raw from the crying, tears flow unchecked as she rakes her nails across her thighs, mindless of the pain. His jarring laughter is the only thing that penetrates her clouded mind.

"You're going to die."

-

It was on the third Morndas of Heartfire, a day glorious enough to make a skooma addict surface from his den (Well, probably enough to make him open the window for a couple of seconds, at least), that a triumphant band of knights made their arrival at the gates of the Imperial city market district. The sun glinted cheerfully off of their tastefully shiny armour, and equally shiny hair. And, because in these times the concept of 'cruelty to animals' was mostly thought of as telling a bear that it's mother was fat, before you slaughtered it with a rusty kitchen knife and brought it's skin home as a trophy, no one really minded the disembodied Minotaur head that the youngest member was dragging behind him. Even if it was attracting the flies. No one was really watching it anyway. Most eyes were on the leader of this assortment of knights.

Sir Julian Artellian did, after all, tend to attract attention. Taller than most Imperial men, with regal bearing and rippling pectorals, he was the type of man who could inflict orgasms with his smile. He strode purposefully, but did not neglect to display the requisite warmth and approachability for the people. Tousled blond hair, a glowing tan and a cloak that billowed dramatically around his ankles added 'windswept and interesting' to the impression. In short, he was, more or less, exactly what was expected of a dashing knight and renowned hero. Were you to actually ask about what 'brave deeds' he and his company had performed, you would probably receive a lot of blank stares and uncomfortable silence in response. However, that wasn't really the point.

With an offhand gesture and a clearing of the throat, he brought them to a halt in the market square.

"Well, men. You have done your duty, no man could have asked more of you. So shall our deeds be remembered eternally! Now! …Does anyone know where the tavern is?"

This was met with a roar of appreciation and approval. And, evidently, all of them did know where the tavern was located.

"Myself and Elion here," he clapped an arm around the shoulder of the scrawny man lugging the Minotaur head behind him, "Will join you all once we exchange our spoils for gold. Pay will be divided immediately on our return."

Another cheer arose from the knights, who, without any further encouragement, were well on their way to the aforementioned tavern. Elion hung back morosely. The Minotaur head was bloody heavy! And, as tradition decreed, he would be the one to have to comb the city for someone who actually wanted a nice, soon-to-begin-the-process-of-decaying head while Julian signed autographs or whatever it was he did. He sighed a martyred sigh and resumed dragging.

-

There was a squealing of rusty hinges. A dull clang marked in her mind that the door had swung fully open. She did not raise her eyes from their place on the floor. She would accept her sentence with dignity. She wasn't convinced that she wanted to live, at least not all that much, anyway.

"What is a prisoner doing here?"

"This cell was supposed to be kept empty, exactly for this reason!"

It was curiosity that made her raise her eyes. So they weren't here for her? Then why had they come?

There were three who looked like guards, and behind them…

Even in her current state, she knew the Emperor Septim when she saw him. For a moment, his eyes met hers.

"I know you." He muttered gently, a slight frown crinkling his brow.

"Emperor, I strongly advise that we make all haste." The woman in armour spoke, a little harshly, as she regarded the prisoner. "I would be failing in my duty if I allowed a murderer to detain you from your escape."

"No, not a murderer." His voice was firm and his gaze solemn.

There was something magnetic about the man. She stood shakily, not wanting to cringe and cower before him, inclining her head respectfully, trembling with joy at his profession of her innocence.

"My Lord." It was little more than a whisper, but she was sure that he heard her.

Scraping of stone against stone sounded as one of the guards opened what seemed to be a secret passage. Damp air emanated from the opening. The sound of steady drips of water, the promise of mould and vermin, did nothing to detract from the elation this possibility of freedom offered. Her eyes misted over with a quiet longing.

The emperor turned to this opening, his guards just before him. But before stepping over the threshold, he turned back, and motioned for her to follow.

-

Julian sauntered casually through the hordes of city-dwellers as he surveyed the wares of the street merchants that today lined the streets of the Imperial City. He had little interest in browsing and less in paying for anything, but the city relaxed him. And occasionally the merchants had attractive daughters. Today however, as far as he could see at least, there didn't seem to be any decent prospects. He gave a mildly disappointed sigh.

Elion wouldn't be too long selling off all of that junk they had looted from the ogres. The Minotaur had been a bit of a surprise. If it hadn't fallen down that ditch when it had, they might have encountered some difficulties there. It did make a great trophy though.

From what the rumours said, there had been some recent troubles down in Kvatch. Big, firey gates of doom and destruction, from what he could gather, spewing forth monsters, which in turn, were wreaking havoc.

Just the type of thing they should be seen to be getting involved in. After all, Kvatch was so far away, that by the time they got there the problem would most likely have been dealt with. He could stop off at his family's house in Skingrad on the way there too. Evil, monster-spewing gates of fire were bound to be an exaggeration, but he was sure they could craft some pretty impressive stories out of the rumours. They would get a heroes farewell - everyone would want to aid the brave young souls off to battle the spawn of the netherworld in far-off Kvatch – and they would barely have to lift a finger. He was just checking his hair in a silverware merchant's wares, comfortable in the security of his future plans, when a young woman came careening into him. She rebounded off of his armour with a soft 'oof', landing splayed on the ground before him.

She was slight, built almost like a young boy. An elf. Her wide blue eyes had a hunted look to them. Julian gathered himself up, assuming a look of concern as he offered her his hand.

"Please pardon me, madam. It was most ungracious of me not to –"

"There she is!" A highly agitated Nord merchant elbowed his way through the throng of bystanders, his eyes fixed intently on the young elven woman. Triumph lit his features. "She's the filthy thief casing jewellery from my store!" He seemed to be addressing the brutish Imperial guard that was trailing behind him, weapon drawn.

The Nord brought his face close up to that of the cowering girl, grabbing her wrist in one of his callused hands "I'll have you thrown in the Imperial dungeons until you rot, scum!" He roared, dragging her to her feet.

Ever the one to step in to defend a damsel in distress, (especially seeing as there was an audience) Julian stepped forward, wrenching the man's arm so that he released his grip on the elf, and placing a hand threateningly on the pommel of the silver sword that hung at his hip.

"Excuse me sir!" he posed haughtily, all flames and righteous fury. "I may know nothing of the crime this young lady has allegedly committed, but it cannot make man-handling a woman acceptable!"

The man largely ignored him, instead speaking a few hushed words to the Imperial Guard. Without waiting for any more of a signal, the guard advanced threateningly on the woman.

The girl's eyes grew wide in fear as she lunged behind Julian with a yelp, sinking to her knees as she did so.

"Please help me sir! I haven't stolen anything, I swear it to you!" she cried earnestly.

For a moment Julian stalled, undecided. And then her eyes began to well up with tears. Her voice was lower, husky, when she next spoke.

"I don't understand this. I don't want to go to prison." She wavered, trembling. "I'm innocent!" At this last, she grabbed his hand pleadingly. "Please!"

Now without doubt, Julian drew his sword with a knightly flourish.

"I will not allow you to arrest this woman!"

The guard paused, evidently baffled. It appeared that this type of thing didn't happen to him often.

"Umm, does that mean she's resisting arrest?" He sheathed his weapon in order to pull a dog-eared manual from somewhere inside his chest plate. Squinting at the pages he ran an uncertain finger down a list that Julian couldn't quite get a glimpse of. "Because it says here that she can choose either to go to jail, in which case I express mocking disappointment that she did not resist arrest, or she can actually resist arrest in which case I have to kill her…"

"What? Even if she, oh I don't know… Stole a radish?"

This was territory the guard was familiar with.

"Yup!" he folded up the manual with a satisfied smile, re-drawing his sword with a businesslike efficiency.

"But I'm resisting arrest on her behalf! And I have reason to do so! You have no proof of this woman's guilt!"

The guard's lips moved slowly as he repeated the word. "Proof?"

The Nordic merchant rejoined furiously, gesticulating wildly, "You doubt my word? This is ridiculous! You aren't listening to this… this bastard!"

The guard stood very, very still for a few awkward moments before pronouncing, "I could be wrong… But I think he has a point."

Julian inwardly breathed a sigh of relief as the guard once again took out the little book, his tongue poking out at the side of his mouth, as he made alterations with a stub of pencil. He now seemed entirely oblivious to Julian and the elf, and began to idly wander away, the still-raging merchant ranting ineffectually at his retreating back.

"So! What was your name again?" The knight dusted off his hands with a self-satisfied smirk as he turned to help the girl up.

Her head snapped up to meet his eyes with an apologetic smile, hand located somewhere in the nether regions of her bodice.

"Oh, silly of me to forget to tell you! My name's Renni." She said desperately, attempting to shuffle away from the pondering Julian. He lifted her hand, now with more than an inkling of suspicion. His thoughts were confirmed as the offending hand, upon reaching the surface, was clutching a selection of jewels.

Julian spluttered, horrified and more than a little embarrassed.

"You are a thief!" he roared, "And a liar as well!" He attempted to catch her arm, but she danced away from him in a singular fluid motion that replaced the jewels in their previous place of residence, and unbalanced him enough that he stumbled, entirely missing his target.

"I told you a thousand times, sir, if I told you once! My affections are not 'for sale'!" the thief improvised loudly enough that the surrounding crowd glared accusingly at the confused Julian, shuffling in an unconscious attempt to shield the girl from his view. It only took a moment and she was gone.

-

She gasps, fear's paralysing grasp taking hold as she stumbles on stone that is slick with moss, damp, and blood. With a savage growl, the man named Baurus plunges the strangely curved sword between the plates in the assassin's conjured armour. A strangled cry emits from the soon-to-be dead man, as thick blood gouts from the wound in his side. With purpled fingers he clutches at it, trying to staunch the blood-flow. His efforts are futile. Sinking to his knees, he moans.

It will probably only be a short time before he dies.

But the emperor steps forward, his sword drawn. He is calm, though a weary sadness pervades. He performs the final act of mercy for this man that would have seen him dead, and it seems to be with genuine regret that he cleans his blade upon the man's robe, for the armour had shimmered and vanished as the assassin's head had been parted from his body.

"It doesn't make sense. How can they have known this passage was here? How can they still hunt us?" Baurus has no such respect for these men who would threaten the fate of the empire, and that of his master, he spits upon the lifeless and mutilated body, scowling as he kicks the body over. Checking for signs that will identify him perhaps.

She cannot control her trembling, though she tries. Her stomach heaves as her treacherous eyes stray to the dead man. There is a shortsword at her side, taken from the dead Captain of the Blades. It both sorrows, and repulses her. Was she, could she be capable of taking life? Something whispered to her that she had already done so. In order to cling to sanity, she could only tell it that it was wrong.

Without being aware that she is doing so, she moves to the emperor's side. Her footing is lost as she tries to walk through the pooled blood of the dead assassin. For her, the prospect of falling is one of abject terror. To be stained with the blood of the dead man, too much to contemplate.

She is fortunate then, that Uriel Septim holds her up, grip firm, his strength belying his age. She cannot think of words enough to express her gratitude, and so can only hope that he understands the thanks concealed in her silences.

"Be careful of your step, child." He warns softly, still allowing her to hold on to him for support.

For a moment, she pauses. And then, " Belle." She says hesitantly, keeping her eyes firmly downcast.

The emperor nods. And they continue on, without a word.

-

In the Imperial City, the day had long drawn to a close, and in the Gardens of the Arcane University a sweetly fragrant evening had descended. A sliver of moon cast a pale and ethereal light on the velvet mantle of the darkening sky, and some of the more exotic flora contained in the gardens opened their nocturnal petals to the gentle embrace of the night. Nothing could be heard but for the distant hum of life from the waterfront…

And the quietly emphatic exclamation:

"Oh, shit."

The young mage fell back against the door with a groan of frustration. It was the second time that week that he had managed to lock himself out of the mages quarters. His keys, he presumed, were in his robes. He couldn't have lost them. His robes, however, were inside, while he was in the unfortunate predicament of being outside, in his leather armour. Which was also, just out of happenstance, completely devoid of a mages guild key in the pocket. Maybe he shouldn't have spent that last hour in Swordsmanship, they might not have already locked up the living quarters, and someone might still have been up and willing to let him in.

"Luther?"

He directed his line of sight upwards to see his roommate leaning out of the second story window, a candle in one hand and a vaguely bemused expression on her face. She was still dressed in her work-robes, so she must have been up studying.

"Elendriel! Thank Stendarr! I thought I was going to be out here all night."

"Again, you mean?" she said with assumed innocence. Luther glared back at her.

"… Alright, just give me a minute to get downstairs."

When she did arrive downstairs to open the door for him, he noted she had pulled a cloak and hood around herself, and even so, was still shivering. Although the night was mild, the Altmer was delicate as far as the cold was concerned. She ushered him in impatiently, closing the door behind him as she hastened to return to the dormitory. Luther followed close behind.

"So where have you been all night? Just out of curiosity." She whispered as they crept past the doors to the other branches of the living quarters.

"Extra training." Was his grim reply, "You know what my father's like."

"Ah, so that's why I haven't seen you much recently." Although the comment was intended to sound off-hand, it didn't stop her from giving him a look of reproach. He was saved making a reply by their arrival at the door to their room.

Inside, there was the warmth of an enchantment. With a sigh of relief, Elendriel removed her cloak and hood. The candlelight cast a soft glow over her auburn hair, but it also illuminated the near pallid tone of her skin. And the deep shadows etched around her eyes.

"Umm, are you alright?" he asked, laying down his practice sword and stretching out on top of his bed. "No offence, but you look terrible."

"Unlike someone I missed out on the whole, stay-up-training-half-the-night-and-still-have-perfect-hair gene."

"Half the night is a bit of an exaggeration. And there's nothing wrong with your hair-"

She interrupted him with a look of subtle misery. "Please don't say anymore."

Luther shrugged, and stopped to examine himself in Elendriel's hand mirror. And after a few moments of close scrutiny, thought to himself: It's not 'perfect'. What is she talking about?

Though, he did have to admit, at least all the extra work wasn't taking that much of a visible toll on him. The only real giveaway was a slight redness to his usually bright green eyes. He had developed a light tan, his body had grown firm from all the physical exertion and his hair, though assuredly not perfect, did still retain it's glossy, brown sheen while remaining in it's neatly cropped loose waves. Not bad really. He left the mirror on his bedside stand, folding his hands over his stomach as he closed his eyes in relaxation.

"Dammnit! Why now, when I'm so close?"

He hadn't remembered falling asleep in the first place, but the wailed complaint from Elendriel snapped him back into consciousness. His roommate was hunched over a desk that all but groaned with protest under the weight of the books and rolls of parchment unceremoniously piled on top of it. Her alchemy set had also been assembled, if in a somewhat haphazard manner, and a labelled and alphabetically categorised case of ingredients lay open on the windowsill. It was at this case that she was currently scowling at.

"Are you still awake?" Luther asked groggily, rubbing his eyes as they attempted to adjust to the light. He couldn't have been asleep long, but dozing in his leather armour had not been a terribly wise idea. He was stiff and aching all over. Elendriel turned to him, eyes wide and pleading as she began, "Luther…"

Immediately on his guard, Luther eyed her with suspicion. "What?"

The Altmer lowered her eyes to the ground, twisting her hands in her robe as she began awkwardly, "You know how I have that test in advanced alchemically created poisons tomorrow?"

"Yes." He replied cautiously.

"I ran out of Nightshade."

"… Okay."

"And Bloodgrass." There was something about the set of her face that seemed to be suggesting something.

"Well, that's not good, obviously, but I don't have any of that stuff. My specialty is healing, you know, helpful potions. Not poisons."

"… Would you go and get the ingredients for me?"

"No!"

He was not going to be dragged into this.

"I can't leave my studies now, not while I'm on the verge of a possible breakthrough! Luther, I am begging you!"

"No!"

"And it's so cold out there…"

"No!"

"I'll do all of your cleaning for a week."

"I'll be back in about ten minutes! What was it you wanted again?" he asked, already halfway to the door.

"Ten sprigs of Nightshade, five Bloodgrass shoots and a bottle of cheap wine."

"Okay. But, wine isn't poisonous is it?"

"It's just a precautionary measure. It means that if I fail, I can drink myself into a stupor afterwards." She said with a fleeting ironic smile.

"Wonderful. Good to see that you're thinking ahead." Sighed Luther, in as put-upon a manner as possible, "Guess I'll see you soon-"

"Key." She stated flatly, eyes once again fixed on her papers.

With a mildly embarrassed shuffle, he snatched the offending item out of his mages robes and exited.

-

The sounds of combat rage from the eerily lit hall, as she and the Emperor stand back, half concealed in shadows, in the passageway. Belle winces at the clashes of steel, but his reassuring words soothe her, and keep her in what passes for a state of calm. A smile ghosts across her lips as she thinks of how close they are to the end. From what Baurus had said, they would need to take a short route through the sewers, and from there they would reach a grate leading out. Properly out. To warmth, air not tainted by decay, and most of all, the freedom she had thought never to regain.

"Belle." His voice is hushed, but compelling.

She turns to face him. Something seems to be wrong. He is oddly, strained. Not distressed, self-control would not have allowed him to show any signs of such. But there are lines on his brow, at the corners of his mouth, which she has not noticed before. "I have to tell you, child. My time…"

She returns his gaze intently. There was a fierce innocence she possessed that the old man found heartbreaking.

His features relax by a fraction, but he cannot postpone what he has to say. "My time draws ever nearer to its inevitable end. And now that the time comes, I must ask something of you."

She couldn't listen. Later she would wish that she had not done as she did, that she had made it less painful for him, and not behaved like such a child. But as always, it is only in hindsight that one can come to regret.

"No!" she cried, soft but impassioned. "You aren't going to die."

His expression was gentle, understanding, but as she was, she could only interpret it as condescension. She found herself angry with him. Anger! And such a futile, desperate anger it was.

"I am not going to let you die!" she hissed, "You helped me. You believed me when no one else would." She swallowed back her childish tears, "Don't talk as though none of it matters! As if this is all predetermined!"

The Emperor's eyes became clouded with a helpless sort of sorrow.

"My dear, this is all predetermined, much as I might wish it were not so. This is-"

"My lord, the passage into the sewers has been unlocked." Baurus had returned, " I couldn't locate any assassins in the area. I believe it is safe for you and the Imperial girl to move ahead."

"Destiny." The Emperor murmured, softly enough that Belle was sure she was the only one who heard. She didn't know if it had been intended even for her ears. "Very well then." His voice strengthened.

Baurus replied with a crisp bow before excusing himself to join in combat with his fellow Blade.

"Belle?" he had already begun to move towards the exit Baurus had indicated. "I understand that you might not wish to accept the possibility of my death. But I am being hounded by assassins. My sons are dead. It is not inconceivable that I may meet my end, even if you will not believe me when I say that I have foreseen it. My request is of the utmost importance." He smiled sadly, "Will you humour an old man?"

Belle fell in at his side. She had planned to listen. Just listen. It wouldn't have made any difference after all, and if it would aid her saviour, she was glad to do it.

But then there was pain, intense pain. She felt her body crumple to the ground as she was flung aside, with all the care a child would afford a rag doll. She clenched her jaw, trying to resist crying out from the shock and the throbbing pain in her right shoulder. She focused on trying to recover from the blurriness of her vision instead. A dark shape, no, two of them, were almost directly ahead of her. Before she had recovered her wits enough to figure out what was happening, it was far too late. One had already fallen.

"NO!" she howled, flinging herself at the as of yet nondescript shapes.

She prayed, even if she wasn't sure to who or what, that it wasn't so. She was left grasping the arms of the still-standing figure. She was looking up at, locked almost in an embrace with one of the assassins. Conjured armour concealed the features. Whoever it was, they were entirely faceless as far as she was concerned. She wept freely as she lowered her head against the assassins shoulder.

Fingers stiff, arm half-useless from the fall, nonetheless she curled them around her shortsword. The assassin stroked her hair absently. She can almost see his cruel smile as he toys with her, savouring her agony as he decides on the moment that she will die.

She unsheathed her sword in a wrenching motion, and forced it upwards, eyes squeezed shut. No longer able to support himself, he fell forward. Belle placed her left hand on his chest, pressing her body against his to keep him upright. The monstrous armour disintegrated beneath her fingers, crumbling to reveal the man underneath. He was so frail, once his shell had been stripped from him. She opened her eyes so that she could look into his. Choking relief and revulsion as she thrust the blade in further, blood burbled on his lips, as it coursed freely over her hands. With a groan of a strange pain and release she let him go.

And then she knelt at the side of her fallen saviour.

"Emperor Septim?"

Her voice sounded thin to her ears, but she was surprisingly calm. She wanted to embrace him, to try and staunch the flow of blood that was pulsing, even as she watched, onto the cold stone, to hold her Emperor's hand as he died. Because they had left him no one else. But she would not. She did not want to stain him with a murderer's blood.

He reached out his hand, placing it gently on the top of her head. She lowered her eyes, weeping with renewed fervour as she received her benediction.

"I met you in a dream." He mumbled.

"That's how you knew me?" She tried to smile, longing his last moments to be bearable.

"… Take it."

She raised her eyes. The Amulet of Kings, clutched in his paling hands and held out for her to take.

"Jauffre." He rasped.

His eyes closed.

Dazedly wiping away the last of the tears, smearing blood and grime across her face, she stood. She stumbled a little, and she was forced to lean against the wall for support, but she could still walk. She was still alive, still breathing. And he was gone.

She surveyed the bloody scene with eyes that did not seem her own. Eyes that alighted on a mace that was slung through the assassin's belted robes. With a very cold feeling rising in her throat she staggered towards him, her eyes fixed on the weapon. She took it up in her left hand; some spark of memory told her that this would feel more natural. And so it did, the grip, the weight, the weapon, all seemed somehow to fit her better. She raised her weapon in quiet savagery. She would batter him until all traces indicating he might be human disappeared.

"What's going on? What are you..? My Lord!" Baurus' arrival made her drop the weapon, allowing it to hang loosely at her side.

"How could I let this happen?" his voice near broke as he knelt at the side of his fallen Emperor

'And how could I?' It was unspoken, but she felt it as clearly as if it had been said aloud. She had been there, could have prevented his death.

"Baurus?" With only a slight tremor in her voice she called to him. The Amulet of Kings dangled from her limp fingers. "I think that he wanted you to take it."

The Blade stood, wide-eyed and a little stunned, reflex alone allowing him to reach out in time to catch the amulet as it fell.

"Jauffre." She said with a little more conviction than she felt, before staggering onwards, determined now to reach freedom. If she could have nothing else, not safety, or someone to believe in, or her sanity, she would have the sun, the air, and the taste of rain. Her freedom.

-

The Nordic woman sighed in frustration, hazel eyes narrowing as she examined the horizon. It wouldn't be long before sunset, and dark clouds hung ominously overhead. Oh well. She was an eminently practical woman, and it wouldn't do her any good to fret over the possibility of rain when the possibility of bandits was both more likely and more bothersome. However.

She raised one of her dark eyebrows in an arch curve as she noticed the corpse, stripped and bludgeoned to death, at the side of the road. She strolled over, whistling as she slung her pack onto the ground. She did, however, leave her War-axe hooked into her belt. You could never be too careful.

With a deft foot, she rolled the dead woman over. She was scarred, had clearly been in fights before, and pretty heavily muscled. Her dagger was still clutched in callused fingers.

Solya was reasonably sure she had been a bandit, but that didn't mean you had to be rude about the thing. Rifling through her pack she came up with a fairly worn blanket. She wasn't going to miss it much. With little ceremony she placed it over the dead woman's face and prepared to move on. But before she could, she caught sight of something, or someone, else.

The girl was stretched out on the grass. She wore what looked suspiciously like ill fitting armour, potentially of the 'taken-from-the-dead', or even, 'taken-from-the-dead-that-I-battered-to-death-with-that-mean-looking-mace-at-my-side' variety. Her eyes were closed, and her grimy, blonde hair fanned out around her. The pale fingers of her left hand were twined in it, probably a habit from childhood. She seemed to be bearing the stains of a great deal of blood.

Solya crouched at her side. She wondered idly whether to wake her, or kill her before she had a chance to do so by herself. There was no chance to decide. She held her breath and caressed the axe at her side as the blonde woman opened her eyes.

"It's raining." She smiled gently.

And the rain began to fall.