A/N: I've been noticing I tend to introduce themes of sin and forgiveness perhaps more than they are merited by the theology of the Aedra in lore. This is because I'm a Christian and they form a major part of my own theology. Consider yourselves lucky I haven't tried to tell you Martin Septim died for your sins. :D

There's not really a parallel between Aedric and Christian theology, since in Christian theology sin and redemption can both occur without any external activity by the Christian at all – a person who is totally quadruplegic and mute can still sin, repent and be forgiven for it, whereas a person who is very active in good deeds can still burn in Hell for being unrepentant of one hidden sin of which no one else is aware.

I think what I'm trying to get at here is that in Oblivion, you can't be condemned for your thoughts, but only your actions; similarly, it is not internal repentance, but only deeds which can redeem you. There are terrestrial religions where that is the case, but mine isn't one of them. It makes for an interesting exercise in comparative theology when writing about fantasy religious systems.

Chapter 25

Esgeriad left the Arena District as quickly as he could. He stopped at an inn in Talos Plaza to clean himself and his things, but he went to redeem his horse not long after that. (He left the one Varanu had ridden with a message, one last futile gesture.) By that time the sky was dimming. He ignored it. He planned to put off sleeping for as long as possible. I have seen more horrors in one day than I could have envisioned in a long life. Besides, the longer he stayed, the harder it would be to move on from the part of his life with Arkay's Knight in it to the rest of it without her.

Even to an Altmeri, that seemed like a very long time.

He rode slowly but without stopping for a long time, singing the saddest song he knew. Bandits did not trouble him. He might, had he been paying closer attention, heard an occasional sniffle from the bushes, but he was far too preoccupied to notice.

He had begun by a peculiar fascination – perverse, in fact, he thought glumly. But Dibella was known to love surprises. It would have been entirely too pedestrian had he gone on for the rest of a protracted existence harmlessly doing good to a few and harm to no one. Instead, he had to be dragging himself down into filthy caves at the back of a surly, suspicious, and frequently profane Dunmeri woman who lacked a significant number of the virtues he had once thought most important in the opposite sex.

And who possesses in great measure all of those which I myself most lack, he told himself ruthlessly. Courage. Resolve. The willingness to sacrifice for the preservation of life, not for accrual of greater comfort to herself. Is this not why I wished to deny the Lady's call?

He had killed for Varanu, and he had never thought to do that for anyone, ever. He would once have gladly died for – what was her name? Narenwyn? It had been a very long time – but the thought of violence toward another living creature was abhorrent to him and always had been. It is not so with Varanu Ashazzarnitashpi. Within his own mind he had been entirely too ready to condemn Arkay's Knight for that, and further, to believe she was imperceptive of that condemnation.She'd damned him to his face, which was something else no one had ever, ever done. He'd been too charming for that – if in a personal rather than a magical sense - and he'd avoided the kind of people who could not be won over.

And Dibella had sent one to him instead. And he, insufficiently appreciative of that gift, had thrown it away. And is it not for this reason that the Lady has taken from me the perfection of body on which I so prided myself? Damn me to a thousand fiery hells, indeed. His scars did hurt him, even after he had healed them, and the Necklace of Molag most of all. Pain was slightly below filth on the level of things he had hoped never to experience in quantity, but it was bad enough.

About halfway between the Imperial City and Anvil, his knee joints started to hurt as well. He noticed it only in passing. He did notice, a few miles later, when his wrists and elbows started to hurt as well. Esgeriad reined up, wincing, and pulled off one gauntlet. There was an angry ring around his left wrist, a bracelet drawn in livid flesh. He checked the other one quickly. It was the same. What further curse is this?

He tried his cure spell. Nothing happened. He tried a dispel, in case it was a curse. Nothing. The marks were ugly, Esgeriad thought. It would serve him right if they were permanent. No. Pain interferes with my intellectual clarity, I know this. I will seek counsel at the Chapel.

It was daylight the next day by the time he rode listlessly up to the stable outside Anvil. The horse seemed glad to see him go. Ha. The worried man staffing the place asked if he were all right, but he seemed satisfied upon being informed that Esgeriad was on his way to the Chapel. "Some trifling indisposition, nothing more," Esgeriad said, smiling wanly, and went on his way.

Anvil was not a very large town, but it seemed a long time before he came to the Chapel on its cobbled pavement beside the Castle Gate. He walked as quickly as the growing pain in his joints allowed, keeping his head lowered in hopes that no one he knew would recognize him. As if my armor were not conspicuous enough. I did choose it for that reason, did I not?

He seized the handle of one of the great doors as if it were his hope of heaven and stepped into the cool shadow inside. One of the priests, a slender dark-haired man named Cavaticus, recognized him at once. "Esgeriad is here!" he said quietly, but his resonant voice carried extremely well. "Hello, dear Knight, whatever brings you back to – oh."

Esgeriad had brushed back his hair so that the priest could see his face. He suspected he did not want to know what the man saw there.

"Dear me, you're ill," said Cavaticus. "And I'm between you and the altar. Tsk. May I assist?"

"No, Brother, thank you," Esgeriad said, and made his way to the Altar of the Nine.

The Altar did not cure him. Esgeriad leaned with both hands on the stone and his head bowed. For the sin of leaving one whom I love, I cannot be forgiven. This I understand. He heard some sort of exclamation from behind him, and then Cavaticus' retreating feet. A moment later another set of footsteps approached. A voice said sternly, "Esgeriad!"

He thought he recognized the voice. Esgeriad straightened his back, stifling a wince, and turned slowly. The priestess Laralnane regarded him with a beautiful golden eye, staring down her graceful nose. She, too, was Altmeri, but he had always known her to be of a gentle disposition. The look she was giving him was very unlike her.

"Sister?" he said.

"I have a message for you," she said. "From Dibella."

Esgeriad covered his face with his gauntlets as he sank to one knee. "Yes, My Lady. I don't suppose you could refrain from striking me this time?"

---

Varanu cleaned up at the Temple of the One and hurried out of town. She never planned to stop at the stable outside Talos Plaza. In fact, she was on her way past it when the Orcish woman who ran it came out to accost her. "Hey, Lady! You were with Esgeriad here earlier, right?"

"That's right," Varanu said warily.

"He left you a horse," said the Orc. A slit-pupiled eye looked Varanu over as if dubious that she had earned such an honor. "Said I should tell you it's yours to do with as you please. Or something like that. You know how he talks." She smiled, pulling her lips around her stubby tusks.

"I do," Varanu said. "Thanks."

So she rode to Bruma rather than walk. The black horse seemed to share the Orc's attitude regarding Varanu's worthiness, but it cooperated. This was just as well, since she didn't plan to stop until she got there (though by this time the sun was setting). She was deathly tired, but she was too angry with herself to sleep.

Blind, stupid, ugly s'wit, she told herself over and over again. Gods. The poor deluded fetcher actually told me he loved me. Me. And what did I do? I insulted him. A whole bunch of times, she added glumly. And he never seemed to notice it much before, but this time it took. Small wonder. He must've been working up to that for a while.

He'll be all right, she tried to tell herself. He's still gorgeous. He'll find some ridiculously beautiful mer somewhere and settle down for the next hundred and fifty years and raise a bunch of mincing blond brats. He doesn't love me. I was just the only woman he'd talked to for the last several weeks.

But that wasn't really fair to Esgeriad, and not enough blame to her. She'd hurt him. She'd been able to see that when they parted company. He would've had me even though he did think, for the longest time, that I was a murderess. That's no passing fancy, and after thirty years' abstinence he has to be enough in control not to jump on the first eligible female that appears. Maybe if I'd said I was sorry... Maybe if I'd apologized...

And then what? She honestly wasn't sure she could tell the mer she loved him. She wasn't sure she could say that to anyone, anywhere, ever again. I loved Almalexia, once. I swore I would never love man or mer or god that way ever again. I chose Arkay because he would never ask it of me.

And she couldn't sign up for anything less, because that wouldn't be fair to Esgeriad either.

Sotha's Arms, she thought, profaning the name of a dead god without a second thought. I could've given it a try. It's too late now. I won't see him again.

About halfway to Bruma, when the terrain was just starting to climb, she started to notice the pain in her joints. The Necklace had burned her for a while, but she had expected that. The curse of a daedra isn't that easy to shake. But this is something else. She didn't think much about it; she'd caught diseases from undeads plenty of times, and it wasn't any worse than knockjoint. She would go to the Altar once she got to the Chapel of Arkay, and that would be the end of it.

It wasn't. When she finally got down from the black horse and made her tired, sore way to the Chapel in the snowy light of day, when she placed her hands on the Altar of the Nine...

Nothing happened.

"What?" she hissed at the inert round of stone. The Altar was persistently silent. Varanu jerked the empty unguent vial from her neck and went to the Altar of Arkay in the corner. She held the vial over it. It glowed, and she watched as the liquid level rose back to the top.

"I see," she said quietly. There is no cure for me, but I am not released from service. "All right. I'd have let you burn me up. I suppose this is no worse." She stepped back from the Altar, knelt, and very deliberately touched her forehead to the floor. Then she got up, her joints screaming as if she were already as old as she felt, and prepared to leave.

Tychicus Varen was waiting for her in the aisle. She hadn't heard him approach.

"I am pleased to see you return, Knight of Arkay," he said. "Where is your companion?"

"He l – we parted company," Varanu said. "It was no kind of business for Dibella's Knight, but he stood it like a soldier. You were right about him."

"You will see him again," Tychicus said. "I only hope his affliction will permit him to travel this far."

"His affl – oh, Hells." I just assumed a Knight of Dibella couldn't catch things as easily as I do. He's spent all his time where it's clean and pretty. "You'd better not be pulling my leg, Tychicus," she said.

The Imperial cocked his head. "I have never been known to joke," he said calmly. "If you will follow me down to the Undercroft, I will see what I can do for you."

"Forget it," Varanu said grimly. "I'm going to go find Esgeriad."