Warning: Cisnormativity, some transphobia, and pronoun stuff in the narration.
This fic has been written such that the main, trans character's pronouns match how they feel that they can present in that situation. I know how important pronouns are – I'm under that umbrella – so rest assured that I'm not doing it to be transphobic. I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, and I hope you can find something to read that's excellent and will not make you uncomfortable.
Anne Marie scowled at the bars of their cell. This entire situation was bullshit and everyone involved knew it, but here they were, still imprisoned.
The Altmer in the cell across from them was apparently trying to rile them up, but Anne Marie wasn't listening and had no intention of doing so. They just sighed and sat at the tiny table in the cell, intending on remaining in that spot until they were released or died.
At least it would be better than where they had been last week.
But anything was better than wasting away in Bravil.
Their reverie was interrupted by the door at the top of the stairs slamming open and heavy boots thundering down to their level. Anne Marie counted three soldiers and one robed figure whose face they couldn't get a good look at as the group congregated around their cell door.
"Why is there a prisoner in there? This cell is supposed to be off limits!"
"Usual mix-up with the guards, probably," one of the other soldiers muttered in reply. "Doesn't matter." He turned to Anne Marie. "Back against the wall, prisoner. Don't move and we won't have to hurt you."
Anne Marie raised an eyebrow but backed against the far wall of their cell regardless, raising their hands in front of them to show that they weren't going to move. The cell door opened, and the soldier who'd spoken to them stood between them and the rest of the group as they all squeezed into the cell together.
The robed figure came into view as he passed by, hardly glancing at Anne Marie on his way – until he froze and looked back at their face.
"You're the one that I've seen in my dreams," Uriel Septim VII, the goddamn Emperor of Tamriel, whispered as he stared at them.
Anne Marie stared back, unable to move, until the first guard who'd spoken said, "Sire, we must keep moving."
The Emperor composed himself and followed the guard into a passage that until a moment ago had been the wall beside Anne Marie's bed.
The soldier in front of Anne Marie gestured for them to follow as he took the rear of the group. "It's your lucky day. You might as well, since it's open anyway."
Anne Marie nodded, still confused by the behaviour of the Emperor, and followed a short distance behind the soldier.
They were far enough behind that they didn't realize that the group had been attacked until all the assailants and one of the soldiers were dead. The remaining two formed up ahead of and behind the Emperor and continued on.
The soldier behind paused as the group headed through a door. "Don't try to follow us from here." He hesitated, then glanced significantly at a corner of the room. "I hear some of these walls might be a little thin. You might be able to find another way out."
Anne Marie nodded and backed off, and the soldier disappeared through the door, which locked behind him.
Immediately, they headed over to the corner and inspected the wall. Sure enough, some of the stones were cracked, and it took only a few blows for the small corner section to collapse into a hole large enough for Anne Marie to squeeze through.
They prepared a fireball and headed deeper into the labyrinth under the prison.
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They heard voices in the next room and approached cautiously. The voices didn't sound like goblin grunts, but one could never be too careful in any case.
As it turned out, Anne Marie had caught up with the Emperor's escort again. As they dropped into the room, so did a number of other figures who immediately went on the attack.
Anne Marie immediately lobbed a fireball at one of the attackers. It hit him in the face, dropping him immediately. The soldiers quickly dispatched the remainder; one of them turned then to Anne Marie, approaching with his sword drawn.
"It's that prisoner again!"
"Don't kill him!" the Emperor commanded. "He is not one of them."
He approached Anne Marie and reached out his hands to take theirs, a gesture that felt oddly paternal and familiar coming from a man they'd never met.
They couldn't bring themselves to mind.
"Thank you," they said quietly.
He shook his head as though it wasn't important. "They don't understand why I trust you. They cannot see, they have not seen, what I have."
"What have you seen?"
"A great many things, the most important of which in this case is that you will save us all. The gods shall guide you in becoming Tamriel's salvation."
"The gods and I aren't on the best of terms."
"Regardless. I have seen it. The stars chart your course, and mine, and the end of mine has been revealed to me." His face took on a solemn cast. "I will not make it out of this prison. But... we have a little farther yet to go before we part. Come. Your stars shall rise soon enough, child of the Lover."
Anne Marie blinked in confusion as he pulled away from them and followed his guards along. How... did he know?
Is he insane? Or did he really foresee this?
Thoughts whirling in their mind, they followed the group into the next room, where the soldiers were arguing over a barred door. They turned away and ducked down a side passage, and Anne Marie followed them in just in time to be told to guard the Emperor as the guards rushed back out to deal with the new wave of assassins springing their trap.
The Emperor turned to Anne Marie. "This is the end. Tell me, before I know no more: what is your name?"
That was a loaded question, but something in them forced out an answer before they could think.
"Natan Solveign."
"Natan." The Emperor took their hand again, and they felt something cold being pressed into it. "I feel towards you as a father, though we have not met in the flesh. My son-in-arms, I leave you with this responsibility: take the Amulet of Kings to Jauffre, at Weynon Priory. I and my sons are believed to be the last heirs of the Septim line... but there remains one. Jauffre can find him. You must bring the amulet to Jauffre."
Natan didn't even have time to reply before an assassin leapt from the shadows and sliced through Uriel's spine, dropping him instantly. The assassin didn't have time to celebrate their victory before a flash of fire flew from Natan's left hand and burnt them to a crisp.
Natan dropped beside Uriel, but it was too late to do anything but close the man's eyes.
One of the soldiers came back into the room and stopped dead.
"I've failed..."
He came over to the body and searched him for a moment before frowning and turning on Natan. "Where's the Amulet of Kings?"
Natan opened his right hand to reveal the amulet. "He... gave it to me. Told me to take it to Jauffre so we can find the last Septim heir."
"All the heirs were killed... but if the Emperor said there's another, and that Jauffre knows about him, I'm not going to question him. Jauffre's the Grand Master of our order, the Emperor's left hand, and the Emperor..."
Natan closed his hand around the Amulet of Kings and placed it carefully into his belt pouch, enchanted to only open at his touch.
"He said I can find Jauffre at Weynon Priory. Where is that?"
"Weynon Priory is just outside of Chorrol, northwest of the Imperial City. Should only be a few hours' walk from the sewer exit of the prison."
"Great. Isn't the way to the exit barred?"
"There's gotta be another way..." Natan and the soldier checked around the room and found a passage barely large enough for Natan to pass through.
Once he was through, the soldier nodded. "Go straight to Jauffre. Tell him that Baurus is in the Imperial City, awaiting orders."
"Got it." Natan headed for the sewers.
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Natan breathed deeply of the fresh air as he emerged from the sewer tunnel. He didn't glance at his clothes before running for the river and leaping in.
As soon as he'd scrubbed himself relatively clean, Natan faced the northwest. The dawn was starting to rise behind him, lighting the eastern horizon in a riot of colours, and he glanced back at it for a moment before starting his journey towards Chorrol.
Besides the occasional mudcrab or wolf, both of which were easily dispatched and therefore not an issue, Natan made it to Weynon without encountering anyone. The stable man at the Priory pointed him in Jauffre's direction, and Natan entered the Priory's main building.
Natan could feel the monks looking at him as he headed up the stairs to Jauffre's study, but he didn't really care. Let them look. Let them stare, let them judge. It didn't affect him.
You'd think that one would start believing their own self-deceptions after so many years.
He came to the study door and knocked, and was called in. Natan shut the door behind himself.
"Are you Jauffre?"
"I am. And you are?"
"Natan Solveign. The Emperor sent me with this." He pulled the Amulet of Kings from his belt pouch, let it dangle from his hand to show it.
Jauffre stood in his shock. "You - how did you get – the Emperor sent you?"
"I was there when he died. He told me to get this to you, and that you could tell me where the last Septim is."
Jauffre let out a harsh breath. "Why should I know?"
"Baurus said you were his order's Grand Master. I'm assuming he means the Emperor's secretive bodyguards. He also said to tell you he's in the Imperial City waiting for orders."
Jauffre studied Natan. He felt like his very innards were being examined to see if he was useful to this man. Finally, he shut his eyes and sighed.
"Very well. Give me the Amulet, and I will tell you where the heir is."
Natan hesitated only a moment before handing over the Amulet of Kings. If the Emperor trusted this man, he supposed he could, too... even if that trust was clearly a one-way street.
Jauffre wrapped the Amulet in a scrap of cloth and placed it into a drawer in his desk before he spoke again.
"The last Septim Heir... Uriel's illegitimate son, who was given to me and hidden at an early age. His name is Martin. He is a priest in the Chapel of Akatosh in Kvatch. He does not know his true heritage. If the Emperor is calling for Martin to take the throne, then his heirs, too, must be dead." Jauffre looked Natan straight in the eyes. "The situation will soon grow dire. You must bring Martin here as quickly as possible."
"I was already planning on it. Anything else I should know before I leave?"
"The Emperor's assassins may already know of your survival, and if they do, you must be prepared to face them at every turn. I have some supplies that I keep here for travelling Blades, should you have need of anything. Otherwise, go now and swiftly."
Jauffre indicated a chest, and Natan dug through it, taking only some potions – the heavy armor in the chest would only slow him down, and he was untrained in swordsmanship. His daggers would do.
Natan nodded to Jauffre as he left Weynon Priory behind.
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Dusk was falling on Natan's second full day of travel as he arrived at the walls of Kvatch to find them smoking and surrounded by razor-clawed imps for half a mile around. He cursed and drew back into the tree line, watching as a group of taller Daedra stomped past the spot where he'd been standing.
Natan turned west, taking a path through brush to follow the perimeter of Daedra and remain hidden. He went as fast as he could, slashing out with his dagger to clear a path, since magic would draw their attention.
He made it most of the way around the walls without issue, but ended up having to detour south to avoid the cliff that cut off the line of trees. It was a blessing and a curse, as the Daedra mostly stuck around the walls, so Natan was able to start moving faster a few feet from his former path.
He arrived at the refugee camp at a flat-out run and didn't pause to speak to anyone as he ran up the path towards the city gates.
As he approached the top of the hill, the sky turned from dark blue to blood red, and the clouds were cut through by jagged lines of lightning, appearing and not fading. Natan slowed as his thoughts raced faster.
What the hell were they facing?
He knew without a doubt that this was connected to the Emperor's murder, and his mind whirled to connect the dots: Daedra, mysterious mage-assassins all wearing the same robes, the Emperor and the Amulet of Kings and the Heirs the first targets.
This was a Daedric cult, there was no mistaking it. And if he wasn't further mistaken, the force at play here was the Mythic Dawn, the legendary and shadowed cult of Mehrunes Dagon.
Natan scowled and picked up his pace.
The guards of Kvatch would need all the help they could get in beating these bastards back.
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"You want to do what?!"
"I'm going to close that Oblivion Gate. It's the only way to end this siege and take back Kvatch."
"And you think you can do it alone? I sent a whole squad of men in there to do that days ago, and none of them have come back."
"Were any of them mages? Any kind of mage."
"What does that have to do with it?"
This guard captain was a real idiot. "None of them would have known anything about Oblivion. I was trained in Conjuration by a Guild-trained Master Conjurer." Natan pressed his thumb into his chest. "I know what I'm do-ing."
The guard captain threw up his hands. "Fine. But it's on your own head if you don't come out. If or when you do come out, we may end up needing your help for the final clearing of Kvatch." The man sighed. "It's not that I don't believe you. It's just that my men haven't come back, and I don't want to become responsible for the deaths of anyone else."
Natan nodded, accepting the implied apology, and headed for the Oblivion Gate. The captain and his few remaining men formed up behind him, and the archers punched a way through the Daedra for Natan to slip into the Gate.
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Natan took a second to get used to the feeling of Oblivion in his bones, his magic unused to adapting to the realm's ebb and flow after so long without practice. But he could call up a fireball just fine, so he put it to good use frying the closest attacking Daedra.
He fought his way through the flow of scamps flooding out through the Gate up to a back door into the massive, glowing central tower that obviously housed his way of closing the Gate.
Natan had never opened an Oblivion Gate purposefully, never mind closed one from inside, so he wasn't entirely sure how one went about doing so. But there was a first time for everything, he supposed, so it was high time he get on with his.
Slowly but surely, Natan made his way up inside the tower, to the very top, where the pillar of fire that ran down through the tower's centre flowed from a stone orb floating near the tower's apex.
Natan knocked the stone out of the pillar of fire, expecting that to be the method of closing the gate. He was correct, but what he was not expecting was the stone sticking near his hand as he withdrew it. He shrugged and put it in his belt pouch for later inspection.
Then, the expanding pillar of flames consumed him, and he felt himself being dragged back to Mundus.
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The guard captain had to pick his jaw up off the ground as Natan pulled himself off the ground. "You... you did it!"
"I did tell you I could..."
The captain wasn't listening. "That's - amazing! You're going to turn the tide of this whole damn war!" He became serious, and turned to address both Natan and his remaining soldiers. "Men! And ladies! We're going to need to strike while the iron is hot! Anyone with remaining potions should drink them now, because we're going to have to fight our way up to the keep and take it back to end this siege. Our heroic friend has given us a starting point; now, we've gotta show her what the Kvatch Guard can do! Who's with me?!"
Natan had to give the captain credit: he was good at working up people's spirits. The remaining men of Kvatch's guard raised their weapons in a cheer and followed their captain in his assault on the gate. Natan fell behind, settling in a stance that would allow him to move and change angles of attack with ease.
The gate opened.
The soldiers charged.
The Battle for Kvatch had begun.
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Three days later, dusk fell on a bloodied and burned but now liberated Kvatch. Natan grunted through his teeth as an army medic pulled the torniquet around his right arm tight, cutting off the blood and slowing the flow from the stumps of his last two fingers.
"Hopefully there's someone who can do Restoration still shut up in the chapel," Natan muttered, glancing at his hand. "I've done everything I can, but I'm running on nothing."
"You've done everything we could have possibly asked of you," Matius, the guard captain, said as he came over from inspecting another soldier's wounds. "Without you, we'd all probably be dead by now. Instead, everyone I had at the gates is still here. I just wish we could do more for you."
"Just get me to the Chapel. I can take it from there."
Natan stood, stumbled, and was caught by Matius in the nick of time. The guard captain shook his head and lifted Natan's arm over his shoulder.
"I'm getting you to the Chapel, all right. But I doubt that any healer worth their magic is going to let you move anywhere for three days."
Natan shook his head, both at the statement and against the sudden dizziness. "Don't have time for that. Daedra..."
"Worry about anything outside of Kvatch later." Matius looked for soldiers who were still on their feet and relatively able to swing their weapons. "You two! Make sure our way to the Chapel is clear."
"Sir!"
Natan's memory of getting to the chapel was a little hazy, but they evidently made it in the end. He and Matius were met at the chapel doors by the two soldiers who had been sent ahead, and a shorter man in the dark robes of a priest.
"Is this..."
Matius nodded. "Just show me where to put her."
The priest led them to a small room just off the vestibule which had been turned into a very makeshift hospital. Natan spotted a basic mortar and pestle on a side table beside some leaves as he was placed onto a row of crates that had been made into a bed.
Natan felt the warm rush of Restoration magic flow through him. He tried to pull on his own magic to aid it, but he was so tired...
Through heavy eyes he saw the priest frown. "Don't do that. You'll kill yourself if you try to use magic."
Natan grunted and tried to play it off, but his words came out a mumble.
The priest frowned deeper, casting a quiet diagnostic spell. He drew in a gasp. "How are you not dead?"
"More potions in my... veins... than blood..." Natan slurred. "Can't..."
The priest was already casting, spells flowing into one another so fast Natan couldn't follow. He felt some semblance of strength return before his vision went from blurred to black.
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Natan woke to the faraway feeling of the priest slapping his face. "...can't fall asleep now! You'll never..."
Reality drifted in and out, but the one constant was the priest's face. He was always there, lips moving in a silent chant, eyes never leaving Natan. He put everything he could give into healing Natan, and Natan began to love him for it.
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Natan snapped awake as if he'd been flung into a half-frozen river, gasping in breath. He nearly collided with a head in his haste to leap from the bed.
He found his flight stopped by a firm hand on his chest, pushing him back down to the bed.
"Don't move for now. You're safe. You're in the Chapel of Akatosh, in Kvatch. If you move right now, you'll disturb the poultice and start the blood flow again."
Natan sank back to the bed, taking in the weary but still present face of the priest who'd been healing him. "How long..."
"Twelve hours. I'm surprised you didn't sleep longer." The priest's voice was gentle, and Natan found it soothed him. He let himself relax back onto the blanket below him.
"Good. You can relax now."
Natan nodded. "Sorry. Been a long few days."
"I heard from Captain Matius. You almost single-handedly broke the Siege of Kvatch." The priest smiled. "The refugees you saved – not to mention the guard – have started calling you the Hero of Kvatch."
Natan shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. "It needed doing. And I needed to find someone in Kvatch, anyway."
The priest nodded. "Family?"
"Not exactly." Natan glanced at the door, which was closed, gauging if it was heavy enough to block their conversation off from anyone outside. The priest noticed his glance.
"We're the only ones left in the Chapel. Captain Matius and the remaining guards escorted the refugees out of the walls several hours ago. I remained here with you; you weren't in any fit state to be moved."
"Right. I'm looking for a priest, actually. His name's Martin."
"That would be me."
Natan let out a chuckle through his nose. "Of course. It's just too much of a coincidence to be anything but fate."
"The gods work in mysterious ways." Martin glanced at the door. "Very mysterious ways, of late."
"You don't know the half of it." Natan started to sit, and Martin let him, so he sat up and looked Martin dead in the eye. "I'm looking for you because apparently you're the only one who can save Tamriel. You heard that the Emperor's been assassinated?"
"I can't say I have, but given the sudden population spike of Daedra, it makes sense." Martin closed his eyes for a moment. "And his heirs are dead as well, aren't they?"
"They are." Natan looked at Martin with a considering eye. "Conjuration specialist?"
"Of a sort."
"We'll have to talk shop later. Anyway. I was there to witness his murder. He gave me the Amulet of Kings and sent me to find his last remaining heir. The Grand Master of the Blades – his bodyguards – pointed me in your direction."
Martin stared at Natan. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
"I know it's mad. I know I'm absolutely Sheogorath-damned crazy. But I'll swear to anything you want that I'm not lying."
Martin's gaze dropped to the floor. Natan gave him a second to have his existential crisis, folding his hands in his lap and waiting. Finally, Martin blinked, sighed, and face Natan again.
"It sounds utterly impossible, but... I believe you. Something in me tells me that you are not lying and that you have not been misled."
Natan nodded his agreement. "Like I said. I know it doesn't make sense. Hell, I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't just lived through it. But it's real. You're the last Septim, Uriel's own son, and I need you to save Tamriel."
Martin looked him in the eye. "I will do what I can. But... I can't do it alone."
"I'll be right there beside you," Natan swore. "Every step of the way."
Martin reached out his hand, and Natan took it.
The moment was... not broken, but some of the intensity faded when Martin smiled. Natan found he liked the expression; he wanted to see more of it.
I'm in trouble.
"You know... I don't even know your name. I don't even think Captain Matius does. So, tell me... what can I call the famous Hero of Kvatch?"
Natan smiled a more genuine smile than he had in what seemed like an age. "Natan. Natan Solveign."