So...

What's shakin', bacon?

Whaaaaat? What ever do you mean I haven't updated for months? I have NO idea what you're talking about... nuh-uh...

Spottedfyre: Hello, dear friend! Haha, sorry it's taken so long to reply to this! Thank you very much for the kind words as always! I'm afraid he's just rather angst-y in this chapter, however.

He didn't notice the cold, the cold that left him with a sensation akin to being encased in ice, not at first. He didn't notice the disgusting, dry feeling in his mouth, as if he hadn't so much as glanced at a drop of water in years, not at first. He didn't notice the faint hunger stirring in his gut, like cave bear stirring in his home as Frostfall ended and First Seed began- not at first. No, the first thing he noticed was his own voice, crying, screaming out, and every other thing that he felt came to his attention after that.

The scream had surprised him, jolting out of his throat, the product of a terror in his dreams that his memory lost the grasp of seconds after. Next was the way he moved, falling promptly off the bed, the covers around him wrapping him up and coming along with him on the journey down to the hard ground beneath. Martin's bed was on a slight platform, a space of raised ground in the center of the room right beneath wide windows, and by his luck, he rolled off the platform and thudded on the ground again, another ground, but the second fall just as hard and shocking as the first.

The previously mentioned windows were open, of course. A soft breeze was blowing the curtains covering them, was ghosting inside the room, was somehow breaching the warmth of his blankets and raising goosebumps on his skin. There was no warmth to his blankets, even, there was no warmth to his flesh- but there was never warmth, only cold. Only cold anymore.

That same hunger stirred again. He wanted to throw up. He did; or he would have, at least, but he didn't have any food in his body to hurl. That was the point of the hunger, after all, and it left him dry heaving on the ground for seconds that felt like minutes, minutes that felt like hours, everything feeling like years. He wished the hunger was for food. Was for drink. He... he would have helped it, then, if it were for such things, but he knew how his body was changing, knew what it was hungering for.

Would it be alright to ask for sustenance? Cyrus knew the troubles he went through. Would it be acceptable to ask him for- for-

No. The thoughts themselves made him sicker than he was. The idea of feeding this demon in his body, his state of mind- no, there wasn't a thing "alright" with that.

He had had better starts to his mornings than this, admittedly.

It took a while for the heaving to subside, and then he was squirming and fighting against the covers wrapped around his form, but tearing them off all the same. As cold as the blankets were, without them, it was colder, and he shivered and shook, but climbed back onto the bed and reached up to the open window, closing it all the same. It had been closed when he had gone to sleep, but he wouldn't be surprised if a Blade had come in earlier and had opened it whilst he had been resting to let some fresh air inside the stuffy and stale room. Martin had rarely used this room when he had been here, preferring to deprive himself of sleep translating that damned book than rest. The Blades weren't used to people staying in here, and he was their comrade, their friend. Everyone looked after one another, even if it was for things as small and simple as opening a window. That's what he imagined, anyway. Maybe Uriel's ghost was floating around and trying to freeze him to death as revenge for getting his son killed. He didn't know if that thought was supposed to make him want to laugh or want to cry, but he wasn't laughing.

Either way, the window was closed, and as tempted as he was to collapse back into a bed that didn't belong to him in the first place, he somehow dragged himself over to the wardrobe to get dressed. Everything was too big on his form, so he paid no attention to what he pulled over himself, and he packed a plentiful amount of extra clothes to last him a couple of weeks, heading out of the room thereafter. His breakfast was lonely, most of the soldiers outside making their rounds or still sleeping, or buried with the rest of the fallen, with Baurus and Jauffre, with all of the numbers that had perished in the battle for Bruma and weren't likely to be joining him for breakfast anytime soon. He felt like he may as well be shoving each piece of bread and slice of fruit down his throat, and each bit of water he forced himself to drink was as tasking as swallowing ashes. He didn't know if he needed to eat food or not, and he didn't feel any less hungry after he did so, but he guessed it was good enough.

He headed out to the courtyard of Cloud Ruler Temple after that, bracing himself for the cold air and somehow still being shocked by the dreadful sensation of it as it hit. Out of all the thoughts that had ever crossed his mind, he had never imagined how horrible vampires might feel in the cold, what with the lack of blood in their veins. He had never thought he would ever sympathize with creatures of the night, either, but Akatosh didn't exactly lead the most normal of lives. He could remember when he had rode up here with Martin and Jauffre, his heart heavy from losing the Amulet, but his hopes high at the possibility to still win it back. He could remember when the great doors had been opened, too, and the first time they had been, it had felt like it took years for them to fully split apart. And then the Blades, lined up along the stairs, the way his feet thudded against the stone ground and shook his form, the pride he felt walking besides Martin through saluting Blades, imagining how it must have felt for the priest. He even could recall the words Martin said in his stumbling speech, and somehow, those stumbling, shy stutters would always mean more to him than the grand, confident shouts he had given out at the Great Gate's battlefield when it had still been empty.

It looked the same as it had did then within the tall walls surrounding the temple. Fires blazing in the stone braziers lining the steps that lead to the front doors, snow gently falling from the skies, soldiers in shining armor walking along the perimeter route and watching for spies that wouldn't come, because they didn't have anything all that better to do. He knew the hidden beauty of the fortress well, and the not-so-hidden beauty of Cyrodiil, the heart of Tamriel in all her glory. He didn't know why he had been expecting anything different. Maybe it was because Akatosh felt so empty and dead inside that he expected everything outside to be just the same, and was surprised when it wasn't.

Good thoughts for today, he decided.

Akatosh got to his stolen horse and mounted her, not surprised to see a brand new saddle on the steed, no doubt an addition Cyrus or one of the other Blades had made. The doors were opened for him and goodbyes were given but weren't returned, and then he was off again. He had always been so excited, months ago, a year, even, to take off on his horse and race towards a great, daring adventure. The feeling had lessened somewhat since Miscarcand, and then more after losing Jauffre and Baurus, and was completely gone now. But it wasn't really adventure anymore, he supposed.

The sun still didn't burn his skin as he rode under it after passing the overcast skies that plagued northern Cyrodiil most days, which was the first good news to grace today. The sight of the white marble city, glimmering amongst the deep blue waters of Lake Rumare, nestled against plentiful and vast forests- it was a breathtaking sight, and never failed to take said breath away time and time again he saw it, except for today. Maybe that was because he was too submerged in his own depression to notice, but it could have been that he didn't have a breath, too.

He tied his horse to a tree a good deal away from the Imperial City entrance gates, even off the island altogether, if mostly out of guilt, and even stronger guilt that he wasn't going to return the steed, either. Akatosh could live with the fact that he stole a horse, though- just once he found a reason to want to live at all. Good thoughts everywhere today, his mind commented, and agreed with itself, but he didn't pay attention to it all for long, getting distracted by a song a passing bird sung up ahead before it fluttered away and continued with its morning. A mudcrab scuttled on the shore of Lake Rumare below him as he walked across the bridge connecting the Imperial City to land, and disappeared into a cluster of rocks thereafter, hiding from the world and any passerby. Akatosh didn't blame it.

Guards saluted and nodded at him as he passed, and didn't ask as to why he kept his head down and held his silence above his tongue and over his lips; it wasn't their job to do so, but to open the gates for him, which they did. The market was empty and quiet, as he had woken up early, but he didn't mind it, and took his time to walk along the barren streets and remember times when it didn't take him hours into the day to spare a single smile. He passed through districts with eyes that saw past anything they looked at, too lost in his own thoughts, and he must have carried onto the Arcane University on some sort of autopilot, as he surprised himself as he got to the doors.

They were pushed open, and Akatosh let in. As expected, it was empty, and not all that warmer than outside, Cyrodiil's mornings always cold no matter where you spent them, but he sat down at a bench despite this all to wait. Shelves lined the circular walls with countless valuable tomes in them, none of which he could read, crystal globes and alchemy sets and enchanted scrolls sitting atop tall desks. Portals were in here, too- not gaping, flaming ones spewing Daedra out of their entrances, but strange runed ones in the ground that Akatosh didn't understand and didn't care to. He was more than content with sitting here and waiting, in the silence, in the semi-darkness, alone again.

The shimmer of a portal sounded behind him, the sound of one being used. This happened after an hour or so of waiting, where he had began to doze off where he had been slouched over sitting, but it wasn't who he was looking for, so he waited longer. More people came and went, most glancing at him with awed or surprised gazes and few ignoring him as if he were as important or useful to them as a paperweight lighter than a feather, but they all carried on nonetheless. The dimness of the waiting room hid his orange tinted eyes and the paleness of his features, and they couldn't guess why he was there otherwise, so they didn't try. It was another hour before she came, and as he stood at her appearance, she noticed him, and in the strange way Argonians always smiled, she did and immediately came towards him.

Before she could say a thing, he gestured silently for her to follow him outside, and Tar-Meena obliged, following his footsteps out. As they made their way out of the front doors, she seemed to understand he wanted somewhere private, and she bid him to follow her, which he did. The Argonian woman lead him to one of the gates at the side of the side of the University that blocked any passerby from continuing on out to the rest of the college grounds that non-scholars weren't permitted access to, and she procured a key from within one of the pockets of her robe and unlocked the gate, much to his surprise, quickly ushering him inside along with her.

The rest of the Arcane University was quite honestly stunning to him, and it genuinely shocked him to have the privilege to see it. There were stores inside, a lecturing area, a big, beautiful garden full of colorful mushrooms and glowing flowers and peculiar looking plants- it was a surprising sight, and she only smiled at him still. "You may not be a scholar of the Arcane University, or even of the arcane arts, but I do not think any of my fellow colleagues would deny the Champion of Cyrodiil access to our University grounds, if only to speak for a while. Or am I incorrect?" He responded with an "I hope not" and followed her to the empty lecture area, and as they sat down on one of the benches in the dewed grass, he finally raised his head and met her gaze that he had been since avoiding.

For the first few seconds, she still carried her grin, her slitted reptilian eyes not registering the sight before he yet. The full-toothed smiled remained even when the happiness in said smile didn't, before her features finally corresponded with her discovery, and then she let out a loud, loud gasp of surprise, and he readied himself for it all. Readied himself for the screams, for the cries of horror, for the spells sure to be flung his way, that would burn his skin and flay him alive and end his life that should have ended the second Martin broke that stupid Amulet.

Of course, it never came, none of that. She was a sensible woman, a calm one, and by all accounts, not a cruel one, and all he got was that surprise. It spurred him to explain, but as he started to tell her about everything, he fell short, and gave her a shortened version instead; "I've been bitten."

The reaction he received wasn't at all one he had been expecting. "But have you, truly?" Her shock seemed to have been swallowed down, and it was his time to be surprised at Tar-Meena's answer.

"What?"

"Bitten," she explained, and when he was still very clearly lost, she went on. "To be experiencing the beginning effects of Porphyric Hemophilia." He blinked at that, blankly, not recognizing the term.

"What, you mean..." He gestured to himself, his face, and she did a mixture of sighing and snorting, in a weird, weird way.

"No," she said, using sarcasm, but he didn't pick up on it, so she quickly hurried on. "Yes, yes, I'm addressing your vampirism! Now, usually, being bitten would be very obvious and painful and one would have time to get away from the beast digging their fangs into them, right? But you would have noticed that, and practically everyone that gets bitten immediately comes to us or to even a Chapel to receive treatment before they can turn."

"Which is what I came here for," he interrupted. "Could I, um, have that? Treatment?" She shook her head very quickly, and as soon as she did so, his heart sank even further into his gut, but he listened as she kept talking.

"You're past that point," she told him. "No, you're in the first stage of Porphyric Hemophilia, or as we have discussed, what many refer to as vampirism. You are still able to walk in sunlight without being charred, which is obvious enough, but yet you are just as obliviously turned. This will not last forever, though, and soon, you will have to feed to remain immune to the sun's light burning you, so right now is the best time to find a cure." His heart lifted up again at the word "cure" so fast that it got caught in his throat and he spluttered, but she didn't appear to take notice. " Of course, this is operating under the assumption that you haven't already fed, but I don't imagine you would be here, asking me for help, if that were to be the case. In fact, you being here and talking to me sensibly at all suggests that you must have only been like this for a few days, a week at the very most."

He tilted his head at that. "What's your reasoning for this?" She waved her hand in a neglecting way, and didn't answer. Not to be rude, though, he didn't think. She almost appeared to not want to answer.

"Now, as I was saying before. I do not think you have been bitten, or you very likely would not have became a vampire at all. You do not strike me as the type to go after curses such like this for mere power. I am correct in this?" He nodded. "Good. No, I think you may have been scratched, perhaps, any blood-to-blood contact. Biting does not need to be enacted to pass on this disease, for there are many possibilities-"

"Is this important to finding a cure?" Again, he interrupted.

Tar-Meena faltered in not only her words, but composure. "Well, no." She seemed to get the point he was saying, but was a little surprised at how rudely he had gone about saying it. A little part of him was surprised, too. "I can give you the location to a woman I know who may be able to help. I don't have a clue how, or who she is, as a colleague and myself have only discussed this matter, and briefly, so I do advise to exercise caution-"

"Please. Just..." If Akatosh had a breath, it would have been quickening. If his heart still moved, it would have been pounding. "I just want to know where."

She was quiet, but she nodded. He had procured a map by now, granted, not the same as his old one, but a map nonetheless, and she marked it. Before she could say a single thing else, he had hastened a goodbye her way and was off. People gave him not a single glance as he hurried by, each person caring only about themselves, their own lives, and it didn't matter to him, he didn't blame them. One of the few people that did care about him anymore, one of the few that wanted him to be okay, that would have cared that he wasn't- she watched him run and go off, as if he couldn't stand to bare her presence, but that wasn't true. He just couldn't stand for anyone to bare his.

He was still yet to smile today.

But, yes, I'm sorry it's taken so long for this to be posted. A lot of things happened that I'm sure, frankly, you lovely people don't give two shits about, but here I am! And I have actual time on my hands again, so I am sure as all hell going to work on actually updating on a regular schedule. Thanks to all of you guys who have put up with my bullshit and have still stuck with this story :) You guys are damn treasure. But hey, I did say that I wouldn't give up on this series, right? Well, somewhere, probably. Just took me a bit ;P