Whoop! Other chapter!

Akatosh didn't understand how it could be so bright outside when even the moon was blocked by clouds in the middle of the night.

Well, maybe bright wasn't exactly the right word. There wasn't light, not at all. He was off the Imperial roads, riding through the countryside of Cyrodiil, following the Corbolo River uphill. The trickling of waters from the rather calm river was hypnotic, almost; it was a nice sound, paired with the clopping of his horse's hooves against the dirt ground. An occasional rustle of leaves from a small gust of wind was a nice sound, too, but it brought a hard shiver up his spine, feeling more like the touch of a Frost Atronach than a gentle breeze.

It was all serene, but dark nonetheless, or at least, it should have been. The moon, previously mentioned- both of them, in fact- were covered by clouds, and the same was with the multitude of stars that hung in the sky, with the exception of a few distant lights here and there that didn't do much for the people below them. He had no torch, as fire made him flinch in a way he couldn't explain, just like how the sun was almost blindingly bright to his eyes when it was out. But, despite this all, he could still see.

The darkness wasn't dark to him, didn't obscure his vision. While the sun's light seemed to make things softer, the absence of it made things sharper, and he found himself spotting details in the nature scene around him unclear to Akatosh before. He didn't know what to make of it, so out of this all, he made nothing.

He hummed a small tune to himself underneath his breath as they galloped. His horse didn't appear to mind the off-key hum, so he continued it. It was something to break the silence that he not only heard but felt, the silence louder than all noises and heavier than all weights. Akatosh was tired of it being there.

He did stop humming, however, when he finally saw it- a cottage, surrounded by a picket fence and nestled between sparse trees, out by the side of the river. Akatosh's horse approached in tentatively, and he let her, having her leap over the tiny, broken fence surrounding the perimeter of the small yard of the cottage. It was all just weeds, weeds that had once been fresh harvest but only now showed rotten cabbages and tomatoes, things that made a rancid smell waft off into the cold air when one of his horse's hooves trampled over it. He shouldn't have been able to smell it from up on his ride, but he did, and wished he didn't.

Akatosh slid off his horse and tethered her to a tree, getting out his map and double checking where they were. He could see the map perfectly, and the Argonian had written something above the mark she had made to show him where to go- "Drakelowe", not that he could read it. He wasn't sure anymore, now. This cottage looked empty and abandoned, and was a good few hours away from Cheydinhal, the closest town nearby. Who in their right mind would live here? If anyone had used to, they most certainly wouldn't anymore.

No harm in checking...

Akatosh strode up past the dilapidated garden, tripping over some overgrown vines and falling to the ground with a soft, surprised sound that got knocked out of his throat. His horse shifted nervously, but he got to his feet after the shock wore off, untangling his ankle from the vine and continuing on. It didn't hurt like it would have before. He just felt numb.

He knocked on the door. Much to his surprise, it didn't fall away at his touch. Akatosh didn't receive an answer, however, so he knocked again. Still, silence.

"Hello?" His voice was loud, too loud. It sent a shiver down his back unwarranted by cold. There was a moment, Akatosh seconds away from backing off and going back to his horse to abandon this trip, before he heard it; "What does he want?"

The Breton blinked at that. It was the most he could do at first. He blinked again, and then the corners of his mouth started to pull down, and he frowned, and then frowned harder. "He wants you to get the damned door!" At that, he slowly realized his own rudeness, rudeness he wouldn't have carried before, and a brief flash of apologeticness for it caused his frown to lessen. "P-please, I mean. Sorry. Please... open the door."

He didn't have a breath to hold anymore. He was anxious and waiting, but patient. At least, to a degree. An eternity could have passed and he wouldn't be any wiser until the door finally unlocked and opened, and then he was being pulled inside, the same door slamming behind him and making him jump by its loudness. The other side of the door, to say the least, was not exactly what he had expected. It was flush with lights, even when the open windows outside gave no indication of this, most likely due to an illusion spell of some sort. Furniture was decked inside the inside of the cottage, and the entire space had a cozy feel to it, one that made him feel warm inside despite the coldness of his pale flesh. He didn't say anything, keeping his quiet, but it was startling to him, to say the least.

The one who had forced him inside was the one who spoke, it being an elderly woman with bright and angry grey eyes that looked almost white, but she obviously wasn't blind, and as elderly as she seemed, the small woman obviously possessed some amount of strength to be able to tug him inside in the first place. She had a face that didn't seem like it could hold any sort of expression other than the anger creased on its features. "Can't a woman get some peace and quiet for once?" She was speaking quietly but with a voice that seemed loud, and he winced, but didn't answer for a moment. She kept her snow-kissed eyes on him; waiting, expectantly, and it took him a while to muster up words.

"I- I came here-"

"No? Really?" She was impatient, that much was obvious, but he flinched at the sarcasm nonetheless, and yet still held his tongue. "I don't think I would have noticed if you hadn't have said!" She looked unimpressed, and he hated it, but he had to remind himself that he wasn't there to impress her. She had opened the door for him after all, hadn't this woman? Even when it was very easy to infer that she wasn't a fan of people, judging by how elaborate this hiding place was.

"-for help." He finished the sentence lamely. She was quiet, then, considering, as if wondering why she hadn't scared him off yet.

"For what, then?" He stuttered on the words, before gesturing to himself, to his face, to his orange turned irises and sickly skin, to the nasty points of his teeth. Akatosh waited, but she didn't say a word. She was blind, then? This woman didn't appear to be besides her appearance, but he supposed he shouldn't really be one to judge by looks.

"I... um, I- I have-" He stuttered on the words, trying to remember. A part of him wanted to appear smart, intelligent, wanted to seem like he knew what he was doing, that he knew the full extent of what he had gotten into, wanted her help. "Por-porph-"

"Porphyric Hemophilia? You're one of them, boy?" She cut him off just the same, and he nodded, before realizing he shouldn't, and answered with a "yes" before falling short. Akatosh's memory was awful, but he had tried. She huffed, then, but she waved him off, off into the direction of a cozy looking chair by a roasting fireplace. The fire didn't seem inviting to him, seemed like something he should stay away from, but he sat down nonetheless, and she put it out as if reading his mind and let the other lights in the house do the job of keeping them out of shadow. "What exactly makes you think I would know anything about that?"

She went to a section of the cottage that sanctioned as a cooking area of some sort, with fresh growing vegetables and fruits, along with many pots and pans. She got some water from a bucket and went back over, drank it herself, and sat down adjacent from him, all the while waiting for his answer. "Well... you're a witch, aren't you?" He had finally gathered that all himself, and judging by the way she stiffened, she hadn't expected it from him. He couldn't blame her. He did appear quite daft, he knew.

She finally sighed, shaking her head. "Oh, my dear! I gave up witchcraft long ago." She sighed again, as if to relieve stress, bad memories. He didn't say a thing. Soon enough, he was rewarded, as she continued talking. "But a cure for vampirism. That's something I haven't thought about in quite some time. Very challenging, and potentially dangerous." She paused, and before he could say anything, could assure he would do what it takes, she added; "If you do something for me, I'll help. How does that sound?"

He shrugged. "I guess." He didn't really expect these things to come for free. They never did. "What do I have to do?"

She cackled at that, but it turned into more of a giggle. A strand of her grey hair fell right into her eye, hair that was wiry and messy about her face and made him feel like it would cut his skin if he touched it, and she didn't even blink at the thing. The sight disturbed him very slightly, but enough to make him look away and have to resist the urge to move the hair for her. "I have my own interests- besides witchcraft, mind you- and occasionally require resources that are difficult for me to procure. Soul gems, for example."

He understood, or, at least, thought he did. "I can get you soul gems-"

"Five of them," she cut in. "Empty, of course, and in perfect condition." He faltered.

"Five?" Akatosh saw this as useless. Before, he would have agreed without patience. But now, he understood he was on borrowed time, and he didn't know if his skin would hold up to the sunset next to come. He had been hoping for a cure immediately, without fully realizing how foolish that was to hope for.

She snorted, then, nodding. "Yes, five. Five's a good number, don't you think? One gem for each finger on your hand! And truly, your hand, unless you're like me-" And her hand she held up, then, with a crudely chopped off thumb, the sight quite a thing, especially paired up with her yellow smile and crazy gleamed eyes. He decided, then, that it was time to take his leave, and he let himself be shooed away, calling after him to remember her wish as he was pushed out into the night again, out into the lonely silence that crept up on him after the noise from the door slamming faded.

Maybe he wouldn't ask Tar-Meena for help anymore.

"Is this all you need?"

Akatosh was quiet, nodding soundlessly, and when the Argonian woman smiled at him, he didn't smile back. She took notice of this, and then frowned, but didn't say a word, even as he drew back from her the second he had stuffed the small sack bag she had given him in his pocket.

Akatosh already moved to leave after that. He had raced here on horseback all the way from Drakelowe, just to get here before the sun would rise. The Imperial City was gorgeous in the night, and he appreciated the way the enchanted magenta flames alight in the braziers that dotted the Arcane district didn't make him flinch away like any other sort of fire was beginning to, but he didn't have time to stay. And with Tar-Meena, whose eyes held care and concern and whose smile was genuine- he didn't want to stay.

"Hero." He flinched, and she noticed, and waited for him to stop. He did. They stood outside the steps to the University, letting the magickal fires light the night around them, but he didn't need them. He had figured that out of all the places he knew, the school for spellcasting scholars would provide soul gems for his quest, and while he could probably get them from anyone if he asked, he didn't think anyone but Tar-Meena would have answered his call in the middle of the night- no, in the couple hours that stretched before morning. She had been waiting for him, in fact, reading a book in the waiting lounge, as if expecting something like this. He had felt the deepest appreciation for that... and wished he hadn't.

"Don't call me that." His voice was short, rude, rude to this woman who had just given him a handful of expensive gems for free, who was helping him cure this disease he had brought on himself, who was doing this all without any want for any sort of reward. He was rude, and he didn't know why he was. He shouldn't have been, but he didn't regret it as much anymore, didn't care like he had the first time he had been short with her.

"I don't have anything else to call you by," she said softly, apologetically, as if he didn't know. "I have known you for over a year, now, since all that time ago. And I yet still don't have your name. I can't remember if you gave it to me or not."

"I don't have one," he said, finally, after a long, hesitant pause. "I don't need one." She didn't seem like she believed him. It wasn't technically a lie, but he relented. "There was... a man. He called me Akatosh. If you want to, you can." I won't be seeing you again, anyway, if it can be helped.

She didn't answer back for a long, thoughtful moment, even as he grew more and more anxious by the second and the skies less and less dark. "Akatosh?"

He nodded, but winced. Akatosh thought she noticed, but was grateful she didn't make note of the reflex out loud. "I don't like it very much."

"I can tell." He didn't have a reply, so he nodded. "Did the Emperor give you it?" He steadied his gaze on her at he question, and she went on. "You said it was a man, and you seem to keep good compa-"

"Which one?" He broke her sentence before it was finished. "Which Emperor."

"Martin, Akatosh. For as short lived as it was, he was our Emperor, too, just as much as his father."

"I know." She looked at him quizzically, and eventually did he answer, but with another question. "What brought you to think it was him?"

She sighed, her long tail swishing in some sort of unease. She knew just as he did that dawn was coming. He wasn't ready to greet the new day. Still, she didn't stop the conversation, happy to get something out of him instead of shortness. "Vampirism causes bloodlust, not depression. It was no secret you both were close. No one mourned him as dearly as you did. We all watched the same day Martin died, how you brought a bouquet of flowers and set them at the feet of his statue. Some saw how badly you wept- you know how nosy the people here are. And everyone knows you were there when he died- the only one truly there when he died, in the temple. Either you have a big heart, or a good reason for it to be heavier."

He looked away, purposely. He could tell when he was about to cry, and didn't want to. If he was going to, he wasn't going to let her see. "The death of our Emperor is a good reason to cry."

She was quiet, and then her head shook, disagreeing. "No, not someone who had only been in that position for a matter of minutes, an hour at most. Not someone who had been kept away in secret, only to be suddenly revealed as the bastard son of Uriel Septim days before his death. It's a good reason to panic, losing our only chance for a heir, but not a reason to cry as you did."

"He's not the only one I lost."

"But he's the one you cried for," she countered, but softly. "And he's the one you cry for now."

He looked towards her, suddenly, in shock. Slowly, a hand was raised to his cheek. He felt it, felt the tear that had trailed across his skin, the tear that had been numb to him before, the tear that tasted salty in his mouth. He was silent.

"Why?"

And then, he wasn't. All it took was for her to ask that, to ask that single, one word question, and his reserve broke, shattered, just like the Amulet had mere months ago. "Because-" He took in a deep breath, or he would have, if his lungs weren't dead. "-because I loved him, woman!" He got out the words, shouted them, and he knew some guards looked their way, but he didn't care. "I loved him!" He repeated the words, for her, for himself. "And he-" the faux breath he had pretended to hold in was gone, somehow leaving him emptier without it. "And he had loved me, too."

He knew more tears were streaming down his cheeks. He knew they were, even if he couldn't feel them. Finally, she shook her head, and she backed away. No? No? What in the Nine possibly gave her the right-

"You misunderstand me," she finally murmured. Her voice sounded like a fairy's over his yell. "I meant to ask why he called you this, Akatosh."

It was his time, finally, to shake his head. Oh, he remembered. Martin had worshipped his Divine, his precious Akatosh, in that damned Chapel of his. It had been his repentance for when he had been a priest of Sanguine- his way of repaying his dirty deeds under worship of a Daedric Prince. Akatosh had meant the world to him, until the sack of Kvatch. The Breton couldn't blame him for questioning the Divinity of the gods after watching all those innocents burn to the ground with their homes and their lives. And with every day that had dragged on after that, more and more of Martin's faith went with them. But there was something that Martin had always believed in, someone, since the day they had met. Martin didn't want the name Akatosh to mean nothing to him, so he had given it to that person. And he had been happy to receive it when he had, to be Martin's hero, to be the person that would always mean something to him.

It only made him feel bitter now.

"It isn't your business to know." His voice was shaky, and she seemed taken aback. This wasn't fair to her, he knew it wasn't, he truly, truly did. He just didn't care anymore. "I have to go."

She made way for him, she was letting him, but she didn't want him to leave, and he knew that. "It wasn't your fault." He stopped, then, and looked back at her. "His death, Akatosh. I know you must think that, I know. Trust me, trust me when I say that I do."

"I trust you."

She nodded, quickly, not wanting to falter in her words. "Then I know, I know that it couldn't have been your fault-"

"No," he cut in, and falter she did. "You don't know anything." And before she could argue still, he started to walk away, but she chased after him, and blocked his path. She saw how his muscles tensed, and the guards probably did, too, but she didn't walk away, standing her ground.

"You can't do this to yourself," she swore. "I've seen this in others, Akatosh, I've seen the light die in mens' eyes, young men like yourself. I've aided the Blades on many occasions, and for many years. I can tell when people start to shoulder blame they shouldn't, I can tell when they lose their hope. I don't- I can't let you disappear like I've seen so many before you do."

"Why?" It was his time to ask the question, less softly this time. "Why? Why do you care? Why!" It became less of a question and more of a scream, and he backed away still, further, like a cornered animal.

"Because I care about you, Akatosh, and I can't begin to imagine what you're going through, I understand that. And I know I'm not the only one. You're our hero-"

"No." He said the word coldly, emptily. It made her flinch. "I'm not a hero."

"Akatosh-"

"Stop calling me that!" The words were almost screamed, and they surprised himself. He felt his teeth elongate painfully, the sharp tips of what could only be fangs poking and tearing soft indents in the skin of his bottom lip. He didn't feel the pain. He felt his anger, making him shake, making him tremble, his eyes that burned brightly red. He was lucky he was turned away from the guards.

She didn't move. She didn't scream, she didn't draw back. Tar-Meena showed no fear. And when he turned again, letting his hands cover his face as he ran, she didn't chase after him, and only watched him flee through the gates.

The witch was waiting for him. He knew it, didn't doubt that fact. She was sitting outside, dressed in a gown made of stitched over rags, her hair brushed through and pinned in a bun. Her face was no longer old nor angry, but young, and beautiful, her hands catering to her dead garden and beginning to make it whole again.

It was day. The sun was yet to char his skin, but he didn't know for how long. The brightness felt disgusting, the sunlight heavy. He hadn't slept in days.

She didn't look up as he tethered his horse. She didn't look up as he walked towards her, jumping over the picket fence, only to trip and fall in the attempt instead. She didn't look as he got to his feet after a long moment, stumbling, shaking. He felt weak. She didn't care, and he liked that. He couldn't stand being around people that cared about him anymore.

"Gave up on witchcraft, huh?" It was a joke; he didn't really care. She only looked up at his words, and he handed the bag full of soul gems off to her. She took it, blinking in surprise. Her eyes were green, not grey nor white, and it was a beautiful color, but he hardly noticed until he took the time to really look at her and stop avoiding her gaze.

She got to her feet, and was somehow taller than he was. He recalled her being shorter than him when they had met yesterday, somehow. Maybe it was his memory that failed him, or a spell, or the fact that she had a posture to her delicate form instead of being half slouched over. "Your teeth are out," she noticed. He didn't look at her, didn't check. He knew.

"And your eyes." A hand was laid on his cheek. He winced and drew back, or tried to, but she grabbed his chin and he found that he couldn't. Her one grip was stronger than his entire effort to get away. "They're brighter than before."

Her pinky was pressed against an old scar on his cheek. Miscarcand. "I got you the gems."

"I know that, boy." He glared at her, then, slapping her hand, but she only moved it away in a second's time, and he ended up slapping himself. It didn't hurt, either.

"Then help me!" His voice was upset. Akatosh was upset. All the witch did was cackle at what she had made him do, at the emotions she had made him feel.

"I will, fool," she answered, chortling, pocketing the bag he had given her, the one Tar-Meena had given him. "Come on. In, in! We don't have time to waste!" Her voice went from floaty to urgent in a moment. He glared again, harder, but started to walk towards the entrance of the cottage all the same.

Finally, he spoke. "Then why do you continue to waste it?" He didn't know when he had gotten to be so rude. He wished he wasn't. He didn't like it. Akatosh hated his own anger, hated his own hate, but still hated.

"Because," she said, and she was idle as she spoke, watching him fumble with the door before opening, "It's not mine to waste." With that and a wink, she slammed the door behind them, and Akatosh was just beginning to comprehend the full extent of what exactly he was getting into.