Author's Note: Sorry about the wait, blah, blah blah... Also, to Shiridan – I cna raed this. And ignore the end of the chapter. If Baurus seems a little... edgy, all will be revealed.

EDIT: Anyone found some more good Oblivion novelisations? I've looked at a few myself, and I'm always looking for more stuff to copy – ahem – looking for more inspiration.

The Path of Dawn

Cloud Ruler Temple, North of Bruma, The Jerall Mountains, Hearthfire 5 3E433

"Okay, a brief summary. Bullet points, please."

Templar, Jauffre, Martin and Captain Steffan sat around one of the tables in the centre of the great hall. It was early morning, the sun just beginning to seep in through the windows. Jauffre had called a meeting to plan their next move.

"If the Amulet is truly the key to restoring the barriers between our world and Oblivion, we must waste no time in recovering it," Martin said. "So we… I… can take it to the Temple of the One and light the Dragonfires and stop the Oblivion invasion." He finished in a rush.

Templar glanced at the priest. "Very good, top marks. In any case, it's clear we need to get the Amulet before anything else happens. Now, what are we going to do about Martin?"

"You don't need to do anything about me," Martin snorted.

"Yes we do."

Jauffre ignored them. "Captain Steffan can protect Martin here until the Amulet is recovered." The Captain nodded, and leant back in his chair.

Fine. Don't say anything. "Okay. That's good. What if they teleport in again?"

"Doesn't matter. They'd need to know the place very well to avoid teleporting into a wall, and I trust every one of my Blades," Jauffre continued.

Captain Steffan nodded again.

"And what about Oblivion?" Templar asked.

"Well, not much we need to know there. There's several realms, each ruled by its own Daedric Prince. We're dealing with only one, but that's more than enough considering it's ruled by the Prince of Destruction. You can expect that he wants everyone in Tamriel dead, no matter what the Gods say about it. And he undoubtedly has the tools to accomplish that."

"Yes, his realm's not a very nice place. I've been there. The Dragonfires?"

"They don't look very special, except for being a nice purple colour, but the most likely hypothesis is that they were created at the founding of Cyrodiil to protect the barrier between our world and Oblivion."

There was a pause.

"So who killed the Emperor? Who attacked the priory?"

"We don't know," Jauffre replied.

"Wait…" Templar thought. "Didn't you say something about a daedric cult? The Mythic Dawn?"

"Yes, but we're not certain they're involved. They're a mysterious cult that no one knows much about, and they're never directly linked to any big uprisings. However, we believe they worship Merhunes Dagon. And they wear red robes."

"I see... And the Elder Council rules while we're off gallivanting around Cyrodiil."

"Idiots," Captain Steffan snorted. "Of course, we don't answer to them. We're not an arm of the government."

More pauses. "So…" Martin said. "What do we do about it?"

"You're the Emperor," Templar replied.

"And you're my advisors," he retorted. "So come on, any ideas?"

"Well… we have to recover the Amulet before the enemy takes it out of reach," Jauffre said. "And it's logical to think that it's being held in the Mythic Dawn headquarters, if they are responsible."

"Where's that?"

"I don't know."

"Ah."

"I have an idea, though. There must be a way in which the 'worthy' can become members of the Mythic Dawn, if they look hard enough."

"What's that?"

"I don't know," Jauffre said again.

Templar sighed. "We'd better start looking, then."

Captain Steffan turned to the old priest. "Grandmaster. Private Baurus requested an assignment down in the Elven Gardens, watching a suspected Mythic Dawn agent. Perhaps we can start there."

"By the gods, Sarsen, he'll do something stupid – why did you let him go!?" Jauffre yelled suddenly.

"Well, it wouldn't so much good keeping him up here, would it?" the Blade replied. "At least he has a chance of finding something useful."

Jauffre seemed to regret his sudden outburst. "Yes. I know. It's just that… oh well. Maybe he's learned something about the assassins. How about we send you, Templar? I'm sure that you're looking for something to keep you out of trouble."

"Key word being out. Actually, I'm quite happy to sit around here being bored all day."

"No, you aren't."

Damn. He's right. How did it ever come to this? "Okay, okay. Fine. I'll go" There, you've said it now. "When do I leave?"

---

"Hobbies?" Templar asked.

"Umm… chess. Drawing? A bit of sport, now and then."

"Favourite colour?"

"Yellow."

"Damn, everyone around here likes yellow. Any siblings?"

"Two brothers, both in Cheydinhal."

Templar scribbled down this last bit of information. Name… yes, age… yes, family… yes, like and dislikes… He nodded. "That'll probably be it. But, uh… my real reason for coming down here was to see if I could get some arrows."

Templar was in the temple's armoury, finally deciding to do something about his arrow problem. Over the last few hours he'd been trying to get to know all the Blades, seeing as he was now officially one of them. Most of them didn't seem too annoyed with his little checklist.

The armourer was a weary-looking Nord, Ferrum – good name – who had a red glow to his cheeks from the stifling heat.

The armourer sighed. "Of course. You don't need to ask. Just don't take too many, okay, because Baragon also needs some."

"Thanks." The armoury was a stuffy little room underneath the temple's eastern wing, a couple of thin windows letting in some light. The somewhat low roof was supported by thick wooden crossbeams, and shelves and tables lined the walls, laden with armour and weaponry. Lanterns hung from the roof, and a red-hot forge stood in one corner, next to a battered training dummy. Templar dodged around a bench and selected twenty steel arrows from one of the shelves, slotting them into his quiver.

"Anything else?" Ferrum asked.

"Umm… doesn't it get kind of hot in here, when the forge is going?"

"I manage."

"Oh. Well… nice meeting you. Maybe I'll play you in chess sometime."

"I've already got a playing partner."

"Oh. Okay. Bye, then."

Templar left, climbing back up the stairs. That went well.

As he walked back up to his room, Templar kept glancing over his list. Belisarius: Private, twenty-three, likes warm weather, has a strange liking for strong cheeses. Caroline: Corporal, twenty-seven, likes dogs, warm weather and polished armour. I'll have to get onto that. Steffan: Captain, thirty-eight, likes warm weather and people who don't go around asking silly questions.

"Are my questions silly?" he murmured to himself.

"What?"

Templar realised he'd been staring into space for a half a minute. "Nothing. Actually, Cyrus, I've been meaning to ask you something. Are there baths here?"

"No. Unless you want to go dip in a frozen lake."

"Isn't that uncomfortable?"

"Not if you go in a big group," one of the other Blades interrupted. What was his name? Roland? Roliand?

"It all sounds vaguely sexual," Templar replied.

"Not really. It's too damn cold, you see."

"I see." No further information needed. "Another question. What exactly do you guys do up here?"

"Well… we all rotate through basic guard duty and intelligence gathering. There's still five or six of us out there, doing some damage control. But since we've only got one person to guard now, it's all… empty. Everyone's a bit subdued, really. We've lost six Blades in the last month, and three potential Emperors."

Templar couldn't find any adequate words of sympathy.

"But…" Cyrus began. "Life up here isn't totally boring."

---

Templar set off the next morning for the Imperial City. It was overcast, the world filled with dull greys and browns. Trees appeared as bare, spindly sticks, their leaves carpeting the ground below them.

Roliand crouched down and peeked around the corner. He whispered over his shoulder. "He's still there. Caroline's still trying to make him go away."

"Well, just make sure he doesn't see you," Cyrus replied.

"Wait – I think he's leaving. Yeah, they're going down the stairs."Roliand disappeared around the corner. "All clear."

Templar followed the group of Blades into the dormitory. Cyrus was carrying a cloth sack that was jiggling alarmingly.

"Which one's his helmet?"

"This one. Here, put it on his bed."

One of the Blades took a helmet off the shelf and placed it on Private Pelagius' bedroll. "Ready? I'll trap it underneath as you tip it out."

"Okay." Cyrus kneeled down and opened the cloth bag carefully. He quickly tipped it up and something furious and black scuttled out, scrambling over the bedroll and across the floor.

"Get it! Get it!"

"It's in the corner!"

"Keep your voices down!"

The Blade with the helmet dived to the floor and slammed it over the scorpion. Templar noticed that the scorpion was quite.... large. "You sure it won't bite him?"

The Blade carefully slid the helmet over the floor and back onto the bed, keeping the scorpion trapped underneath. "No. He can run quite fast when he feels like it. And we're all trained healers, so he won't be in excruciating pain for very long." He stood up and wiped his hands, leaving a shiny helmet sitting innocently on Pelagius' pillow.

"I do feel kind of sorry for him," Templar confessed.

"Don't. I think he actually likes it. Now, how about a bit of table tennis before training?"

The snow from a few days before had melted, leaving the ground rocky and bare. Streams bubbled brightly with the new flow of water. Templar began the long descent down the mountains, following a group of travelling merchants.

"Ooooohhh!"

The ball soared into the air to the wonderment of the many onlookers, arcing down towards the other side of the table.

"Smash! Smash!"

Baragon slammed the ball down. The blur of orange bounced off the table and clipped Templar's ear.

"Ow!"

Someone handed the ball back to him. "Sixteen-twenty."

He raised the ball and hit it back across the table. Baragon deflected it down the line, and Templar sliced a backhand to the opposite corner.

Tock-ticktock-ticktock-

"Ah, damn." Templar's shot sailed into the net. "You win. Who's up next?" He handed the bat to Captain Steffan.

Baragon smiled menacingly. "You haven't beaten me in days, Captain."

The captain smiled back. Tock-ticktock-ticktock-

The trees were again thick on either side, though some were beginning to yellow with the onset of autumn. The day was still hot, even without the sun. The merchants had turned towards Cheydinhal, their carts trundling off to the left at the next junction.

"You technique is horrible, you know." Caroline watched him as he aimed, bowstring drawn to his shoulder.

"I'm self –taught," he grunted. The arrow thwacked in the target, around twenty centimetres from the centre.

"If that was a moving person, you probably would have missed. Here, give it to me."

She took the bow and Templar handed her an arrow. "Well, it's not very well balanced," she said reprovingly.

"Really? I'll have a word with Varnado about that." Templar frowned.

On either side, several more Blades were indulging in some archery practice. Captain Steffan prowled among them, ready to leap upon any mistakes. Like a bull in a china shop as it were, Templar imagined, that is also very sick and will throw up all over you at the slightest provocation.

Caroline aimed quickly and fired. The arrow slammed into the outside edge of the bullseye. "Hm. I'm better than you, at least. Have it back." She handed the bow to him and he took another arrow.

Then Captain Steffan tapped him on the shoulder. "Private Templar. Over here, please."

They walked over to the side.

"Having you as a Blade is really just a formality so we can keep you close to Martin and make you useful, so I'm not going to make a big deal about it. But I still wanted to talk before you leave tomorrow."

"Okay." At least he's not commenting on my utterly brilliant marksmanship.

"Baurus is on surveillance duty at Luther Broad's boarding house in the Imperial City. We've had no word from him or anyone else down there, so I assume he's still alright. But when you get there, do what he says. He's a Blade for a reason, and he knows what he's doing. You don't. However, if things start getting out of hand, I want you and Baurus back here. There are other ways to do this. Understood?"

"Yes." Templar shrugged. What else was there to say?

"Then stay safe, and may Talos be with you."

The path kept winding down the mountainside. Templar kept walking. Life in the Blades was hard, but it did have its moments.

---

It was late afternoon by the time Templar reached the Imperial City bridge. And it was raining. He didn't even bother complaining.

The familiar stones of the bridge passed underneath his feet, burnt-out fires lining the railings. A ship was anchored about fifty metres to starboard, sails rising up out of the gloom, swaying gently in the wind.

I wouldn't like to sail on a ship. Too much openness, no shelter from all that sun. And nowhere to hide when you have to-

What?

Nowhere to hide when you...

Hungry? Darkness?

An especially large drop of water fell from one of the arches overhead and splashed onto his neck. He shivered as the wetness trickled down his back. "Stupid arches," he muttered violently. "Stupid fires. Stupid bridge."

He thought for a moment.

"Stupid heavy picked filled with stupid heavy armour and stupid heavy food. Stupid-"

"Hey, watch where you're going!" Templar almost collided with a man huddled in a long, soaking wet cloak, who glared at him as he passed.

"Stupid man."

The man looked over his shoulder. "What?"

Templar kept walking. "Stupid man in a stupid cloak in some stupid rain..." You must be in a hurry to come out in weather like this. Going to see the girlfriend, maybe?

"I bet she's stupid. Or maybe you're running off to ballet lessons. With a horse. Yeah, ballet with a horse. That would be stupid."

Wait. I've heard that voice. Was that?-

"Baurus?" Templar turned around and took a second look at the man. There was the faint outline of a sword hilt underneath the cloak, and metal glinted on his shoulders.

"What – oh, Templar. Hey." The Blade seemed flustered for a moment, then regained his composure. "What are you doing here?"

"Coming to see you, actually. Sorry that I called you stupid."

He looked down. "Don't worry. Anyway, I didn't know you were coming. I suppose you're here about the Mythic Dawn?..."

"Yes." Templar paused. "Do you think they..."

"Killed the Emperor?" Baurus finished quietly. "Yes. I think so. No proof yet, but... it's just a feeling."

"Okay. Umm..." Templar thought back to the first time they'd met. "I don't know how to say this, but... no hard feelings?"

The Emperor died.

The Blade sighed, but didn't answer. "Well, I guess I'd better show you what I've found. I was just on my way to deliver a message, actually, but it can wait."

Templar saw that he was holding a letter of some sort. He managed to catch a few words. "Hurry. They're onto us. I think-"

"I think the Mythic Dawn know we're watching them," Baurus said quietly. "Jauffre will have to change his plans."

---

"Oh. I'm disappointed." Templar frowned.

"What?" Baurus asked.

"Every time I've been here – well, twice – there's been a legionnaire who seems compelled to offer me a game of cards."

"You've only been here twice?"

"Memory erasure's a bitch." Templar tried to lighten up the atmosphere with a feeble joke, which was rather hard as the entire world seemed to be against him doing this.

He saw the familiar dragon statue that had greeted him on his first visit, the square this time devoid of people, and Baurus led him to the left, down a wide avenue. The Blade pulled his cloak tighter around him, apparently ignorant of the fact that it was wetter than an actual river. "How is everyone back at the Temple?" he asked softly.

"Pretty good. Life as usual, I guess. Captain Steffan beat Baragon at table tennis, which was quite spectacular."

Baurus smiled, a little painfully. "The Captain would've loved that."

It must be painful, being stuck down here. I suppose he just wants justice. You can't blame him for being a little withdrawn.

They walked through the Talos Plaza district in silence, the rain becoming a steady, miserable drizzle. Every now and then someone would rush past in a whirlwind of wet hair and skin, on their way to something excruciatingly important, or a carriage would clatter past and splash them thoroughly. Otherwise, the roads were empty. Templar could occasionally hear muffled conversation from behind firmly closed and probably warm and cosy doors.

"So, who have you been watching?" Templar asked, to break the silence.

"There's a man named Astav Wirich who should be at Luther Broad's Boarding House. He's been going to meetings at weird hours and I found a set of red robes in his cupboard. However, he's very good at not being followed."

"You're allowed to search people's houses?"

"We're above the law, remember? Anyway, we think Wirich is a Mythic Dawn initiate. There's a few other Blades scattered around trying to find out anything else. Not having much luck, though." Baurus grunted, and was silent again.

They entered the Elven Gardens as the sun descended below the horizon. Watchmen began trooping around with torches, trying the light the braziers scattered throughout the narrow streets as darkness fell. A few children in ragged clothes chased each other through the rain. The streets of the district were narrow, criss-crossing each other to form rectangles packed with houses. Most of them were two-storey constructions made of clean grey stone, roofed with green tiles. Gnarled trees and the occasional park bench made little natural islands in the sea of humanity.

Eventually, Baurus stopped in front of an unassuming little door on the corner of a larger stone building. "This is it," he said casually. A small cast-iron sign sticking out from the wall announced that it was indeed Luther Broad's boarding house. Templar never would have noticed it otherwise, as the ashen stone seemed to blend into the light rain. There were a few bushes and wooden boxes scattered around the entrance, and a pair of small windows above the door. Baurus opened it and ducked inside.

It was fairly standard, as boarding houses go. They stepped into a large room with a tiled sandstone floor and a high vaulted roof, filled with rough tables and benches. There were around twenty people sitting and eating and Templar's ears were overwhelmed with the murmur of conversation, the occasional bout of laughter ringing out above the noise. There was a long bar to one side, stacked with bottles and barrels, manned by several harassed-looking individuals. Torches hung from the ceiling, and a set of stairs to the rear led to the other levels.

Baurus scanned the room silently. "Looks like he's not here," he muttered.

"Ha! You're out. And you said I couldn't-"

"Hey, Wirich! You want to keep playing, or have you lost enough money already?"

"Hurry up and deal."

"Okay, okay. Five cards each."

Templar turned to him. "Wasn't that guy's name Wirich or something?"

"You're right," Baurus said, a little anxiously. Suddenly, he moved off into the crowd, beckoning Templar to follow. The Blade took a seat at the bar and called for a drink. "Sit down and don't say anything," he said quietly. Templar obeyed, and sat down next to him.

"Listen. I'm going to get up in a minute and walk out of here. That guy in the corner with the long grey hair will follow me. You wait here until I come back."

"What? I'm not staying here."

"Yes you are. It'll be better if I go alone."

"Nope. I'm coming with you," Templar said stubbornly.

Baurus sighed. "Fine. I'll go first, and you follow me after a few minutes. Okay?"

"Okay. By the way, the enemy have taken the Amulet."

To Templar's surprise, Baurus didn't even blink. "I know," he replied. "I've been told. Anyway, just be quiet. I'm going." The Blade stood up. "And remember to wait. I want to see what he does." He walked off, weaving through the tables towards the stairs to the cellar, and abruptly disappeared from view.

Templar watched. After about half a minute, a grey-haired man with brown clothes got up from one of the tables and walked down the same set of steps.

"Did your friend order a beer?" a voice said in front of him. It was Luther Broad himself.

"Uh, yes. I'll keep it safe for him." Templar took the glass and stared at it reflectively. Then he took a sip. He looked up, and saw the barman staring at him thoughtfully.

"He won't mind," Templar said quickly.

"I'm sure he won't. You've got a moustache."

"What? Oh." Templar wiped a hand across his lips to remove the froth. Has that been a two minutes? I'm sure it has.

"I'm, uh, just going to the toilet," Templar announced. He stood up and walked over to the stairs, trying to be discreet. I'm not spying on a death cult, I'm just having a stretch. At the stairs, he stopped and listened for a moment, but couldn't hear anything that indicated life-threatening danger. He slipped around the corner and started descending, keeping one hand on his sword-hilt.

The stairs were dark, only a few candles lighting the way. He reached a landing stacked high with barrels and continued downwards, feeling his way along.

Suddenly, he heard raised voices coming from the room below. They were muffled by the stone, and he couldn't make anything.

"Baurus?" Templar called out.

The voices stopped. Then-

Clanngggg!

Swords clashed.

That is definitely the sound of life-threatening danger. And here I am, running towards it. As usual.

Templar leapt down the rest of the stairs and emerged into the cellar. A few dim torches hung from the ceiling, casting deep shadows in the corners. Shelves of bottles stretched across the room.

Clanngggg!

Baurus had dropped his cloak and drawn his sword. Astav Wirich was nowhere to be seen, and had been replaced by a Mythic Dawn assassin, wearing sharp plated armour over deep red robes. The assassin was wielding a vicious-looking mace and has his back to Templar, but Baurus was having trouble blocking his blows.

Templar drew his sword and ran forwards. Then Baurus unexpectedly ducked under the assassin's swing so he was directly in Templar's path.

Bam!

Templar slammed into the Blade and they collapsed to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Templar felt something slice across his chest and immediately regretted his lack of armour. Then there was a blaze of silver and the assassin jumped over them, morphing back to normal, armour disappearing in mid-air. Astav Wirich ran for the stairs. Templar reached out a hand-

Zap!

A bolt of electricity shot from his fingers and hit the assassin in the back. He tripped and fell to the floor, groaning. Baurus hurriedly untangled himself and ran over to the man, while Templar pressed his shirt into the cut where Baurus' sword had nicked him.

"He's dead," the Blade said.

"What? That bolt wasn't strong enough to kill him."

"Hmph," Baurus snorted. "You're obviously stronger than you think. Maybe he hit his head on the steps. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, it's just a cut. Another one won't hurt."

"That's the attitude I like to see." The Blade seemed much more relaxed. There isn't much else to do when your target is lying dead in front of you.

"Templar, help me search the body." Baurus was patting down the man's pockets. He found a purse with a few gold coins and pocketed it. "If he's got family we'll send it to them – otherwise, the Blades can always use some extra funds," he explained.

Then Templar saw something lying on the floor by the wall. He picked it up.

It was a book with a battered red cover, covered in angular black lettering which looked faintly demonic. It was fairly thin, containing only a handful of browning pages. He opened it to the first page and glanced at the title.

Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes, Book 1. Sounds kinda mystical.

"Hey. Look at this." Templar handed the book to Baurus. "Think it's important?"

"I don't know," he said slowly. "I think one of the other Blades said something about a book, but I'm not sure. I might investigate it myself."

Templar was silent for a moment. "Actually, Baurus, can I do that? I need something to keep me occupied.."

The Blade looked worried. "You sure? That book might be dangerous."

"No, I'll do it. But Astav Wirich had the same armour as the men who killed the Emperor. If we are dealing with the Mythic Dawn, they must be pretty widespread."

"You have no idea. We run into them everywhere, but can never manage to actually catch them doing something. I guess they did notice I was onto them."

There was a silence for a moment.

"We found Uriel's heir, as well," Templar added.

"Really?" Baurus said surprisedly. "Well, I didn't know that. I suppose that can only mean good news for us."

"If he doesn't manage to die on us as well." That is entirely possible, considering his stupidity. He'll probably accidentally fall of the wall of the Temple and break his neck, knowing our luck. But I do like him, secretly. Promise!

"The Blades will protect Martin until he can claim his throne, don't worry. Or we'll die trying."

Well, that's a rather stereotypical answer. But comforting all the same. There was another pause. Templar flipped through his new book idly.

"Tell me, Baurus..." he began. "What happened down there, after I left."

"Nothing. Don't-

Baurus watched as Templar disappeared into the gloom.

"Talos is a god. I'm sure he can multitask..."

"So Glenroy's dead?"

"Akatosh save us."

He felt the brave face he'd put on fade away. But he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe the Emperor could've lived. In someone else had been there-

No.

In spite of everything, he was still grateful. It was just that he still loved the Emperor. It was all he'd ever known. But there was a cold, hard body on the floor behind him, and that was all that mattered.

A cold, hard body...

"If I die, it is for a reason. The world will go on. Another will rise to take my place. I have seen many hardships, but through the storm lies a new era of hope."

A new era of hope. If only he knew...

Water dripped from the ceiling, echoing softly as it hit the floor. Dust lay in the air, disturbed from years of rest by the... assassination. The slaughter.

May Talos guide us to our destiny.

There lies a choice between Creation and Destruction.

We must all play our part.

With your help, may we prosper for the benefit of all.

He knelt over the Emperor's body for a long while, until he heard the booted feet of his comrades come running to assist them. Except that it was no longer 'them.' There was only one left. One who shouldn't be left.

They were too late.

Too late.

-worry about it."

I don't think he's quite over it yet. Maybe he still blames me a little. But time passes. "Okay. I won't. By the way, Jauffre sends his regards. He says... you shouldn't blame yourself for the Emperor's death. And you did well to send me to him"

"Oh. Okay." The Blade smiled. "I hope you don't regret it. And I am glad to see you, by the way. You just caught me at a bad time."

---

The moon was bright, casting silvery across the world. Baurus sat on his bed, muttering softly. "Dammit, Templar. Wirich could have been alive if it wasn't for your f--king interference." He sighed, and stood up. "The Emperor could've been alive, and that could've-"

The next thing he felt was a knife pressed up against his throat. A voice spoke out of the darkness.

"Well, someone's been looking around in very dark places..."