Special thanks to 16DarkMidnight80 for going over this.
-K-
Records of this battle vary wildly. What we do know is that Mehrunes Dagon was defeated and sent back to Oblivion. The avatar of Akatosh was turned to stone and can be seen to this day in the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. With the Amulet gone, the Dragonfires quenched, and the last Dragonblood Emperor dead, the barrier to Oblivion is sealed forever.
'The Oblivion Crisis' by Praxis Sarcorum, Imperial Historian
-K-
"What do you mean 'no and yes'?" I asked hotly, scowling at the Dremora. "Explain yourself."
Kathutet glared at me, his attention fixed, his eyes burning like live coals, lip curled.
I held up the hand with the ring on it. "Start at the pertinent beginning. Speak and speak truthfully. Or I'll let Keeper Carcette make life very uncomfortable for you."
"I can do it, too," Keeper Carcette said. There was an unusual tone of enthusiasm in her voice that made me wonder if there was a side to her I wouldn't like all that much.
Kathutet pursed his lips, apparently trying to subvert the commented. Upon failing, he gave a very unpleasant chuckle—one that wished me nothing but prolonged ill. When he spoke, it was not in his usual surly tones, but in the voice of a statesman addressing his followers.
"Long had my lord, Mehrunes Dagon, sought to lay claim to Tamriel—Dawn's Beauty—which he desired. After many of your mortal lifetimes of planning and care, the Septim bloodline, which had held His Lordship back from what was—and is—rightfully his, lay in shambles. The only hitch, at the time, was that the Amulet of Kings had not been found. His Lordship deeply desired to have this trinket and its absence when a second wave of his mortal agents finally reached the scene concerned His Lordship. Such a token would not have left possession of that bloodline. The mortal agents were immediately instructed to find out where it had gone and with whom.
"Upon hearing the news that the bloodline lay in shambles—from which none would have risen had all gone well—His Lordship sent out the signal: the time for invasion had finally come. His Lordship's forces poured, like water out of a broken vessel, free to run across the land guided only by His Lordship's command: conquest. None stood before us in those heady first days: that city called 'Ald'rhun,' full of your dark elven-kind; the place of the high-elven, the Crystal Tower; and countless other places across your world fell to our might.
"Nirn trembled beneath our marching feet, and His Lordship had yet to appear himself. The world seemed so soft, unprepared, unable to cope as chaos spread."
By this time it was clear he enjoyed getting the story out in the open and might have done so even without the threat presented or represented by Keeper Carcette. "And what were you doing during all this? What was your…service ?" I demanded. I know little about the Oblivion Crisis' workings, only the highlights. Things started falling apart in the Empire about that time. One trouble after another.
"My service? Where did you think I was?" Kathutet asked impatiently, momentarily dropping his orator's tones. "Trampling your world underfoot, soaking the ground with mortal blood. Where else would I have been?" With that, and another disparaging look, he resumed his narrative. "All able-bodied Dremora—excluding many of the Valkynaz and some few of the Markynaz who remained at His Lordship's requirement—were dispatched. The Deadlands were emptied, for no other Prince would dare to attack His Lordship while His Lordship trampled the world of mortals."
"Wait, what's a Valkynaz?" I knew he wouldn't get anywhere if I kept interrupting, but curiosity is hard to ignore. And I was hoping to get him to move on from his pro-Dagon propaganda.
"And here I thought you understood us. Valkynaz comprise the Valkyn—the highest ranked among the People, princes in His Lordship's realm, his closest advisors and vassals. Markynaz—forming the Markyn—are a little below the Valkyn, lords beneath the princes who manage the day-to-day of the Deadlands' various regions. If you do not cease interrupting me with questions, I will be unable to tell you what you require. Be silent, fool."
Fair enough.
Kathutet cleared his throat and took a moment to recompose his thoughts. "It was at the Sigil Tower we called 'Ganonah,' the fortress from which we launched the first assault on the heart of the Septim Empire, that the first rumblings of resistance were felt, and they came from the most unlikely of sources. I had kin, members of my clan, at that fortress, as well as many whom I considered friends.
"They brought back this report, when they climbed free of the Waters: that a pair of mortals had crossed into the Deadlands. They were not the first mortals to do so: most of those who came before were dead at the hands of our watchdogs—our clannfear and the scamps that devour carrion—one or two were taken as prisoners for no war can be maintained without information.
"These two mortals, then, were female. One bore upon her the marks of the entity known as Sithis, but that mattered little. When those bearing such marks willingly enter the realm of another, they take their lives into their own hands. She had no business of her dark master that should have brought her there. It would have amused us greatly to have captured her, to remind that which we call Sithis how one's own power loses potency in the realm of another. Had she come alone she would have died and Sithis would have needed to find a new child to bear the mark of his favor.
"But she did not come alone: she brought with her another, a tiny red-haired doll-thing, so the reports went, with a weapon of unusual shape by which she could be recognized. It quickly became apparent that she had true business with us. It was strange, as related to me, to imagine such a tiny human thing fight with such vigor and determination. Among all the mortals slaughtered at the city mortals called Kvatch, or within our own Ganonah, she earned through her deeds great respect among the People. Even now, those who were at Ganonah curse her with their mouths but offer a drop of respect within their hearts. It is more than most mortals ever achieve, and never will you hear her name maligned as you might hear with the names of the Septim blood. There is no dishonor in respecting an enemy, as long as it does not lead to ineffective behavior. Our forces fought her and she fought back with honor and courage."
Kathutet paused as if chocking on something. Then, finally, with disgust, "This, then, was your foremother, she whom you resemble. It is partly why His Lordship wished your blood spilled on the stones of his shrine."
Shock silenced me. I couldn't think of anything to say.
This apparently pleased Kathutet, for he let the silence draw out before continuing. "I was 'killed' several of your mortal 'days' after Ganonah was raided by these two females, and its gateway closed. When I returned from the Waters I was sent to a place called Gaiar Alata with its citadel of Carac Agaialor, the pocket of Oblivion granted by His Lordship to his mortal agent, Mankar Camoran.
"Camoran, aided by his two offspring, managed His Lordship's affairs within Tamriel. Through Camoran's machinations were His Lordship's goals furthered and for this service he was favored. His Lordship is generous to those who assist—
"You can quit the propaganda," I growled, to the general agreement of the Vigilants present. "I don't need to hear about how great you think Dagon is. I have the general idea."
"It is not propaganda," Kathutet answered darkly. "It is fact."
When I simply scowled at him, he continued.
"Assignment to Gaiar Alata was not something for which anyone would volunteer. What was guarding that fool mortal when your world was ripe for plunder? When we could be bringing His Lordship's dominion to the place that had escaped it for so long? We were all eager, excited at the opportunity to honor our lord through conquest. But those of us assigned to Gaiar Alata did not complain. We served and served well, for it was His Lordship's wish that we be there and do that.
"In the end, it turned out to my benefit to have been loyal and patient.
"It was out of the chaos that we learned, through those of us Summoned and Bound who serve as His Lordship's eyes and ears, even now—especially now—and through Mankar Camoran who learned it from his own men, that a single ragged tatter of His Lordship's enemy of old remained, and that one child, a bastard child masked by the most carefully maintained anonymity, had been found. Found, recovered, and secreted away.
"It should have been a simple matter to destroy him, but it proved otherwise. It was for him that the woman known as Azhghalaaz —
"What was her name? Her real name?" I demanded. No hiding behind titles, if you please.
Kathutet's expression twitched. "…Ailirah was her proper name. Not that we ever used it. Among us we called her Azhghalaaz, just as her own people called her Gatewalker, but for reasons of our own. Azhghalaaz: the Unpraiseworthy Defiant."
He got away from discussion of her, in particular, as quickly as he could. Either he shielded her memory or he found her even more distasteful than he did me. It was hard to tell which.
Ailirah the Gatewalker—there isn't a person in Tamriel who hasn't at least heard the title. She, who walked freely between the Deadlands on Tamriel who, as all 'good' heroes do, disappeared after destroying Umaril the Unfeathered. Some says she died of wound in that battle. Some say she finally died of (or succumbed to) grief. Still others say she wandered into the mists of legend as so many of the great heroes do, her mission complete, her time having passed.
"It was, then, for this last scrap of that bloodline that the woman we called Azhgalaaz had gone to Ganonah—not that he was there, but because our Gate was in her way of reaching him. The invasion had to be stemmed before she could enact her recue. Do you hear this, fool? She turned the tide of an invasion with the aid of only one companion, when the five men, warriors all, who entered before her could not do it. Can you honestly claim similar?"
I snorted, waving him to continue. I wasn't going to get into an ego contest with a Dremora who spoke on behalf of some dead woman.
"As it turned out, Azhghalaaz had been present when the last of the formal Septim line—the old emperor—was killed and it was to her that the old man passed the Amulet of Kings. It was found and taken—but what of the status quo had changed? She yet possessed the one thing that caused His Lordship much ire: the last of the Septim bloodline." Kathutet chocked on his words, then spat them out as if doing so would make it easier to stomach. "It is from that side of your lineage you received those cursed eyes. That she should have shackled herself with such a match is sickening."
There was a moment of silence during which all the Vigilants regarded me with surprise. Keeper Carcette was so shocked that she made me make him repeat the information several times using various wordings to command him—this made Kathutet grow angrier and angrier as if he found the retelling more distasteful with each iteration.
I? The descendant of the Dragonborn Emperors? It's not…possible…
…or maybe it makes sense. Surely being Dragonborn doesn't just…happen for no reason, whatever Kathutet says. Surely a Dragonborn doesn't just randomly and fortuitously pop up on the one day he or she is needed. But…Martin Septim died sealing the gates that separate Tamriel and Deadlands. How could he have fathered a child?
Well…there is that explanation, I suppose.
Rather than let the topic be opened for general discussion, I made myself snort and smirk. "Hmph. That sounds like sour grapes to me."
Kathutet blinked. "Sour…grapes? I have no idea what that means."
Of course he doesn't. "Continue."
"Azhghalaaz was prolific in her work: she acquired His Lordship's own artifacts, the Mysterium Xarxes—which was lost, and eventually found within the Apocrypha of Hermaeus Mora—and my lord Dagon's own Razor." He looked at my hand and smiled nastily. "It would seem," he added silkily, "if found you as well and with much more satisfying results. You should really get it looked at."
I would have clenched my hand if I'd had any ability to move it.
"It was not known that it was she who possessed it. And she had the gall, later, to use it upon Umaril the Unfeathered!" He snorted, as if forgetting to be deprecating. In fact, he almost sounded impressed…in a very Dremora fashion.
"You admired her."
"…admire her? Have I not already said that many of us did? And yet do? No mortal has ever been so successful in a campaign against His Lordship. He hates her bitterly, but she would understand the compliment as you clearly do not: to hate her he must notice her. And how many mortals do you think His Lordship deigns to notice?"
"But he noticed the Septim line. Should they feel honored, too?" I demanded.
"For the Septim line it is…different. An old grudge. It was my lord Dagon who dubbed her Azhghalaaz. He hated her, it is true, but he took the time to name her in our tongue. He would have seen her tortured and killed, broken and ended, but he would have known exactly whose screams filled the air. Many cannot claim thus.
"Eventually she reached Gaiar Alata, where I had been stationed. She was tiny, as reports of her said, but nevertheless she possessed great stature. By the time she reached me, where I stood guard between the Savage Garden and the Forbidden Grotto, she was truly Plane-touched."
This time, Kathutet paused, as if waiting for me to interrupt. Hating that it humored him, I asked the question that would have jumped out of me regardless of his waiting for it. "Wait…'Plane-touched?' I don't understand."
"Plane-touched," he said, as if explaining something simple to someone stupid. "It is the nature of Oblivion, the Princes, the denizens, to bring change, and His Lordship embodies this more than most. She was…exposed…to the Mysterium Xarxes in such a way that it…damaged…her as you would say it. Rubbed off on her. Combining this with her forays into the Deadlands, she began to change. She was touched by the Deadlands and it showed: her eyes had lost whatever natural color they possessed in favor of Deadlands' red, with strange fires burning in them.
"Slightly familiar but almost completely alien, Azhghalaaz resisted the description 'soft mortal' even as her existence invited it. She was…desirable…in a rather deviant way. I know only one other among my kind who ever developed a taste for mortals—who was known to have developed a taste for mortals—and that was tortured out of him when His Lordship discovered the depth of the…softness…such association had created."
"Are you saying that…messing around with a mortal…can change a Daedra?" I asked.
"Did you not know this?" Keeper Carcette asked, surprised.
"Does that surprise you?" Kathutet asked over her. "Who said change worked only one way? These are old laws, ancient laws, of which we speak: Daedra do not create but they may change that which has already been created."
"Such things are perverse in the extreme," Keeper Carcette answered darkly.
Kathutet leered, "You'd be surprised how curious mortals can be."
"Stay on topic," I growled, not wanting to think about anything down that line of thought. I'd like to think I wouldn't let anything Oblivionic touch me…but who knows? With enough cleverness and patience…the thought was repellant and the slight tinge of guilt left me certain I had not been as blind to Kathutet's attractive points as I might have wanted to claim.
"We had…words…she and I. You are much like her: giving flat denial when the truth is unpleasant."
"Such as?"
"An example, then? I asked her, 'Have you ever considered taking the things that you want, when you want them because you have the power to do it?' to which she responded with a very flat 'No,' despite the obvious answer of 'yes.' Very reminiscent of certain parties I need not name."
No, he needn't. "What happened next?"
"It came to the balance of a hair. In the end, and in short, she would not listen to reason—not even with some of my own subtle influences working on her. She was not the mage you are and lacked great perception for such things. Nor would she listen to her own desires, which were clear upon her face, the slavish fool. Had she bowed before my master, he would have gladly brought her into the fold. Whatever Mankar Camoran had would have paled compared to what honors would have been bestowed upon her, had she joined His Lordship's cause. His Lordship may abandon failures to their own folly, but to those who are loyal and serve well, those are well rewarded, mortal or Daedra.
"And seeing Azhghalaaz betray the Septim cause to serve his own would have pleased him even more than her lingering death. It would have bought her her life and earned her his favor. But she would have none of it." And he seemed truly a bit disappointed by her 'lack of vision.'
"And then?"
"What do you think 'and then?' She spitted me like meat for roasting! Do you see this?" Kathutet pulled his tunic up to expose his chest, hiking it as high as it would go. Upon the dark flesh was a divot of scar tissue, ashy grey. "There is a match to it upon my back," Kathutet almost snarled, "two hundred or more of your mortal years, many trips through the Waters, and the mark she left persists. It should not be, but it is."
He sounded caught between rage and something else. Confusion, perhaps? Or was it just a perverse desire for a mortal he could never subvert or seduce. I found it strange that a Dremora would be so deeply interested in a human woman, however 'different' she was.
"Put your damn tunic down," I growled, "You've made your point—she wasn't any more interested than I—"
"You've missed the point I made entirely: she was interested," Kathutet snapped, though he did return his tunic to an appropriate state. "And it manifested later when she asked for my presence, brought me within the wards protecting her from Daedric visitors. I would have had her, too, if it weren't for the meddlesome fools poised concentrically around her."
I couldn't stop my expression from twisting. Gross. She must have been either very stupid or…very desperate? She had, after all, lost the man she loved. Some people react badly.
"You should wear that chastened look more often. As it interests you, and I am bound to humor your curiosity, I ran into her after that final battle—a battle which dragged the bastard prince into the Deadlands. He was rescued and given sanctuary by that meddlesome Azura, and was returned to Azhghalaaz after her defeat of Umaril the Unfeathered."
Huh. That explains the whole 'fathering a child' thing…but it runs contrary to history's record. Martin Septim died at the battle in the Imperial City, killed when he released the powers of the Amulet of Kings, took on the form of Akatosh's avatar and blasted Mehrunes Dagon back to the Deadlands and sealed the Jaws of Oblivion shut. The statue is still there.
"In that interim time, between the expulsion of His Lordship from Tamriel and Azhghalaaz's last great victory, she was what one would expect: a broken woman. She'd lost the one she loved and it weakened her. It was by accident that I ran into her again and found out what had become of her: they had made her a Countess of that first city we sacked, Kvatch. Imagine my surprise when I found that she had not shrugged off herself—or had removed for her—those subtle influences I'd woven while we conversed in Gaiar Alata.
"Even were I able to lie to you at this point, I would not: I did not speak of my discoveries. My lord Dagon was highly displeased with me when he discovered I'd chained myself to petty, personal interests. He would have, as is his wont, been less angry had I succeeded in seducing her."
"Because you would have changed her? That sounds like a long-term process—" I began.
"You forget that she was already changed. And there are more ways to subvert a person than through magic or metamorphosis. I told you, she was wounded, grieving, and desperate. Malleable given the right circumstances."
"That sounds a little too subtle for one of Mehrunes Dagon's flunkies," I growled, ignoring the cleared throats from some of the Vigilants indicating I had a bad grasp on the situation if I was making that kind of statement. Or maybe, I thought sourly, I just wanted to be rude. Anyone ever think of that? I'm having a bad day, here. 'Rude' should be expected.
Kathutet smiled wickedly. "Pride and ambition can be so subtle, fool, as you ought to have realized by now. You truly fail to appreciate His Lordship or his vassals and adherents at their proper potency and value. As I said, thanks to Azura's meddling, I was rebuffed."
"So…with me? That was just petty revenge on her? And this thing with Mehrunes Dagon, and the Razor and-and all that?" The thought made me feel nauseous, and strangely vulnerable.
"You?" he sneered, curling his lip. "What are you but a ragged, tattered end of a ragged, tattered end of a bloodline? I desired her, and you resembled her closely enough—or so I thought for a time. What part of that has anything to do with you? In the end, you weren't like enough unto her that I would hold my tongue about you in my master's presence. You weren't enough that I would again put my interests above my master's. And in the end you are not like enough to her in form to satisfy any immediate desires. Again and again you fall short and I have never been in danger of mistaking you, one for the other. You are and ever were merely convenient."
It didn't help that he sounded amused to be getting this out in the open. It left me feeling…I don't know. Cold. It was just another evidence of the world wanting something from me that has nothing to do with me, myself. My face. My power as Dovahkiin—to save the Blades, to honor the Greybeards' decisions about pacifism and seclusion (though they never said so), to sway an empire at war…it's like there's only Dovahkiin, and Bellona just…disappears behind her. "…we were talking about history. You will resume there," I said thickly.
His smile told me he knew exactly where his barbs had landed and that he could jiggle them painfully whenever he wanted. "You know your own history: His Lordship was thwarted by that bastard son of the Septim line, but it would not have been so without Azhghalaaz's backing. Perhaps what has been forgotten—or what seems to have been twisted by those who write down histories—is that the bastard ruled for some four or five years before he actually left the throne empty, taking his precious Empress with him into obscurity.
"History, now, dictates that he was killed in combat with His Lordship, but you are living proof that this is what future generations were intended to believe. Perhaps it was convenient for someone that the truth should die or be made fade away quietly. I cannot say. All I can say is that your history has been selectively altered. Perhaps the Blades did it to hide their charge. Perhaps your Thalmor, or their forerunners, were already plotting. Long-lived races have patience that those with shorter years do not. Who can say?"
"…this is all very…unexpected." And hadn't even begun to scrape current events. I knew that if I sent him back now, I might never get the full story of our travels together, how he set me up like he did. Part of me was tired, though, mortally weary…
The thought sparked irritation. It's not like me to just…get tired and give up. I eyed him cautiously. Vigilants wouldn't miss Daedric magicka, but the power of suggestion doesn't need such things…
"Is it? Or are you lying to yourself yet again? Did you think you were what you are—gifted with the Dragon Blood—for no reason? By accident? By chance? Perhaps it is that humility you possess, the thought that you couldn't possibly have such exalted roots, that makes you so blind. But it is true, all the same: through many forefathers and foremothers, you are the descendant of Tamriel's Emperor Martin Septim and Ailirah the Gatewalker, whom we call Azhghalaaz."
"There's more to this whole…blood feud." I resisted the urge to make it a question. "You didn't say how you were bound—or why. It doesn't explain where my ancestors went, how they lost themselves. It doesn't explain this…mess…you led me into, either."
Kathutet smirked at me, his tone mocking despite his position. "You asked very specific questions and I have answered them to the letter of your requirements. What better adherence to orders could you possibly wish? Or shall I offer up suggestions?"
My fingernails bit into my hands. "Then I guess I'll have to rephrase my 'requirements,' starting now…"
-K-
Author's Note: Dun-dun-duuuun! I'm sure some of you saw this reveal coming.
