It's been a long time, but I will finish this. This chapter is separated into different viewpoints which I think will make sense when you read it. Apologies for the long wait to anyone still reading!

For the first time in a very long while, Martin's mind was quiet. There was no murmuring from Mehrunes Dagon nor taunting from Sanguine, and his thoughts were all entirely his own. He had expected a long absent sense of quiet peace after being so long in the clutches of such mental assaults. It troubled him more than he wanted to admit that his thoughts kept leading to dark places unaided by Daedric Princes. Would she retrieve the Amulet of Kings? Would she survive in the first place? Elisif would have rolled her eyes at his disloyalty, to be sure, and she had struggled and prevailed through many terrible trials before this one. Still, the previous battle had done her few favors. In truth he had been surprised to see her up and walking, much less eager to begin their latest task, no matter that Raminus was a gifted mage and knowledgeable healer. No one recovered from his level of exhaustion so rapidly and then set about healing once again. If anything, the fellow looked as suspicious as Martin had felt upon seeing her, his tired face betraying his shock as Elisif avoided any semblance of privacy with him in a guise of dutifulness to be about her mission. She said little to reveal herself, but Martin knew enough about guilt to spot it on another's face.

Raminus himself was a different story altogether, pacing with frantic determination to wear out the stones under his feet. Surely he knew something of Elisif's lies, whatever they were, but on that subject he was mute. In fact, he scarce bothered speaking to him at all. They had been students together at the Guild of Mages years ago, and though Martin was a few years his senior their relationship had been amicable. Perhaps he resented Elli's current situation and placed the blame at his feet, which Martin could admit was fair indeed. He tried more than once to engage the mage in conversation, but Raminus wouldn't have it, the glare he fixed upon the beleaguered priest cold enough to freeze him into place.

Still, there was nothing to do but to wait, and wait he did, prayers to Father Akatosh murmured with steel and fervent belief as Raminus paced in the background.

It was well into the night when Elisif appeared again, barely a scratch on her, the Amulet of Kings clutched in a white-knuckled grip. The Blades that lingered in the hall began murmuring at the sight, everyone gaping as Elisif fell to her knees and offered the blood-red gem to him in the closest estimation of reverence he had ever seen from her. The gesture itself had seemed ludicrous at first until every knee in the hall had bent, every head bowed, and every whisper had been silenced. As he took the amulet in hand (hands he was surprised and proud to note weren't trembling) a lead weight seemed to land in his stomach, a sudden fear that perhaps it had all been for naught, that he was no true son of Uriel, only a mistake that Jauffre had dreamed up. The heavy weight on the amulet around his neck did little to ease his trepidation, but it stayed on as it only could for one of dragonblood. No sooner had the damned thing landed on his chest than he was yanking up his friend and champion, pulling her into his arms and embracing her before an increasingly awkward audience.

"Thanks to you, we have a chance." It was quiet, little more than a whisper, but he knew she didn't want a bellowed declaration of gratitude, as much as she deserved all to know. "I'm proud to know you, my friend." As quickly as it began it was over, Elisif staggering back in relief, before Martin turned to make ready his Blades. The Oblivion crisis would end one way or the other, and soon.

The march to the Imperial City was exhausting, both horses and soldiers pushed near to breaking each day. The abuse was unfortunate, but the need was readily apparent as with every league they marched another gate seemed to open in their path. Dremora scattered the highways, harassing their troops and hindering their progress. It was a relentless pace with little rest to be had even after setting up camp, but overall the combined troops seemed in good spirits. Elisif found herself glad for every distraction, from battlemages pleased to meet their Arch-Mage and soldiers with an extracurricular membership to the Thieves Guild, all the way down to the everyday conscript eager to ask about her interactions with Oblivion Gates and royal bastards. And she wasn't the only one occupied until exhaustion got the better of her. Raminus was surrounded either by various female admirers (really, how did he manage to have gotten around so much, considering the amount of books he read?), soldiers seeking enchantments, or mages asking for advice on spells they couldn't quite manage. Martin was even worse off, meeting with his Blades and constantly heralded by everyone who saw him. The bright side of all this was that she could scarce get a moment alone, much less have time for confrontations. She wouldn't have known what to say to Raminus had he forced the issue, but that had never been his style anyways. His current mode of vengeance seemed to be drawing out feelings of jealousy, and in that regard he did better than she had expected. Envy had never been a problem for her, but watching him with the women who fawned over him was harder than she would have liked. He had a natural charm about him that drew them in, without even mentioning his handsome appearance and rumored skills as a lover (rumors she knew to be true in all the most satisfying ways). She might have even made it through the whole battle without addressing her annoyance had some trollop serving wench not thrown herself into Raminus's lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting her lips soundly on his. That was the final straw for Elisif, who quickly abandoned her own circle of chatty mages and sly thieves for her modest tent, completely missing the satisfied grin Raminus flashed in her direction.

Raminus had loved Elisif from the start. Ever since she had sought out their mutual teacher and began lessons in magick. He had been surprised that such a slight thing lived on her own in the Imperial City, even more so that one so young would possess such raw talent for destruction. His own magicks had taken years of practical study and concentration to reach their peak, and Elisif waltzed in and acted the savant. There were really only two options for him after that, and hating her seemed out of the question when she smiled so sweetly in his direction, no sense of guile to be had. So love her he did, keeping his secrets to himself and offering her friendship and kindness in its stead. They spent a great deal of time together anyhow under the instruction of their teacher, but even after Raminus had been accepted at the Arcane University (being several years her senior), they continued in much the same way, meeting for practical application at her lonely home in the Elven Gardens District to cast spells in the basement. They traveled the countryside together, she more at home in the quiet sprawl of rural Cyrodiil than he ever was, collecting ingredients either for alchemy or for trade, getting into the occasional scrap with wild animals or bandits. When she inevitably injured herself in the fray he was there to heal her, cool and soothing magic to wipe away the pain, and she in turn to poke and prod him out of his shell. Odd to think he'd ever been the introverted sort, but it was true, and she was the one to draw him out with her cheerful exuberance, her hand clasping his as she dragged him into civilization and out from behind his books. It never once crossed his mind that her living alone had been so odd, nor that her mysterious benefactor who kept the place up and provided for her comfort was nowhere to be seen, and as the two of them grew older it seemed her provider would never return. She never spoke of the man, and Raminus had become accustomed to the idea of an old Uncle of a fellow, not a threat for his awkward and budding feelings of affection and courage, flirting with the idea of taking her in his arms and kissing her, of becoming more a fool for her than he already was.

He had missed his chance, however, as one day he showed up at her doorstep for practice only to come face to face with a man only a few years his senior. Not just any man, either, but one with a dangerous look, a handsome face with murderous intent. He'd never seen anything like it, had opened his mouth in preparation to cast, certain that this stranger had killed Elisif outright, when he heard a voice calling from inside.

"Is that Raminus? He's meant to come for practice today." Then she was there at the door, tugging on the stranger's arm, a silly grin on her face for the whole world to see as she gently chided him. "Come on, Lucien. Don't keep him out in the cold."

It was there on her face plain as day, the love she bore her Lucien. Adoration welled in her eyes, exuded from her pores into the very air. Every word that flowed from her mouth that morning as she made the three of them her usual awful tea was tinged with her joy, and it overwhelmed him enough that Raminus rattled off some excuse or other and ran from the scene altogether.

How he regretted such cowardice once she had vanished, her home cold and abandoned. Even years later with her abrupt return he found cause for shame. Shame for never finding her, for abandoning his search so early on. Her Lucien had warned him away, saying she had moved on to better things, and though he had not quite believed the blackguard, there was little he could do. Instead of searching he worked on forgetting, rising through the ranks of the Mage's Guild quickly, but still she haunted him. At night he would lose himself to lust in whatever arms would have him, and he heard her in the sighs of his lovers. It was a sickness, she was a sickness, but eventually he learned his lessons. Raminus sealed off his heart and kept to his books, and if he had a different woman in his bed on any given night, who was around to stop him? Life was fleeting, and what harm was there to find comfort in another? He was finally free, finally at peace. Of course she would appear then, a ghost from a past life and as beautiful as he'd ever seen her. The ache she stirred in him was faint and easily ignored, and he focused instead on helping her, on easing her sorrow and soothing her hurts. How easily they fell into old patterns, except she lacked the naivety she possessed in youth, could see the way he looked at her, the raw and awful desire he couldn't quell. He had loved her in his youth, had lusted after her for certain, but this was a far different variety of curse. Lust reciprocated, coupled with a mutual need for comfort, and oh, how he obliged, a happy servant to any desires she had, voiced or not. It tore at him that she was so terribly altered, her mind a husk of its former exuberance, harried and haunted by shadows real and imagined. It tore at him, but still he remained, returned willingly to her side whenever she appeared.

He was a fool, and she was too fractured to be mended. Her heart had been stolen by another long ago, and that man had tossed it aside, or so thought Raminus. Now it appeared as though he were mistaken. Lucien hadn't forgotten her, had never put her from his mind. He had followed her all this time, had tended her wounds and spoke harsh truths that had so cleared affected her. She would never be free of his poison, and it appeared that Raminus would never be free of hers, either. His love was burden, but it was one he could not stand to set aside. It would have been so easy, so profoundly simple to slip away with the wench on his lap, to fuck until he possessed no energy to think of her. So simple, but impossible when she was so near, and it was to her that he hastened, urging the woman from his presence as he moved with feverish haste to her tent. Their tent. Impossible when she shifted in her bedroll, eyes wide and obviously relieved to see him. Utterly unthinkable as he fell to the ground, meeting her halfway and holding her, kissing, devouring, hands shredding at garments and closing any distance to be had between them until he was within her, her body clutching at him as her arms pressed him closer still. Every little movement, each gasp and sigh, each whimper and whispered word of encouragement was one more nail in the coffin. Lucien didn't matter. Martin didn't matter. Nothing in the gods-damned world mattered while he was there, wrapped up in her so completely, soaked in the scent of her and kissing her through her tears. Because it was there, moving within her, urging them both to their mutual peaks that he could admit the truth.

As long as she stayed, he would be her slave.