After the fifth slain Daedroth, she forced herself out of her adrenaline stupor and stopped to see the progress of the gates. The third one was up. The Great Gate would be appearing any time now. She ran up the hill and away from the melee so she would be ready when it did. She searched the chaos for Martin; Burd was defending him against two Dremora. But then a great red haze inundated the field, greater than she'd ever seen from an Oblivion gate, and she ran toward the newly opened Great Gate without hesitation, wildly flinging her sword about her to mow down anyone and anything who stood in her path. And then Martin called out to her.
"No, I must go now! There isn't much time!" she shouted, barely glancing at him over her shoulder.
"Listen," he said sincerely, grasping her arm in a determined, painful frenzy. "Please. Be careful."
"I know. I get myself killed and all of Tamriel is damned. I understand the risk."
"No. You get yourself killed and you'll be missed. I'm not telling you this as an emperor, I'm telling you this as a friend."
She grinned sheepishly as she unceremoniously threw destructive lightning at an approaching Clannfear. It blew back violently and came tumbling to a stop in front of the Great Gate, unmoving. "Come on, Septim. I've been traipsing about Cyrodiil closing these things for fun and loot. Don't worry about me. ...Be right back." She gave him a rough slap on the shoulder as she fearlessly ran into the great gate.
She'd been correct, at least. No one had expected her to come back. The moment the Siege Crawler had appeared through the gate, slowly making its way toward the walls of Bruma, they'd begun to give up hope. There's no way she could have gotten past that thing. There was no way she could ever get to the stone by the time it got to the city. But then, the gates began to fade. The Siege Crawler faltered, then began to collapse, its many legs crashing down around the melee. The athletic Nord woman stood among the ruins holding the Great Sigil Stone in her hand, her face spattered in blood and wearing the stupidest grin anyone had ever seen on her, as if she hadn't just almost died in a plane of hopelessness and despair.
"Told you I'd be right back," she panted, slapping the stone into Martin's hand.
When asked how she did it, she only answered 'I ran. ...Fast.' She hadn't bothered to fight off any of the Daedra. There wouldn't have been time. So she ran, as fast as she could, the entire way. She didn't even regard the remotely-opened gates, only jumped around them and healed the injuries from her fall as she ran. No time for pain. She hadn't even been in there very long. She really wasn't kidding about closing the gates for fun. They must have given her ample practice.
She stayed behind as the assorted soldiers made their way back toward the city, wanting to collect the spoils from the dead. Those poor city guards, so underpaid, she thought as she took 43 gold off of a fallen Chorrol guard. And then she came to a soldier she recognised. Burd lay sprawled out on the ground, slash wounds embedded violently across his chest. She clenched her teeth as she felt the unfamiliar lump rise in her throat. Emotion was alien to her, something she never learned to feel. She breathed heavily, fighting off the strange urge to go into a frenzy. He was only wearing a green brocade doublet and trousers.
"Why, Captain?" she said, kneeling down beside him and lightly running her fingers across his cheek. "Why weren't you wearing your armor?" She'd felt a very close connection with him, even though they were virtually strangers. He was a fellow Nord, and an apt fighter. Two very small tears splashed down onto his cheek and she wiped them from her eyes before roughly searching him and taking his gold and healing potions. She saw Jauffre out of the corner of her eye, lying some distance away, and she resolved not to even bother. She didn't want to be here anymore. She was used to nameless deaths, obligatory casualties. This was too personal.
She entered Mankar Camoran's Paradise in a vengeful rage, as fearless and careless as ever before. Before she entered the portal, Martin stopped her with the gravest look she'd seen yet, and told her that she should never let revenge or anger cloud her judgment.
"Nothing ever clouds my judgment," she said haughtily. "I keep my eye on the prize. The goal is all that matters to me, and I won't stop until I get it."
"Dying was never even an option for you, was it?" he asked softly.
"No," she said numbly. "Because you know I won't. ...Be right back."
Of course, she did come right back. In no time at all, the amulet was in his hand and she was at his side, escorting him to the Temple of the One to light the Dragonfires. She didn't react to the news that Mehrunes Dagon had come to destroy the Imperial City. She unwaveringly marched through the middle of the district, then broke out into a full run as she dragged him behind her.
"Are you insane?" he shouted, his head whipping round as they ran right past the stomping heels of the enraged immortal.
"A little bit, yeah," she chuckled, shoving him roughly through the door of the temple and temporarily out of danger.
Relieved, he thanked her and grasped the amulet, then hesitated and dropped his hand to his side. He regarded the confused, expectant expression on her face for a brief moment, then impulsively closed the small distance between them and kissed her softly, wrapping his hand in her hair and crushing her body against his in a passion she'd never seen before. Her breath caught in her throat and she stiffened as instinct and habit told her to fight, but his body against hers was nonthreatening and comforting, so she yielded to him and returned the kiss after which he immediately pulled away. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest for a reason she couldn't quite place, and she watched in shock as he broke the amulet and transformed into the dragon. She watched the fight in a motionless stupor, unable to process the events unfolding before her. When all was said and done, and the demons had been cast back into Oblivion with the frozen statue of the Avatar of Akatosh forever poised in the Temple District, she felt an overwhelming emptiness creeping inside her.
"Martin?" she choked, slowly approaching the center of the temple. She stopped before the foot of the statue and apprehensively ran her palm over its curving toe. "No no no no no no no," she whispered to the empty temple, the tears flowing freely down her face now. She couldn't make herself look away from the statue, half-expecting it to come to life and turn back into the humble priest she once knew. She backed away from the statue and out the door to a ruined Temple District, oblivious to the congratulatory sentiments that greeted her from all sides. She wanted to disappear. She wanted them to disappear. There was nothing, anymore. Martin was gone, the gates were all shut, she was a hero, but none of it mattered for some reason. Chancellor Ocato was saying something about having armor forged for her in two weeks, but she only nodded and numbly made her way through the lingering citizens, ignoring their gratitude and praise. 'Champion,' they called her. She was willing to bet her recently acquired riches and infamy that none of them knew her real name. A nameless hero, now without a purpose or cause. She was only left with a hollow, unsatisfied feeling of 'What now?' She walked aimlessly through the city and out the gates, eventually finding herself in the forest, where she sank to her knees and screamed until she fainted.
A month passed, and the empty feeling remained.
She dazedly made her way back to the Imperial City with the spoils of her latest fort raid, not even bothering to change into her finery to haggle with the merchants. They all knew her well enough by now, she doubted they would care if she wandered about in her armor. She'd been so detached as she wandered the streets that Chancellor Ocato had to call her name five times before she even noticed someone spoke to her.
"Chancellor Ocato," she attempted to say cordially, but it ended up coming out flat and annoyed.
"I see you're still wearing your Daedric armor," he mused. "Still getting used to your Imperial Dragon armor, I take it?"
"I sold it," she said in the same flat tone, continuing her way down the street toward the shops.
"Wha- you sold it? But why? It was priceless."
"Not according to an armory in Bravil. Worth around eight hundred gold, to be exact."
His expression suggested that she'd slapped him in the face. "But why? Why would you do that?"
"Oh please, Ocato, I've got more protection in my boots alone than that entire ensemble allowed. Besides, I've been fighting in Daedric armor for the past nine gates I've closed, it would be a waste to change now."
"Yes, but there are no more gates to close. What use do you have for Daedric armor anymore?"
She stopped abruptly, then slowly turned on her heel to face him. The emotion burning in her eyes caused him to fidget for a moment and take a step back. "That's right, Chancellor. You know what, you're absolutely right. There are no more gates to close. By the Nines, I wonder why that hadn't occurred to me. What use do I have for Daedric armor anymore? What a question. Hey, how about this - what use does Tamriel have for me anymore?"
"Is that how you really feel? You think you have no purpose anymore?"
"Don't I, though? Let me ask you this, Chancellor. Do you know how I even got into all of this? How the task of reinstating the true emperor fell on me? I'm sure there are rumours and extravagant folktales that misrepresent me, but the only reason I got thrown into the middle of this is because it just so happened to be my prison cell that led to the secret escape tunnel that was supposed to take the emperor to safety. Oh yes. I was in prison. And the funniest part is that I don't even remember the crime that originally put me there. I came from nothing. No birthright, no family, no valiant mission from the gods. I was a lowly prisoner of low birth with no hope of ever becoming anything. And in a fit of fearful delusion, the emperor told me he'd seen me in a dream, and so he handed me the amulet just before he died in front of me. I just wanted to get out of that prison. A simple escape was all I wanted, and then this whole thing fell into my lap. Now I'm rich beyond my wildest imagination, and famous all throughout Cyrodiil for defeating the Gray Prince, or breaking the siege of Kvatch, or for being the Champion and...none of it matters to me. Not a damned bit. 'Everything goes back to normal now.' Well what is normal? I've never known normal. This was my life. I have a house in every city across Cyrodiil and yet I found myself wandering back through that escape tunnel so I could sleep in that rotting bed in my old prison cell. Just to have a sense of grounding again. I can't even remember who I was before that prison cell. I don't remember my parents, I don't remember my childhood. How about you? Do you remember yours? Does anyone? Have you ever even seen a child anywhere in Tamriel? I've been all over, and I certainly haven't. Why is that? But that is neither here nor there. Let's face it, Chancellor. I am no longer relevant. I've been carelessly flinging myself into every Ayleid ruin, haunted fort and abandoned mine that I come across just to kill the time. I don't know how to feel alive unless I'm almost dying. How tragic is that? And yet I could fight an army of skeleton heroes and faded wraiths one-handed and blindfolded now, if I had to. For some reason, it doesn't quite do the trick anymore. I keep telling myself that I do it for the loot, but at the risk of sounding arrogant and selfish, I've got enough riches to last me the rest of my life, and to live it out extravagantly. I'd do it for the adventure, but unfortunately after all I've seen, it's lost its novelty. So, you tell me Chancellor, what purpose do I still have here anymore?"
For a long moment, he only stared at her in stunned silence. He gestured weakly for a moment, searching for something to say, then sighed in defeat. "What would you expect me to say to all that?" he asked softly. "I understand, after a continuously traumatic life, a feeling of ennui is natural once things calm down. But there are plenty of validating, healthy habits you can form that don't involve dungeon diving to keep yourself entertained."
"You understand," she groaned bitterly. "You understand? Do you? I mean, really? How many Oblivion gates did you shut, then? How many Daedra have you killed? How many sigil stones have you acquired? How many dead emperors have you met? I saw Uriel Septim again, after he died. I never told anyone, especially not Martin, because I knew it would break his heart. I saw him in Mankar Camoran's Paradise. I saw him from a distance, and I thought he looked familiar, so I approached him. He never confirmed it was him, but the more I think of it, the more I'm sure it was him. He wasn't so encouraging then. He told me I'd fail. He told me to give up. Practically said that everything I'd worked so hard for would be futile. He scorned me. Of course it didn't affect me one way or another, because I've gotten so proud and so sure of myself that I knew I'd succeed anyway. But as hopeless and as changed as he was...it made me wonder if my success would even be worth it. I'm slowly discovering...it isn't."
"Have you ever loved anyone, child?"
She paused for a moment, seemingly infuriated at him for asking the question. "No," she said stiffly. "And I don't see how that would make a difference anyway."
"You and Martin had a rather complicated relationship."
"I barely knew him," she countered airily. "I spoke with him maybe six times in the year it took me to save this world. There was no relationship to speak of."
"Be that as it may, he loved you. Loved you in a way that I don't think he'd ever loved anyone else. It may not have been a romantic love, but it was the closest thing to it he would have been allowed, and the closest to it you will probably ever get. It is certainly without question that he cared for you more deeply than you could ever imagine."
She clenched her jaw and took a deep breath, desperately trying to keep her patience. Every impulse in her wanted to draw her sword and finish him with one fell swoop right in the middle of the city. "Well, Martin's dead now, so I guess it doesn't matter," was all she could say.
"So what are you going to do, then?" he asked, suddenly irritated. "Just keep brazenly pillaging the undead until it finally kills you?"
She scoffed as she turned to leave. "If only it were that easy," she said over her shoulder.
"So what then?" he called after her. "You can't do this forever!"
She stopped again, but didn't turn around. She said something that he couldn't quite make out that sounded vaguely like "I'm going to the Shivering Isles," then left him standing there staring helplessly after her. She never told anyone about the passionate moment she'd shared with Martin in those last minutes of his life. She would take the secret with her to her grave. There was something sacred about that kiss that would be tarnished forever if anyone ever knew about it. Ironically, if he'd lived, she imagined it never would have evolved into anything. That was the last thing she would have wanted, and she saw him as too much of a mentor to ever love him romantically. It was simply the touch-and-go passion of the whole thing, the impulsiveness of it, the proof that something did exist out there that could make her feel an emotion that she never believed she was capable of feeling.
The more she thought about it, the more she came to realise that anyone she might have ever come to love was dead. All of them. The closest thing to a friendship she had left was with Thoronir, and she only ever spoke to him on matters of business. She closed her eyes briefly as a memory from long ago flashed into her head, a fleeting moment of passion with the man she'd been sent to kill. Arrogant Altmer though he was, he had a certain charm about him that she couldn't resist. Ah, Seridur. The fool would still be alive if he hadn't meant to kill her. She'd come to admire him, and actually felt remorseful for killing him. After the night they'd shared, she almost couldn't do it. The way his cold lips felt against her throat, his hips pressing against hers as he showed her a new type of physical contact the likes of which she'd never known. "You'd make a most excellent vampire, you know," he'd whispered against her ear. "You've held victims on the end of your sword before you've held a lover in your arms. That's admirable." He'd kissed the tender flesh on the inside crook of her elbow and parted his lips there as if to bite. He didn't though, as the blood of her innocence had been enough to satiate him for the night. But then she killed him, and had forgotten about him until now.
The memory faded into another, of Agronak gro-Malog, and his anguished face in the Arena before she defeated him. She had almost surrendered again, out of sympathy and respect. He was good-natured and cheerful for an Orc, and she revered him as a competent opponent, though she wished it could have ended in a way that didn't involve death. It could have. It was all for sport. Dying for sport. How trivial, how tacky it seemed now. She could have loved him. So what if scandal and rumour would have surrounded the affair. She'd never considered herself racially biased, and he was more civilised and esteemed than most of the noble Altmer. He was a warrior, just as she, and flawed, just as she. And she'd killed the only person in possibly all of Tamriel who would have ever understood her.
Eventually she resolved to explore the few caverns and ruins left that she hadn't looted yet, and that's when she would leave for the Isles. She wanted nothing more than to be forgotten. She'd rather no one ever knew of her involvement with the closing of the Oblivion gates. Most of her energies were spent avoiding people, only venturing out into public during the day to make her rounds with the shopkeepers. She took lovers frequently, of all races, numbly going through the motions only to leave them in the small hours after they'd fallen asleep, never to return again. No physical encounter with anyone in Tamriel could replace the passion she had in her when she had been defeating the Daedra. She couldn't love, she couldn't lust, and she couldn't care.
Then, as she was in the very last cave left in Cyrodiil to loot, a vampire rogue advanced on her with a determination that should have terrified anyone else. Something changed in her in that moment, a fleeting memory of long ago, and a new option occurred to her. She calmly sheathed her weapon and removed her Ring of Vitality, then fixed him with her emotionless gaze. "Do it," she whispered.
He slowly approached, a smug grin spreading across his face. His red eyes gleamed with excitement. "You're the Champion of Cyrodiil," he mused. "You could easily defeat me."
"Yes. I could," she said quietly.
"But what's this?" he said as he circled around her, his nose grazing her hair as he leaned in to inhale her scent. "You're surrendering? But why?"
"Does it matter? You're hungry, aren't you? Just do it."
"Oh I see." He came back around to face her, his hands gliding over her so lightly that he almost wasn't touching her at all. "I think I understand completely."
He wrapped his arm around her waist, setting his hand firmly into the small of her back as he gently pulled her against him. His hand came to cradle the back of her head, and he nudged her jaw back with his thumb as he brushed his lips over her throat. "Are you sure?" he breathed against her throat, making her tremble. She only sighed in response. That was all he needed, and he delicately sank his teeth into her neck, crushing her body closer to his as she stiffened from the pain. It was over in moments, and he held her limp, swooning figure in his arms as he smiled proudly down at her.
"And now you sleep, my lovely girl. It will all be over soon."