A/N: Yay, another double update!
Bastard! Of all the sly, sneaky, devious, downright underhanded...
I silently fume as the Blade, Belisarius, leads me towards the outskirts of Bruma. Martin had been even more furious with Jauffre than I, reprimanding the old man for landing such a low blow. After his comment about Kvatch, there was no way I could refuse the Grandmaster's request. To be honest, a part of me is glad to finally be of use; the only problem is every time I get involved with the Daedra, another sordid part of my past comes back to slap me across the face. I dread to think what it will be this time.
Reaching the gate, I see a small band of Bruma soldiers clustered several feet from the flaming chasm. A tall, helmeted soldier approaches to introduce himself.
"I am Captain Burd, commander of the Bruma Guard." He bows his head to the Blade. Upon seeing me, the eyes, partially hidden by the rim of his helmet, narrow. "And you are?"
"This is Morlinna." Belisarius gestures towards me. The use of my full name feels peculiar. "Grandmaster Jauffre has sent her to help you close the Oblivion Gate."
The Captain doesn't even bother to hide his amusement at the suggestion as laughter escapes the smile on his lips. The insulting disregard has my hackles rising.
"If you think you can manage without me then, by all means, go ahead," I comment tartly. "However, being the only person here who has actually closed an Oblivion Gate before, you may wish to reconsider."
My sarcasm earns a scowl from Burd. "Who do you think-?" he begins.
Belisarius steps between the Captain and I with outstretched arms. "May I suggest," he offers. "That we focus our hostility on the Daedra?"
As if on cue, several of the impish creatures first seen at Kvatch appear through the Gate, launching balls of flame as they come. Before I can react, Belisarius pushes me behind the safety of a large tree. Shouts and screeches of soldiers and imps alike pervade the air and, sure enough, that familiar spark of excitement shoots up my spine. I try to remember Martin's advice-distract the mind by focusing on my own actions.
Peering round the tree, I see several Bruma Guards dodging the orbs of flame being launched at them, hindering their ability to get the enemy in range. Trusting in the hope that the imps have not seen me yet, a plan formulates in my mind. Nothing is being thrown my way, so I circle the tree a little to gain a better vantage point. Using all my concentration, I outstretch my arm and aim at the devilish creature nearest me. The flare jets from my palm to hit my target square in the chest and it lets out a high-pitched wail of pain as it falls to the ground. As quickly as possible, I locate my next target before securing another hit. The cockier part of my consciousness perks up. I'm getting good at this!
Riding on the elation of my successes, I continue my efforts until the threat is eliminated completely. Aside from a few burn wounds, nobody on our side is seriously injured, thankfully. Belisarius quietly congratulates me before Captain Burd signals me.
"You could have warned us about them," the latter accuses when I reach him.
My mouth hangs open in disbelief. Of all the ungrateful...
"Never mind," the ass continues. "We cannot linger. Bor, Soren!" he shouts to two of the soldiers, who jog over to us. "You two will come with Morlinna and I into the Gate." Burd then turns to the remaining soldiers. "The rest of you, wait here and kill anything else that comes out of this damned Gate!"
After receiving a quick round of salutes, Captain Burd turns to me once more.
"Lead on."
Trepidation mounting with every step, I walk up to the blazing portal, gulping down my last deep breath of fresh air before entering.
If I had the power to turn perspiration into gold, then five minutes in an Oblivion plane would make me the richest woman alive. I push back the sticky strands of damp hair clinging to my face as I shout over the howling of the sweltering wind bombarding our bodies.
"We need to get to the main tower," I elucidate. "Inside is the Sigil Stone. Removing it from the tower will destroy the Gate in Bruma."
"How will we leave this place?" asks Soren, the fear encapsulating him entirely. I wonder if his nerves will allow him to even make it that far.
"Touching the Sigil Stone will transport us back to Bruma."
The three Brumans share uneasy glances with one another before we make our way through the smouldering, hazardous landscape.
"By the Nine, what is that?"
I look up at the grotesque construction towering over us to which the Captain refers, its peak lost amongst the swirling crimson clouds. Bor heads for the entrance door, his face paling in disgust as he guesses the material it is made from.
Once inside, we are immediately beset by Daedra-some scamps and others the tall humanoid mages robed in black. Awkward little buggers that they are, I focus my attention on the wretched imps, while the more experienced soldiers take down the larger, more dangerous creatures. With three enemies advancing on me, I have to act fast (not the easiest feat considering I was beyond weary before even entering this bloody place) and do not escape the skirmish unharmed, taking a fireball to the stomach in the process. Having killed its two comrades, as well as narrowly missing its attacks, the third scamp lets out a holler of frustration before leaping on top of me. The creature is surprisingly strong for its size, but a well-aimed kick from me manages to send it flying into the waterfall of fire at the centre of the room.
After several minutes resting with my back on the floor, I begrudgingly lever myself to my feet, seeing that Burd and his men have dealt with the two robed Daedra and I lean against a wall, my drained body feeling the effects of my heavy exertions. Forget Soren; I don't even know if I will make it out of here! Knowing my magicka is nearly depleted, I will have to rely on the use of my sword-a prospect which doesn't fill me with much confidence.
"Which way now, Morlinna?" asks Burd, his subtle evaluation of my condition failing to escape my notice.
I point to the black door ahead of us and the Captain's subordinates race towards it. I try to follow, but am restrained by a grip on my arm.
"You are in no fit state for combat," Burd says quietly. "Just stick close and let us do the fighting."
"I'm fi-"
"A dead guide is no good to us," he asserts.
Nice to know my welfare is so high on his priority list, I grumble silently. I don't bother arguing, instead resigning myself to following at Captain Burd's heels.
We follow the steep tilt of the dark, narrow corridor as it leads to the next hall and, seeing as I cannot fight, I seize the opportunity to learn from the three soldiers whose battle experience far exceeds my own, much as I did with Ilend Vonius. It seems like an age has passed since the events at Kvatch, but, sensing the obligatory wave of remorse that churns my stomach at any mention of the doomed city, I quickly push the rumination aside. I may not be at the front line of the fighting, but I still need to retain my focus.
As the door at the end of the corridor slides open, the memory of several booby-traps scattered about the last tower I ventured through hits. I grab at Soren's gauntleted arm, before he is skewered by the metal spikes ready to protrude from the walls the second a hapless victim walks by.
"See those holes in the wall?" I point to the vertical line of holes decorating the edges of the walls either side of us. "You'll need to run past them as quickly as you can before the spikes kill you."
The soldier's eyes widen in terror.
"Don't worry," I reassure him. "If I can do it, then you will have no trouble."
Soren takes a few hesitant steps towards the dreaded outlets, swinging his arms several times, readying himself for the treacherous sprint. With an inarticulate yell he dashes past, foiling the lethal plans of the spikes as they slice through the air. Bor follows his comrade with the same results, as does Burd. My turn is up next and I must admit I suffer a moment of doubt as to whether or not I will be fast enough. After a stern pep talk with myself, I race through the opening and a flood of relief washes over me at my success.
Thankfully, no Daedra are present in this particular hall, so we are free to proceed with our mission. The next hall is where our luck ends, however, as yet more scamps and assorted other Daedra attack. Burd orders me to stick close to him and I am happy to oblige.
It may be the awe bred from my own inexperience, but I cannot help marvelling at the skill of the three soldiers. There is a brutal grace to the way they wield their weapons, the absolute conviction of their cause lending strength to their attacks. Despite Burd's request that I refrain from fighting, I unsheathe my sword, ready to stand my ground should any enemies slip through the Bruma Guards. One almost does, throwing a bolt of lightning my way. I'm able to dodge just in time and the bolt leaves a sizzling scorch mark in the wall where my head had just been. From behind me erupts a ferocious snarl and I whip round to see a hulking armoured figure careering towards me. I let out a scream and Burd turns to see the Daedric warrior wielding a giant mace, its decapitating swing aimed right for my head. In one lightning-quick movement, the Captain's arm extends and a burst of magicka escapes his palm to collide with the creature's mace-wielding arm. The aggressor freezes mid-swing and Burd yells at me to kill it while I have the chance. Needing no encouragement, I immediately thrust my sword into my opponent's monstrous face, earning a thick splatter of maroon across my own.
Burd, Soren and Bor finish off the last of our opponents and I begin to search the body of the felled beast.
"What are you doing?" asks Bor, cringing as I slip my fingers underneath the cuirass.
"Looking for the key," My reply receives a look of utter bafflement that would have me laughing under different circumstances. "It unlocks the room holding the Sigil Stone," I explain, letting out a triumphant 'ah-hah' when my fingertips finally grasp the gnarled form of the key. Not far now, Linny, I reassure myself.
We near the top of the tower and I am anxious to leave this place. It will take something truly extraordinary to make me return to the damnable hellhole of Oblivion. When the door to the room containing our ultimate goal opens, two more of those hulking figures come barrelling through, one swinging yet another terrifying mace, the other wielding a blood-stained blade twice the size of Burd's.
I am shoved back so hard that I end up falling to the ground and see the three soldiers ducking and diving to dodge the vicious attacks of the Deadra. Obviously, if that battle-hardened trio are having trouble, then any combative attempt made by me is pointless, so I focus the last of my strength on preparing several flares to throw at the enemies. They fly out of my hand in rapid succession and, although not incapacitating, they offer a great opportunity for the Bruma soldiers to land fatal blows.
Without a moment of rest, Soren has me back on my weary feet and we charge into the room. More unintelligible wails greet us and Burd turns to me, a look of desperation on his severe face.
"We can't hold them all back! Where is the stone?" he asks.
"Right at the top," I answer, pointing upwards.
"The enemy is waiting for us. Morlinna, it is imperative that at least one of us reaches that stone."
I don't like the way this is heading.
"We are skilled in battle," he continues. "So we will hold off the enemy, whilst you concentrate on getting that stone."
"But what about you three?" They deserve to live much more than I. If anything, I should be the distraction to ensure they all return to safety. Martin would probably baulk at such a notion and I find it odd that the priest should enter my thoughts at such a moment.
"We swore our lives to protect Bruma," Burd declares nobly. "And nothing can break that oath!"
Before I can argue further, Burd pushes me towards the ramp encircling the room's circumference. At the second level, three Daedric warriors await us and Bor and Soren unquestioningly follow the Captain into battle, providing the perfect distraction for me to continue upwards to the stone. Although the numbers are evenly matched, the odds are still horribly stacked in favour of the Daedra. Amidst the swing of his blade, Burd yells at me to continue. That image of those three noble warriors making their last stand shall forever be imprinted in my memory and bitter tears blur my vision as I dash up the last ramp.
The knowledge of the Sigil Stone sitting reverently atop the roaring column of fire, travelling up through the centre of the tower, lends speed to my feet, but, before I can reach the top, a fist slams into my left cheek. I sail backwards, but before my body even touches the ramp hands grip my shoulders and yank me upright before throwing me against the nearest wall. Pain explodes through every nerve as I slump to the ground, desperately trying to breathe. I'm sure I heard several cracks as I collided with the wall. An agonizing yank of my hair forces me to my feet and a knee collides with my stomach, eliciting a breathless yelp from my bleeding lips.
With a hand around my throat, my assailant pins me against the wall as he lets out a hideously distorted chuckle. The tip of a terrible blade mere inches from my eyes catches my attention and I know I am about to die. My heart weeps in agony, sending silent apologies to every single person in Bruma that I have failed. The only possible consolation is that the world will soon be rid of me. I try to cling to that as I shut my eyes, awaiting the fatal blow.
"Halt!"
My eyes fly open to see Captain Burd stood at the top of the ramp. He waits there, barely able to stand, pride and valour the only things keeping him upright. With blade poised, ready to strike, he looks like a bloodied avenging angel, the fury in his eyes more than equalling the might of the creature's before me. It turns its head slowly, as though begrudging having to divert its attention to something so worthless. After a quick study of the Bruma Captain, the Daedric warrior advances on him and I once again slump to the floor.
Seeing my last chance, I crawl towards the Sigil Stone, ignoring the tumultuous pain assaulting every last inch of my body. I have to reach it, if it's the last thing I do; Burd's death shall not be in vain! My fingers are mere millimetres from the stone, but I cannot bring myself to take it yet. I can only assume Bor and Soren are already lost, but there is a chance for me to save one life today. I crane my neck over towards the two fighters and scream Burd's name. If I can just get him close enough...
The Captain, dancing and dodging the Daedra's attacks with as much speed and grace as his battered body will allow, yells over his shoulder back at me.
"What are you waiting for?" His eyes daren't leave his opponent; a split second lack of concentration could cost his life.
"You," I reply. "Try to get as close to me as you can."
"There isn't-"
"Just do it!"
Without breaking step, Burd shifts his position so his back is directly facing me. The Daedra, who obviously assumed I was no longer a threat, looks at me, rage distorting its already hideous face. It charges for me, but Burd used the momentary distraction to gain a head start. As soon as he is close enough, my fingers clutch his hand as my other fingers slam against the Sigil Stone. The tower starts to shake violently, the flames holding the stone aloft now spreading throughout the entire building. Blinding orange light assaults my retinas and I squeeze them shut, praying we leave Oblivion before the fiend reaches us.
The roaring fire is the last thing I hear before unconsciousness envelopes me.
000
Thunderous collisions of skin against skin bombard my eardrums. If I had the strength, I would plug them with my fingers, but my muscles pulsate with tremendous pain. I force my somnolent eyelids to move, opening further with each painful blink. A heavy weight rests on my stomach and cropped dark hair is the first sight to greet my eyes as they shift downwards. Who is that? Something warm sits in my hand. A black orb. The events come rushing back. Bruma, the Oblivion Gate, the Sigil Stone. We made it? My facial muscles would twitch into a small smile if they could.
The weight on my stomach lifts and I see the dark haired figure rise to his feet. Burd! Is he alive? Before I can find out hands clasp beneath my armpits and the disorientating shift of gravity spins my head. I pitch forwards, the palms of my hands slamming against metal. The arms about my waist are all that hold me upright as my legs refuse to function.
"Linny?"
The voice is familiar, but my addled brain needs time to allocate the owner. I look up to see Belisarius' anxious face studying mine. I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out of my desiccated throat.
"Hush, let's get you back to the temple," he says, keeping his right arm around my waist, whilst the left holds my wrist.
Nobody stops us as we start to hobble away and I am thankful for it; I don't even have the energy to walk, let alone converse, proven by the fact that Belisarius is carrying the majority of my weight.
The journey back to Cloud Ruler Temple seems endless and I am nearly weeping with pain and exhaustion as we reach the gates.
"Almost there," Belisarius whispers encouragingly into my ear. Gods, this man is a saint!
A congregation of people gathered outside the entrance doors charges forward as we ascend the stone steps and I cower into Belisarius' form, unable to withstand the assault on my senses. Quite rightly, they are all anxious to know what happened, but I cannot face the grilling just yet.
"What happened?" Jauffre leads the onslaught. "Is the Gate shut?"
Sod the Oblivion Gate! I want to scream.
"Did anyone else make it?" Baurus queries, although his may be directed more towards his fellow Blade than I.
More voices join them, piling question after question on top of me, until the weight of the interrogation is unbearable. The sounds all mingle into one and the pounding in my head feels like bolts of lightning cracking through my skull. I try to beg for them to stop, but my voice isn't even audible enough to call a whisper. Dizziness sends the world spinning and a foggy veil covers my eyes as my legs begin to cave in. Through my bleary vision, I can just make out a figure pushing through the crowd, moving Belasarius aside before scooping me up into their arms. My body sags, leaning gratefully into the person carrying me.
Before I even realise it, we enter the East Wing and I am laid out on a table in the library. The unfastening of buckles piques my curiosity but I am barely conscious enough to investigate. Cool air caressing my feet informs me my boots have been removed, with my scabbard, gloves and cuirass soon following suit. A hand presses my forehead and the oh-so-wonderful feeling of Restoration absorbs into my skin as it begins massaging the myriad wounds assailing my muscles. The relief is almost overwhelming as it douses the fiery pain.
My alertness is greatly increased and I open my eyes to see Martin shoving the removed apparel under the table. The door swings open and an irate Baurus enters. My eyes snap shut as I pretend to sleep, praying the ruse will defer his questions for later.
"Is she awake yet?" chimes the young man's baritone.
"Tell Jauffre he will get his answers when she is coherent enough to give them," Martin replies coolly.
The scene is reminiscent of when I awoke in the chapel at Kvatch. Footsteps precede the sound of a closing door before more steps approach me.
"He is gone," says Martin. "You can open your eyes now."
With a sigh of gratitude, I lift my eyelids and am assisted into a sitting position. A cup of water is handed to me and I take tentative sips, revelling in the sensation of the cool liquid sliding down my parched throat. After rolling up his sleeves, Martin sets to work assessing my injuries before treating them. All the while, the priest's angry mutterings provide a background melody for his labour. They soon get too much.
"Martin!" I beg, my weariness turning admonishment into a pathetic whine.
With a small shake of his head he lets out an exasperated sigh. "I'm sorry, Linny," he says, carefully wrapping a bandage around a deep gash in the arm exposed by my torn tunic sleeve. I don't remember that injury, although there are probably quite a few like that. "I just don't like the way you are treated by some people here."
"It's no more than I deserve," I reply, my voice still gravelly.
"If that were true," scoffs Martin. "I wouldn't be helping you."
"Maybe you are just a bad judge of character," I counter.
His eyes look up from the bandage to throw a glare my way.
"Look," I stubbornly continue. "Not everyone is as altruistic as you. Some hold grudges, and with good reason."
"No," Martin stops, resting a hand either side of my legs as he gives me a level stare, his eyes burning with indignance. "Bearing a grudge is one thing-I would respect that-but what Jauffre did was manipulative and cruel. Blanking you and offloading menial servant's chores onto you for the majority of your stay and then suddenly begging for help like a dearest friend owed a favour is not on-especially when using the tactics he did!"
"He didn't have a choice."
"Oh, yes he did! You could have explained to Captain Burd the process before they entered the gate. If you can manage to work out how to close one, I'm sure an army of trained soldiers can."
"There might have been things I forgot," I offer weakly.
"Why are you defending him?"
I have no reply to that as his eyes bore into mine. With them so close, I can see the multiple hues of blue and grey swirling together, framing the black of his pupils. In all honesty, I don't know why I'm defending Jauffre. Perhaps it's the guilt; maybe I am just so desperate to gain favour with everyone that I will do anything to get it. I think, deep down, a part of me feels that Jauffre's opinion of me isn't far wrong, that it is Martin's judgement that is off.
"I give up," the priest sighs, resuming his task.
I sit in silence as he works, wishing I had something else to say.
"There," he says when he is finished. "You will be very sore for a few days, but you'll live. I'll try to find you some looser clothing; I don't want the wounds aggravated."
I nod and slide down off the table. A barrage of aches and pains voices my body's protests and I breathe in sharply. Hearing the sound, Martin turns to me.
"Are you alright?" he asks, his brows drawing together in concern as he takes my arm.
"As you said, I'll live."
I take a few staggering steps forward, but Martin prevents me from taking any more.
"Sit down; I'll get Jauffre for you."
It doesn't take long for him to return, a small bundle in his hand, with the Grandmaster, Baurus and Belisarius following at his heels.
"How are you feeling?" asks Jauffre, seating himself opposite me at the table.
The two Blades stand either side of their master, whilst Martin takes the seat beside mine, placing the bundle of fabric on the table before folding his arms across his chest. It's obvious the priest is still angry with Jauffre, but trying not to appear too petulant.
"Fine," I reply, self-conscious beneath the glare of the three pairs of eyes fixed on me.
"I shan't take up too much of your time; I know you are weary," A quick glance at Martin as Jauffre says this. "Belisarius has recounted the events before you entered the Oblivion Gate; I just need you to tell me what happened inside."
I comply, recounting the events being no difficulty, as they are still so horribly fresh in my mind. The three before me listen intently, grief altering their features when I tell of Bor and Soren's sacrifice. Something suddenly hits me.
"Is Burd alright?" I ask desperately. Please say he survived!
"He is badly wounded, but alive," answers Jauffre.
I feel like a gigantic weight has been lifted off my shoulders and recline against the back of the chair. That is a small victory, at least. Obviously countless more lives have been saved by closing the Gate, but I cannot place faces to them; I only see the image of Bor and Soren's brave defence against the Daedra. After a long period of quiet, Jauffre leans forward, forearms resting on the table as he clasps his hands together. He seems to be working himself up to saying something. I can only guess at what.
"Linny," the old man begins. "I want to thank you for all you have done for us. I know I may not show it, but I do appreciate it."
I blush, more from surprise than anything. What brought this on? Nodding is all I can do at the moment, but it seems to be enough for Jauffre as he stands to leave.
"Get some rest, Linny."
My eyes follow the three armour-clad men as they exit the library, relieved that ordeal is finally over.
"Well, you heard the man," Martin announces as he rises from his chair. "Those are for you to change into," he motions to the bundle set on the table. "Get some rest."
Just as he is about to turn the door handle, I call his name. He looks over his shoulder at me.
"Thank you," I say. "For everything."
The priest accepts the gratitude with a nod and small smile before leaving. I don't waste any time following Martin's requests and, even with the hindrance of my injuries, am changed and lying on the blanket situated in the corner of the library floor within minutes, more than ready to fall into the peaceful arms of sleep.
