It was the middle of the night and everyone else in Breezhome was asleep. Martin certainly was. He lay on his back beside me, eyes closed and taking deep, even breaths. Reaching out, I gently brushed a strand of brown hair away from his face. He didn't stir at my touch. With a soft smile, I climbed out of bed and made my way out of our bedroom.
The house was dark and silent as I crept downstairs. Small flames danced on my fingertips, lighting my way. Once I was on the bottom floor, I used them to light a fire in the hearth. Then I sat in one of the armchairs, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, and watched the crackling flames. I hoped they'd help me relax. There were just too many worries bouncing around in my head for me to be calm. The doubts I'd had about Martin's safety came creeping back in, mainly fueled by the memory of what happened to King Torygg. I couldn't risk anything similar happening to Martin. Not when there was absolutely something I could do to prevent it.
After a while I heard the stairs creak softly behind me.
"Can't sleep?" Martin asked me in a soft voice. I shook my head. He brushed my loose hair back over my shoulder and bent down to press his lips against the side of my neck. "What's on your mind, hmm?"
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. "You knew you were Dragonborn before I did, yet which of us has the full powers of one?"
"The situations were different."
"Still..." I crossed my arms and sank deeper into the chair. "I don't like the thought of you being without the use of the Voice. If last time taught me anything, it's that I can't always protect you. I've been thinking, and you need this, Martin."
"All right," he said after some hesitation. "How did you learn it, then?"
"I started by awakening the power. You can only do that by absorbing the souls of the slain Dovah. But we can't just wait around for a rogue to show up..."
"How many souls have you taken?" He asked quietly.
"Too many." I paused, thinking hard. If they were still a part of me... I got to my feet. "Maybe I can give you one of mine. That might work."
"It might." He sounded a little uncertain.
I rounded the chair to stand before him and reached up to brush my hand over his cheek.
"If you don't want me to do this, I won't."
Leaning his forehead against mine and closing his eyes, he whispered, "I'm ready."
I took a deep breath. Reaching deep inside myself, I felt for that familiar power. I felt the core of it, and around that the tendrils that fed the whole. I latched onto one of them and tugged it away. Streams of light whirled around us, along with the familiar rushing sound. Martin shuddered as he absorbed the soul.
When he opened his eyes, I caught a flash of bright gold. I gasped.
"Did something happen?" He asked. His brow crumpled in concern. "What's wrong?"
He blinked, and suddenly his gaze was blue again.
"Your eyes," I breathed, reaching up to touch his face with trembling fingers. "They were–"
"Gold?"
I stared at him. "How did you know that?"
"Yours do that sometimes now as well. It mostly happens when you're angry."
That was actually a surprise to me. Was that why people shrank back when I lost my temper? It seemed likely.
"What happens now?" Martin asked.
I laughed a bit at that. "Now? We go climb a mountain."
The road to Ivarstead was fairly uneventful for several days. I'd told Martin little of what we'd find at High Hrothgar, but just enough that he seemed both a bit anxious and excited. We made it out of Whiterun Hold and into the Rift. Once we were in the forest there, however, I felt a sense of foreboding. It sent a chill down my spine. I put a hand on Martin's arm to keep him back.
"What is it?" He whispered.
Ahead, several figures stepped out from behind boulders and trees onto the road. Some wore black robes, while others wore elven armor. My heart sank. The Thalmor had finally caught up to me when I was fairly vulnerable.
"Well, well. Would you look at this?" The Justiciar in the lead sneered. "The dragon's finally caught, isn't she?"
"We'll see about that," I hissed back. I carefully let go of Martin's arm and slowly circled the group, praying that they would keep their focus entirely on me instead of on him. They all watched me haughtily, but the pride in a few of their gazes barely masked a hint of fear. Good.
Their leader laughed coldly. "You've committed enough atrocities against the Aldmeri Dominion that you deserve to die, Mara Dragonborn. You, along with any of your accomplices."
He nodded and one of the soldiers drew her bow, her arrow trained on Martin. I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe.
Reacting instinctively, I raced between them and threw up a hand. Power rushed through me as I Shouted, "Tiid klo ul!"
The world bent and warped around me as time slowed until it almost stood still. I felt Martin's hand on my arm and saw the gilded arrow crawling through the air toward us. It had come so close, so close to... I snatched it out of its path of flight and threw it down. Pulling my arm from Martin's grip, I stormed toward the attacking Thalmor. As time resumed its normal flow, flames roared over my arms to coat my whole body as I screamed in defiance at the mer.
They would not take him from me.
The Thalmor agents staggered back as I threw fistfuls of fire at them and I watched with satisfaction as the ones too slow to escape burned. I drew my sword and cut down the ones who dared to even come close. One of the Justiciars tried to run and I chased after him. Grabbing him around the neck, I yanked him toward me and stabbed him through the back.
Letting his body fall to the earth, I surveyed the carnage around me. Every one of the Thalmor agents lay dead, many of their corpses still smoldering.
There was a sharp intake of breath behind me and I turned around to see Martin staring at me with a look of horror on his face. My heart twisted as I imagined what he must have been seeing. Did I look like some kind of monster to him? The flames surrounding me abruptly died and my arms dropped to hang limply by my sides.
The instant the fire vanished Martin hurried forward and pulled me into a tight embrace, crushing me against his chest. I gasped, tensing against him. He pulled back and frantically checked me all over. I grasped his wrists, stopping him.
"What's wrong?"
His chest heaved as he said, "You were on fire. How are you unharmed?"
"Martin, the fire was mine."
He stared at me as my words slowly sank in. "Yours? But you never..." He looked away. "The Mysterium Xarxes used to show me visions of you burning, and I thought..."
That was what the Mysterium Xarxes had tormented him with? Me burning in the fires of the Deadlands with him powerless to stop it? And I'd just covered myself in flames. To him it had looked like...
Still holding tight onto his hands, I gave him a few soft, apologetic kisses and murmured, "I'm so sorry. I'm fine, I promise."
"How often do you do that?"
I grimaced. "A lot, unfortunately."
"At least now I have some warning for the next time," he sighed, sounding resigned. We started walking again and he kept hold of one of my hands. Looking at the bodies strewn about, he asked, "What did you do to illicit that kind of reaction?"
With a grim laugh, I told him, "Let's just say that I've sabotaged their precious plans many more times than they'd like to admit and leave it at that."
It was dark when we arrived at High Hrothgar. Wind howled over the mountain and tugged at my hood as I led Martin up the monastery's front steps. Inside, the main chamber was, as usual, lit by them dimly glowing braziers. Soon enough, I saw Arngeir step out of the shadows.
"Dragonborn," the Greybeard said, giving me a short bow. "Welcome back to High Hrothgar." His gaze turned on Martin, who was hanging back in the shadows of the doorway. "Who is this that you have brought with you?"
I reached out to Martin, beckoning him forward. "He's Dragonborn as well. He needs to see Paarthurnax as soon as possible."
Arngeir's initial shock at being faced with another Dragonborn quickly changed to a disapproving scowl. "You know that isn't possible. Even you cannot change tradition."
"This is a special case, I assure you. He's–"
I felt Martin suddenly grab hold of my arm. Looking over, I saw his brow furrow with worry. Giving him a reassuring smile, I whispered, "It's all right. I trust him."
He nodded slowly and let go of my arm. Turning back to the Greybeard, I said, "This is Martin Septim."
Arngeir didn't seem to be able to speak. He just stared blankly at the man standing beside me. I watched him blink a few times before he finally managed, "These circumstances are indeed… different. You should stay here in High Hrothgar for the night and make the ascent in the morning."
I smiled. "Thank you, Master Arngeir."
The old man nodded, still dumbstruck. Then he led us to a small room off of the monastery's western wing and promptly vanished once more into the depths of the monastery.
Once we were in bed, it didn't take long until I was mostly asleep. My arms were around Martin, holding him with his back against my chest. He shifted slightly and I heard him give a soft, uneasy sigh. I knew that sound well.
"I know you're awake," I murmured, lacing my fingers through his.
There was silence for a long time. Then, "Am I that obvious?"
I chuckled softly and sat up a little so that I could lean over and kiss his cheek. "Yes. Something's bothering you. Is this still about what happened on the road?"
He turned his face toward mine, his blue eyes opening to look up at me.
"When I said the Mysterium Xarxes showed me images of you burning, that wasn't… that wasn't all it showed me."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
His gaze shifted away from mine. "Dagon spoke to me. He told me that, in the end, I would have to make a choice. If I saved the Empire I would lose you forever. And he was right. To stop him, one of us had to die. Either way I lost you. Sometimes I fear it might happen again…" He trailed off.
"Martin, look at me," I whispered. When I brushed my fingertips over his cheek he did. "Maybe that damned Daedra was right once, but not anymore. We're here because, somehow, defying the Princes seems to be something I'm good at. They can't keep me from you. I won't let them."
A small, tired smile appeared on his face. "You are a wonder, my love."
"Is that why you married me?"
"It's one of the many reasons."
"Mm." I lay back down beside him and closed my eyes again.
"Mara?"
I fought the urge to laugh. "What?"
"Who is this Paarthurnax that you're insisting I need to see?"
"The leader of the Greybeards." Before he could ask anything else, I added, "That was all that Arngeir told me before I met him, so that's all that you're going to get as well. Now sleep."
He chuckled softly. "Yes, ma'am."
Martin and I got up early the next morning and took the trail that led up to the top of the Throat of the World. Even though I was bundled up in as many layers as possible, the mountain's air was still bitterly cold at that altitude. Glancing over at Martin, I saw that he had white snowflakes stuck in his dark hair. I smiled a little at the sight.
We walked for a long time. Gusts howled around us, tugging us this way and that.
"How much further?" Martin called, holding a gloved hand out in front of his face to block the snow kicked up by the wind.
"Not much. It's just up here," I said, pointing up.
The trail soon leveled out at the clearing near the mountain's peak. As Martin looked around, clearly confused at the place's obvious desolation, I called, "Paarthurnax!"
A moment later I heard a roar and the flapping of wings as the ancient dragon appeared. He landed in front of us, kicking up the pristine snow as he did. Bowing his head, he said to me, "Drem yol lok, Dovahkiin. Who have you brought with you on this visit?"
"His name is Martin. He's also Dragonborn."
"Hmm…" Paarthurnax lowered his long neck until his face was only a few feet from Martin. The man stood stock-still, blinking in shock. "So you are. But that is not all you are, is it? No, I think not. You have the touch of my father, Akatosh, about you. You are the one responsible for the vaaz – the tear – that I felt some time ago, unless I am mistaken."
"That was actually me," I murmured. "Though he was involved."
"Ah. So you have come here for training in the Way of the Voice?"
Martin seemed to regain his composure because he nodded and said, "Yes, sir, I have."
"Sir?" The dovah chuckled. The sound rumbled through the air like thunder. Martin seemed to shrink back a little at the response as if embarrassed. I reached out and took his hand in mine, gently squeezing to reassure him that it was fine. "Very well. We will train you to use your gift."
