When first Martin saw the Hero of Kvatch, the soot, blood, and ill fitting armor made it difficult to tell if it was a man or a woman. The Hero's long hair was smoking, breaking off in sections where the fire had licked at it, but they seemed not to notice until the redguard guardswoman pointed it out. Without a word, the Hero took out a silvered dagger, seized the entire length of ruined hair and sliced straight through, cutting it to just above the shoulders. They stored the hair, so long even in its charred state, in their pack. The way they moved, even in the daedric armor certainly pulled from a dremora corpse, made the priest sure she was a woman. Anyone would be able to tell that part eventually; the fact she was curved in all the right places underneath that foul chest-plate, that was the natural skill that develops when one spends their youth whoring.

She had appeared like the wind, or like rain, so sudden to free them from the Gate. Apparently she had been in there for several hours, searching for a way to close it from the inside. The blisters and burns that covered the palms of her hands were witness to the hardships she bore, yet she said not a word except to receive several potions, storming into the chapel and helping liberate the city of Kvatch from its troubles. She was a perpetual motion machine, forever moving from one activity to another, propelling on and on until the city was cleansed of the daedric threat.

Finally the mystery woman turned and looked the Priest directly in the eye, a look of determination, and strangely enough, recognition on her face. Stiffly she walked over to him, the armor of Kvatch slung over her forearm. Her face was covered in blood and soot, making her pained pale eyes seem even more piercing, and then her filthy visage creased into a rather agonized smile, exposing white, straight teeth hidden behind full, albeit cracked and bleeding lips.

"You're a priest, I take it?" she spoke, then without waiting for an answer from him, she began to strip off her armor, setting the horrendous stuff aside before peeling off the stained linen shirt underneath and presenting her back to him. "Perhaps you could put some of your restoration magick to work? I find myself thoroughly burned, and healing has never been my strong suit." Martin swallowed thickly, having just gotten an eyeful of naked chest, rather full naked chest at that. How it heaved against the tight breast-band as she breathed-

"Certainly." Martin replied stiffly, moving to her back and gently placing hands on either side of the sizable burns, working his magick into the wounds, burning away his mana until not a memory of the burn remained. Without a word she pulled the linen shirt back on and began to slide the Kvatch armor into place. "Don't you need your other wounds treated as well?" he asked, for all over her were cuts, gashes, blisters, and burns, but she shook her head.

"They'll keep for now. You need your strength." she answered as she finished buckling the armor. Martin nodded, watching with a raised brow as his savior walked to the altar, cupping water in her hands to drink, then beginning to cleanse her face.

"Thank you for closing the gate, traveler. We are in your debt." his voice was forced when he spoke. How long had it been since they in the chapel had any hope for relief?

"I needed a priest, that's all." she answered over her shoulder, continuing to drip water all over the chapel floor as she cleaned her hands and nails. "I was told I could find you here, and I had to close the gate to get to you, sweet Brother."

"Why? Do you need some divine inspiration? For I find myself running low on that these days." The woman snorted as she listened to him speak. "Why would the gods allow this to happen? Were the prayers of all those burned in the fires not fervent enough? Why us and not them? This kind of destruction...I'm having trouble understanding the kindness and mercy of the gods." Suddenly he was horrified by his own words.

"I-I'm sorry." Martin murmured, "The horrors you have seen today, and I act a spoiled child." And at that the woman turned around, and he knew her as though from a dream long forgotten.

"Oh, Martin." she said with humor in her voice, placing a now healed, wet hand to his cheek. The broken skin of her face was whole once more as well, the consecrated water of the altar doing its work. "Has there ever been a time when we've come together that you've not had a crisis of faith? I'm not sure I'd feel comfortable if we spoke for very long without a spiritual tragedy on hand."

"Elli..." Martin said disbelievingly, "It's been years. Why did you come?"

"I wasn't lying when I said I need a priest. It's only that I had a particular man in mind. When they told me the name Martin, I had no idea that it would be you. Honestly, you're nearly the last person I would have expected to join the priesthood. All that restraint!" she leaned forward, a strange grin lighting up her eyes as she whispered, "Not to mention all that celibacy. Quite a lifestyle change, eh?"

"So you came all the way here to ask about that?" Martin grumbled.

"Surprisingly, no. I'm here for you. Only you. The Emperor told me to find you." Martin raised a weary brow at this, wondering if perhaps she was delirious.

"The Emperor?" Martin said incredulously, and silence reigned supreme for several moments as Elisif lowered her weary body into a pew.

"So I take it you didn't know about being a royal bastard, then?" Elisif cajoled, "Why else do you think the daedra parked a gate right in front of Kvatch? It's not exactly the heart of civilization or anything." If she thought that this would clear up the confusion or horror for Martin, she had been sadly mistaken.

"Are you saying that those daedra were here for me? The whole city, all those people, destroyed for me? Tell me you're joking..." he said faintly, and she turned somber once more.

"I'm sorry, Martin. It's no joke. I was with the Emperor when he died. You're the only living heir, and I've been tasked with getting you to safety." There was silence in the chapel, broken only by the groaning of the wounded and weary. After a while, she spoke again.

"Whenever you're ready, Martin Septim."