Author's Note: Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from me. I suppose this a present to all of you. While I probably won't get fifty reviews by 100,000 words, I might get forty, which would be nice (hint hint).
I will try to finish the story, because otherwise it seems I'll be strangled by Tamarani (see reviews). And I will try to make it kickass. At the current rate of updating, it will take another two years or so, and another 49 chapters (assuming my plan doesn't change). But it's been great so far.
The multiple-choice bit in this chapter seems a bit disjointed, probably because I took it directly from the game. But it's all in the name of variety...
Note: 'Inebrit' refers to a certain drunk person. And yes, Templar does call Martin a turtle.
EDIT: I've always wondered why there aren't more roads in Oblivion. You'd think that in a highly-developed Empire there'd be roads connecting all the cities, but obviously not. I'm fond of changing things, so now there are a few extra roads scattered around the place (e.g. directly connecting Skingrad and Chorrol). In short, I intend to make the world more logical.
A Bit of Convincing
The Kvatch Crisis Refugee Camp, Mount Kvatch, The Colovian Highlands, Hearthfire 1 3E433
Martin walked along the edge of the temporary camp that had been set up for the survivors, legionnaires and work crews. It was three hundred tents large, and still growing – although only fifty of those tents were for the survivors. The camp sprawled along one entire face of Mount Kvatch, and the hillside teemed with life. But now it was night-time, and most were asleep.
Many of the survivors had started trying to drown their sorrows after the attack, in mug after mug of beer. A few had chosen death. It would be a long time before the city of Kvatch grew to its former glory. There had been half-hearted celebrations after the gate was closed, in honour of the 'heroes' of Kvatch, but… it wasn't really the same.
He passed a group of men playing cards around a small fire, and kept walking. Then he stopped abruptly, and almost ran into someone else in the darkness. The man's breath stank of ale, and he swayed unsteadily as he walked. He tottered over to a brown horse that had been tethered to a stump by one of the tents, and attempted to clamber onto its back.
"I hope you're not planning on riding that," Martin said sternly, gesturing at the animal.
The man whirled around. "Nope."
Where have I seen him before?
"Alright then." Martin kept on walking, towards the healer's tent on the other side of the encampment. It was one in the morning, but he was restless. He could never sleep nowadays.
Suddenly, he heard a horse neighing behind him.
Whump-Whump-WHUMP
Hooves raced across the ground behind him. He dived to the side just as the brown horse came cantering past. It skidded to a stop, and its rider fell to the ground.
Martin brushed himself off and walked over to where the rider lay. The man looked up at him. Sorry 'bout tha'."
The priest grabbed the rider's arm firmly and pulled him to his feet. "Now you... are coming with me."
----------
Martin thrust open the door of the Kvatch guardhouse and pulled the man inside. He strode up to the duty desk, which was manned by one of the old Kvatch guards.
"Almost ran me down with a horse while drunk," Martin said irritably.
The guard's eyes widened for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "Well, you're working late, Brother. Put him in cell four." He waved at the hallway to the right, and threw the priest a thick keyring.
"Thanks. It's for his own good, really. I'll be here to get him out in the morning." Martin dragged the man down the hallway, and pushed him gently into the cell.
"Oof," he grunted as he tripped over onto the bed in the corner.
Martin frowned. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
The man rubbed his eyes blearily. "I have no idea. But this brings back some really bad memories."
Martin frowned again. "Good night. See you in the morning." With that, he walked out of the guardhouse and back to work.
----------
Martin looked up from his stitching and glanced over at the other hospital beds. There were only a few healers there at this hour, most of them Imperial legionnaires filling in for the other priests. Because the other priests weren't there anymore. Because they had died in the Kvatch attack. His friends…
He cleared his head and drew the thread through, closing the wound. The man on the stretcher flinched a little, but didn't wake. Martin raised his hand and gave it a jolt of magic, which would accelerate the healing but not complete it. The wound was too big for that.
Like Brother Altus. The way his head slid around upon his neck. The wound had simply been too big. It had, it had, it had! There was nothing he could have done!
Get a grip, Martin. He moved onto the next bed. Most of the injuries now ere people who had been caught in building collapses or ambushed by the remaining daedra. But it was still hard.
He picked up a bandage and began wrapping it around and around and around…
----------
The morning sun shone brightly as Martin the priest walked through the guardhouse door. The same guard was at the desk, scribbling down notes on a sheet of parchment.
"Uh-" Martin began.
The guard looked up. "That way. Take him if you want him." He went back to writing.
Martin disappeared around the corner. The guard looked up again. "Oh, whoops. Hey! Brother Martin!"
----------
Martin stopped in front of the cell, and saw that it was miraculously devoid of drunken men. He pulled the door open. "Hey! Where's the inebrit in cell four?"
A man looked over his shoulder eagerly. "What inebrit?"
Martin turned. "You-!"
----------
Templar found himself with a splitting headache. He sat in the back room of the guardhouse, polishing his armour. Most of it couldn't be polished anymore, unfortunately. He'd have to go and see Varnado again in the Imperial City.
Imperial City?
Quest…
Martin! Jauffre! Amulet of Kings!
"Oh, damn." He stood up, and nearly sprinted over to where Jesan manned the guardhouse.
"Almost the end of the shift?" Templar asked.
"Yeah. Another hour."
"Great, well, I've got to go and see if I can find Martin the priest. Right away."
"Really?" Jesan replied suprisedly. "He just went down the corridor there."
Templar looked over to where the guard was pointing and saw a black robe flashing around the corner.
"Oh, thanks! See you later."
Templar ran off around the corner. He saw Martin open one of the cells and look inside. "Hey! Where's the inebrit in cell four?"
Templar skidded to a stop behind the priest, panting. He looked over Martin's shoulder. "What inebrit?"
The priest turned to face him. "You! Last night! And in the Chapel before the attack! And one of the… Heroes of Kvatch…"
"Me?" Templar asked, bewildered.
Jesan appeared at the end of the corridor, "I forgot to tell you," he called out. "I let him out last night. He's one of ours. An… old friend."
"What? That's no excuse! He could have seriously hurt someone! He was about to gallop through the camp, for… beer's sake!"
"Well, it probably was for beer's sake, actually." Jesan grinned.
Templar glanced around. "Uh… have I missed something here?"
Martin stuck out an arm and pointed at Templar's head. "You. Last night. Horse."
"Yeah, I actually do remember something to do with horses last night. And a lot of beer."
Suddenly, the memories came flooding back.
"Oh. Ah," he said quietly. He winced. "Was that me?"
"Yes, it was," Martin replied."
"The horse? Did I get on the horse?"
"Yes. That was you."
"Did I almost run someone over?"
"Yes. That was me."
Templar winced again. "Was I really that drunk?"
"I'll vouch for that," Jesan added from the corner.
"What about before? Did I really try to have sex with the-"
"I'm afraid that I don't know about that," Martin interrupted, "but you were about to cause untold havoc and destruction. Not to mention making a complete and utter and fool of yourself."
"Well, you see…" Templar began hesitantly. "I have something very, very important to tell you."
There was silence.
"Has this got anything to do with what you told me earlier?" Martin asked.
"Yes."
"Well, go and tell someone else. Forgive me, but you didn't exactly make a good first impression."
"No, seriously," Templar said pleaded. "You have to listen. Jauffre, the abbot from Weynon Priory…"
If you say, "Come with me. You're in danger," go to Block 1.
If you say, "The Emperor told me to find you," go to Block 2.
----------
1
They sat on a log in a more secluded part of the camp. Martin was now in a positively foul mood, after Templar's insistence that they go somewhere secret.
Templar sighed. "You have to come with me, Martin. To Weynon Priory. You're in terrible danger, because-"
The priest laughed bitterly. "Danger, you say. You come all the way here to tell me this?"
"Martin, please, let me finish-"
The priest cut him off again. "Say what you need to say and then leave me alone. There are others here that actually need my help."
"You are Brother Martin, right? Priest at the Chapel of Akatosh in Kvatch?"
"Until recently, yes." He barked out a laugh. "Yes, I'm a priest. Do you need a priest? I don't think I'll be much help to you. I'm having trouble understanding the gods right now." He looked up at the sky. "If all this is part of a divine plan, I'm not sure I want to have anything to do with it."
If you say, "There is a plan. We're part of it," go to Block 3.
If you say, "Gods or no gods, we need your help," go to Block 4.
----------
2
They sat on a log in a more secluded part of the camp. Martin was now in a positively foul mood, after Templar's insistence that they go somewhere secret.
"No, forget Jauffre at the moment. The Emperor… the Emperor told me to find you."
Martin scowled. "Hah. The Emperor is dead. How could you have spoken to him?"
"I was there, by his side when he died. He gave me the Amulet of Kings, and told me to go to Weynon Priory. Which is where I found out about you…"
"Who are you, exactly, that you were present when the Emperor died? What do you want with me?" Martin replied, a little defensively.
"You are Brother Martin, right? Priest at the Chapel of Akatosh in Kvatch?"
"Until recently, yes." He barked out a laugh. "Yes, I'm a priest. Do you need a priest? I don't think I'll be much help to you. I'm having trouble understanding the gods right now." He looked up at the sky. "If all this is part of a divine plan, I'm not sure I want to have anything to do with it."
If you say, "There is a plan. We're part of it," go to Block 3.
If you say, "Gods or no gods, we need your help," go to Block 4.
----------
3
"There is a plan, Martin, and we're part of it. You, me, the Emperor… something's going on, and we have to stop it."
"What plan? What are you talking about?" Martin asked distractedly. "If I have a part in this, the Gods would tell me. But I prayed to Akatosh all through that terrible night, and no help came. Only more daedra."
"I came," Templar said gently. "The guards came."
"Yes," Martin answered. "You came too late." He sighed. "What can you possibly know that will help me make sense of all of this?"
"I know," Templar said slowly, "that you are the Emperor's son."
"What? Emperor Uriel Septim? Excuse me if I don't believe you right away," the priest replied. "You think the Emperor is my father?"
"Yes. Jauffre said so."
"Well, he's gone mad then. You must have the wrong man – if the Emperor actually does have another son. I am a priest of Akatosh. My father was a farmer, who left me on the steps of… the Chapel."
If you say, "The daedra came here for you," go to Block 5.
If you say, "The Emperor knew you were in danger," go to Block 6.
----------
4
"Gods or no gods, Martin, we need your help."
"We?" he asked skeptically.
"Me, Jauffre, Cyrodiil, the Empire. Jauffre said that it all depends on you."
"What depends on me? A bit of a big responsibility, don't you think? If you came to me for help, you're more of a fool than you look. Look around you. What good is a priest?"
"You can heal. You help people. You even saved a few during the attack."
"Anyone can do that," Martin answered.
"But you were one of the only ones that actually did."
"It was my duty," Martin answered. "It was the least I could do."
"No, it wasn't. It was the most you could do. So don't feel bad about it. Because you're also the Emperor's son."
"Uh – what?! Emperor Uriel Septim? Excuse me if I don't believe you right away," the priest replied. "You think the Emperor is my father?"
"Yes. Jauffre said so."
"Well, he's gone mad then. You must have the wrong man - if the Emperor actually does have another son. I am a priest of Akatosh. My father was a farmer, who left me on the steps of… the Chapel."
If you say, "The daedra came here for you," go to Block 5.
If you say, "The Emperor knew you were in danger," go to Block 6.
----------
5
"You just don't realise it, do you? The daedra came here for you. Not for the city. Dagon knew that you would come to oppose him, so he sent his forces here to kill you. It's all about you, Martin. Without you, we can't do anything to stop what's happening!"
"What, the prince of Oblivion? An entire city destroyed to get at me? All of those people killed, just to destroy me… I'm sure you realise that doesn't make me feel much better," Martin said. "Why? Because I'm the Emperor's… son?" he finished, choking a little on the words.
"Yes. But why would I lie to you, Martin. Give me a reason."
"I can think of many reasons. Perhaps you are stark raving mad and deserve to be locked up in a madhouse, because someone bumped you on the head a little too hard."
"Umm," Templar began. "It's a possibility… but no. Any more suggestions?"
"I don't know… It's strange, but…" Martin sighed, a great big chest-heaver of a sigh. "I think you might be telling the truth."
Go to the Main Story.
----------
6
"That's what you believe, Martin. That's what Jauffre set up, when you were still a baby. But the Emperor knew you would be put in danger, once he died, so he sent me to find you."
"Yes, you said before that you spoke to the Emperor before he died. So the Emperor knew about the attack?"
"He knew that Merhunes Dagon would want to destroy you once the Emperor himself was killed, since you were – are – the only continuation of the Septim line still alive. Only you can light the Dragonfires, and prevent Dagon from invading Cyrodiil."
"The Prince of Oblivion wants to invade? And the Emperor told you to find me? As in, Brother Martin? Light the Dragonfires, because I'm the Emperor's son?"
"Yep. But why would I lie to you, Martin. Give me a reason."
"Uh, because you want to take me out into the woods somewhere and kill me is some sort of bizarre necromancer ritual."
"Nice try, but no. Any more suggestions?"
"I don't know… It's strange, but…" Martin sighed, a great big chest-heaver of a sigh. "I think you might be telling the truth."
Go to the Main Story.
----------
Main Story
"Oh, for the gods' sake, that took a while, didn't it?"
"What does it mean, then? What do you want from me?" Martin asked.
"Come with me to Weynon Priory. See Jauffre. Talk to him for more information, if you want. Even I'm not entirely sure on what this is all about."
Martin thought for a moment. "You destroyed the Oblivion Gate, they say. You gave them hope. You helped the Guard drive the daedra back." He paused, and shook his head. "What am I saying. Well done, even if you almost trampled me with a horse.'
"Yes, that would have been a setback, wouldn't it?"
Martin smiled a little. "Yes. I will come with you to Weynon Priory and hear what Jauffre has to say about all of this. That of course, doesn't mean that I'm entirely convinced. Or that I like you."
"Can't have everything. Second best news I've ever heard for… the last four days. That wasn't so hard, was it?"
"It was, trust me. What was the first best?"
"When I got let out of the Imperial Prison. Go gather your things and I'll be right back. We should get going straight away." With that, Templar headed off through the tents.
"Imperial Prison?" Martin murmured. "Hey, I'm having second thoughts…" He trailed off.
But Templar was already through the guardhouse door. The rest of the guards had appeared inside, talking.
"Quiet!" Templar shouted out. The guards noticed him – and Avarran was there as well, he saw – and a hush descended.
Except for Merandil. "Did you see it?" he whispered, oblivious. "Last night Templar was about to have sex with a-"
"Ahem."
"Oh, Templar, you're back. That was fun last night, wasn't it?"
"No, not really," he replied. "The headache wasn't worth it. Anyway, what I wanted to say was: unfortunately, I have to shoot off to Chorrol, because I've got some stuff to do. The last few days have certainly been… exciting."
""Not leaving us so soon, Templar?" Matius said.
"Yes. I have to go. It's pretty urgent. Related to the Oblivion Gate thing."
"Oh, right. One of those errands. Well."
Templar thought for a moment. "Uh, is there something you wanted to tell me? You said something, on the night after Vonius and I closed the Gate."
"Uh, it's nothing," Matius replied quickly. "I'm sure it was just a one off."
"You sure? Okay. Well, I guess I'll… see you guys later then."
"Anytime you need somewhere to stay, just walk in," Kenith said. "It'd be great."
"Thanks, Kenith," Templar replied gratefully. "Oh, well, I'd best be off. Bye!"
He waved the guards for one last time. "See you, guys. Bye."
"See you, Templar!"
"We'll call you when another Gate pops up, okay? Have fun!"
"Good luck!"
He walked out the door, a little sentimental, and made his way back the priest that would save the world.
"He'd better be some sort of super kung-fu battle monk gorilla, because otherwise he is not worth it."
----------
The pair of them walked along the thickly-forested Gold Road, sunlight dappling the stones beneath their feet. Martin carried a small pack over his shoulder, but had no other possessions. Templar decided that he'd have to get a pack himself, but that was for another time.
They moved aside a bit to let a couple of carriages rattle past, and then resumed walking. Templar could've cut through and gone straight to Chorrol, but decided he wanted to stop off in the Imperial city first, for a bit of shopping.
Martin seemed a little dejected, looking at his feet and not paying attention to anything else – not surprising, considering what Templar had just told him. A horse cantered past, hoofbeats fading off into the midday heat.
"Hey, Martin. You look as if I forced you to come along at knife-point or something."
The priest looked up. "What? Oh, no. I'm just thinking."
"Fair enough. I probably would've forced you to come along at knife point, really, so it's just as well you cooperated."
"Hm."
They kept walking. Up ahead a small lane branched off the main route, leading to a small settlement or perhaps a mine up in the mountains.
"So, you're… a priest of Akatosh?" Templar asked. Flies buzzed around his head, and he waved them away angrily.
"I was last time that I checked." He appeared not to be in the mood for conversation.
"I'm just trying to…" Templar trailed off. "Well. I didn't really ask for this either, you know."
"Does that make me feel better? No, it doesn't. If you don't want to be here, by all means leave. I wouldn't miss your company."
"Well, that's a bit harsh," Templar said. "I don't see you being a barrel of laughs."
Martin glared at him.
Templar sighed. "I think choice is out of the equation now, anyway. We're in for the long run, whether we like it or not."
Martin was silent. Shaking his head, Templar got back to walking. A butterfly flitted past, and cicadas chirped harshly. A small breeze sprang up, giving some welcome relief from the heat. His armour was getting damn hot, but I don't have anything to carry it with, so just be strong like your mother told you.
My mother? Hmmm…
Suddenly, Martin spoke up, surprising Templar a little. "Ah - I just realised I don't know your name. Templar, wasn't it?"
"Templar Estantesec. I think."
"Why the 'I think?'"
"Memory erasure."
"Ah. Well, I suppose I'm Martin… Septim, now."
"Well, it's good to finally meet you, Martin."
There was a pause. "And likewise, Templar."
They passed a small campsite by the road. Ra'sava Camp, said the sign. It seemed to be mainly inhabited by the catlike Khajiit, but there were a few humans scattered in among them too. Someone was doing some metalwork, the sound of an anvil ringing out over and over again.
"Want a rest?" Templar asked.
"No. May as well keep going." Templar thought the priest looked a little sweaty, but didn't mention anything. A legionnaire walked past, nodding his had in greeting.
"Pretty busy road."
"Yep." Martin paused. "You should see it in a few months time. It's harder to squeeze through than a… well, a rat's arse, I suppose."
Templar stared, and laughed suddenly.
"What?" Martin asked irritably.
"Oh, no…no…" Templar began, trying to control himself. "'Rat's arse?' You are an enigma, Martin."
"I was trying to be a little more… I don't know. It was stupid."
"No, it just surprised me, that's all. I'd say that I've walked this road before, but I just can't remember it."
They kept walking. They passed a sign, which showed the distance to Skingrad and the Imperial city. Templar didn't notice it, and instead pulled out the map that Jauffre had given him.
Martin obviously did notice it, and sighed. "That's a lot of walking…"
Templar unfurled the parchment and peered at the delicately drawn symbols. "Well, we're about half-way, and bout to pass the road to Shardrock, whatever that is."
"A small town," Martin answered instantly. "It reaches down to the road, now, so we should be able to see it. Your map must be old."
"Probably. Anyway, we've been walking for four hours, so we should get to Skingrad by five. We left around nine, anyway." He looked up at the sun. "We'll stop there for the night."
"Good idea. It's not recommended to sleep out in the open," Martin replied.
"And we can start early in the morning."
"That too."
Templar kept looking at the map. "Fyrelight Cave," he murmured. "Miscarcand. Harcane Grove. Water's Edge. Ahhh!"
Let them BURN! Hopefully we have done enough.
His vision flashed red, then blue, then red, then blue.
Templar? Dinner's ready!
Feel my power, and let it TRANSFORM YOU!
Read us a story! Please?
And do my bidding…
Take my strength, Templar.
"Templar? Templar!"
Templar found himself lying on the grass by the side of the road, with Martin
shaking him fiercely.
"Oh, thank Akatosh, I thought you'd had a seizure or something." He frowned.
"You did have a seizure or something."
Templar looked around. "Oh, damn. Not again."
"What?"
"Certain things trigger my memories. Smells, sounds, sights. Usually they're bad, but that had some good in it. Although it didn't really feel like a memory…"
Templar? Dinner's ready!
Read us a story. Please?
He tried to hold the images in his mind, but they faded away like sand slipping through his fingers.
----------
It ended up begin six o'clock when they reached Skingrad, because lunch had taken longer than expected – and it was fairly boring city, to tell the truth. Templar had passed through before on his way to Kvatch, but hadn't really been paying attention. The city was split into two halves, north and south, by a road that led to the castle. The castle itself was full of soaring towers and beautifully carved rooftops, and was situated on top of a tall pinnacle of rock, connected to the city by a long, high bridge.
The city was filled with narrow streets and tall, two-or-three story stone houses. While the inhabitants were obviously well off, it was a little overcrowded. Traffic clogged the streets, and people were constantly entering and exiting shops and stores. The industrial district in the northeast corner pumped out smoke which clouded over part of the city, as it was one of the bigger manufacturing centers in Cyrodiil. The biggest building was the chapel, which towered above all others, including the various guildhouses at the south end of the city.
The houses were rather bland, all having the same wooden steps and the same glass windows and the same pointed rooves and the same painted signs. A few had tried to spruce things up a little by adding some greenery, but overall the effect was what was often described as 'meh.'
"Who would want to live here?" Templar half shouted, to be heard over the constant racket.
"No idea." Martin shook his head. "At least Kvatch made an effort."
A farmer with a handcart almost bowled him over, but he managed to stagger backwards and find cover between two houses. "Well, we'd better hurry and find an inn. They're probably all booked full."
After a bit more struggling, they came to a nondescript building called 'The Two Sisters Lodge.'
"Well, it's as good a place as any." Templar pushed the door open and found himself on the second floor of a busy pub. Seats and tables filled the floor, all filled with people, and a fireplace roared in the corner. On the level underneath them, which Templar assumed was below ground, he saw men jostling each other to get a better view of some entertainment act on a stage in the corner, while serving girls buzzed around. A flame-haired orcish woman was hurriedly pouring drinks at a bar on the bottom floor.
Templar turned to Martin. "Hey, Martin."
The person looked up. "I'm not Martin." It was a woman, startlingly beautiful, in a black priest's robe. A woman wreathed in blue fire-
"Oh. Sorry." He looked around, and saw the real Martin stnding a few metres away, looking over the balcony. He walked up and tapped him on the shoulder. "Let's go and see the woman downstairs. See if we can get a bed."
Martin pointed at the revelers. "Look. Some of them are underage. And I'm sure that Dwemer Firewhiskey wasn't legal the last time I looked."
"Oh, lighten up Martin. You'll get over it. Come on." He pushed his way past the tables and down the stairs in the corner, which continued behind him up to the third floor. It was harder going on the bottom floor, but eventually he managed to push his way to the counter. A few people glanced at his armour, but he ignored them.
"Uh, excuse me?"
The orc turned to him. "Oh! I'm Mog gra-Mogahk, proprietor of this inn with my sister. 'Two Sisters', see?" She smiled, baring her fangs. Templar found the effect unnerving. "Now, what can I help you with? Sorry, but I'm a little busy at the moment. Tirdas always is." She waited expectantly.
"I was wondering if you had two rooms that we could rent for the night."
"Two rooms? Oh, I see." She noticed Martin standing quietly behind him. "Two brothers, maybe? That would make a good match. Or maybe just friends. Anyway, we do have a few rooms left. The first room on the third floor has two beds."
"Okay. How much is it?"
"Twenty Septims. We're cheaper than those West Weald idiots on the other side of town."
"Great." Templar reached for his rather battered purse and counted out two ten-gold pieces. "Uh, are there baths up there?"
"Sure. Just make sure you don't use too much water. Have a good night." The orc smiled again and handed out the keys. "We've got some really great performers coming up, so come down and have a look if you want, once you've unpacked."
"Okay. Thanks." The two companions made their way up to the third floor, which was mercifully quiet.
Templar took the key and opened up the room. It was simple, with just the two beds, a cupboard, a few chairs and a tapestry hanging from one wall. Another door opened up into the bathroom.
"Well, you can get worse," Templar said. "I slept in the forest once and was almost eaten by a bear. And let me tell you, trees are not good sleeping spots."
"Well, you've been busy."
Templar began unstrapping his armour, throwing it to the floor gratefully. "Remind me. I'll have to get a new tunic as well." His old one was stained with dirt and blood, with a few rips and tears to round it out. "Oh well, I'm off to that bath. I've been looking forward to it."
"You need it," Martin said fervently.
----------
It was dark outside. Templar and Martin lay in their respective beds. Templar had gone downstairs to have a drink and talk a bit, but soon discovered that the Argonian band playing was almost unbearable to listen to.
"So… where are you from, Templar?" Martin asked reflectively.
"I don't know. They took that from me, unfortunately. I imagine water every time I think of it, so maybe it was by a river somewhere."
"Hm." Martin twisted the ring that curled around his index finger, which glinted silver in the dim light.
"What's the ring?" Templar asked.
"Oh, it just shows my rank. All priests wear different-coloured robes depending on the god they're devoted to, and have a different ring according to their status."
"Oh, okay. Sounds cool."
"Not really." Martin sighed. A lot of sighing had been going on lately. "The Emperor's son. I hope it's not true, but I also hope it is, in a way."
Templar thought he saw a tear creep down Martin's cheek. "Oh, don't be such a turtle, Martin. You haven't had to wade through legions of bloody daedra just to collect a priest."
Martin looked at him, and Templar saw that he was thinking about something else entirely.
"Well, you didn't have to watch while my city burned!"he whispered furiously.
"Your city? Your city? It's great to see you're so selfish, Martin. You'll make a fine Emperor."
There was silence.
Oh, by the gods, that was pedantic. 'Your city.' Why did I say that?
Dammit, dammit, dammit! Idiot!
"You really have no idea what you're talking about, do you?" Martin said quietly. "Just shut up, Templar."
Templar didn't answer. Or at least, he answered in his head.
Oh, boy.
I can see that this is the start of a beautiful friendship.