Is it a bit short? Maybe. Bit of a filler, to be honest, but next one will be much longer.
Enjoy.
The sun was placed high above their heads, beaming down on the two travelers mercilessly. They stayed to the fine roads, dotted with large trees and the occasional bandit, no wind to blow apart the thin trails of clouds or to rustle the rich leaves.
His hands played with the white fabric primarily making up his cuirass, still recounting when Savlian gave it to him after the battle for Kvatch. It had been an ugly battle in the end, beginning with hope for a lost city, ending with the death of their Count. He wished he could do more than stab a few daedra and collect stones, but the only reason he was still walking was because the dozens of potions he had digested. That, and Martin's spells.
The Breton glanced at Uriel's son, fingers subconsciously brushing against the lingering scar on his cheek from what felt like a millennia ago. He couldn't even remember when his shoulder had stopped aching from the incident in the prison, and it was all thanks to the priest, really.
It was only when they couldn't see the smoke rising from Kvatch's remains that he spoke. "Are you okay, then?"
Martin looked him over, raising an eyebrow, robe torn and dirty but face oddly clean. "My home was destroyed, my true father dead, and you wish to know if I am 'okay'?" The Breton shrugged, mentally digging a ditch and hiding in it. He looked down at the iron boots on his feet, daedric greatsword feeling heavy on his back.
Yes, he knew he useless. But did he really deserve that? He closed the fetching gate to Oblivion, for the gods' sake! The Breton sighed through his nose, crossing his small arms and frowning. Maybe if he had been quicker...?
He looked up when a strong hand rested on his shoulder, meeting glimmering blue irises and apologetic features. "I'm sorry," Martin said, meaning every word. "You didn't deserve that."
"It was a stupid question," he offered, wishing he still had that burst of adrenaline from way back in Oblivion. His heart beat too slow, movements too sluggish, and it was kind of sickening.
"Yes, it was," Martin agreed, retracting the appendage, and they shared a smile. He pulled the map from bag, checking to see if they were still on the right track, carefully making sure not to rip the slowly-crumbling paper. The priest left him to it, looking over at endlessly stretching grass fields, lost in thought.
He put the map back in, hands brushing against the empty sheath on his belt, recalling the knife as it fell from the Sangillium Sanguis. His eyes find the Kvatch insignia on his cuirass, similar to Ilend and Menien, all drove mad or kill viciously in the end- sometimes both. He briefly wondered what became of Menien when the portal closed- if he's forever lost in Oblivion forever, cowering in his cage.
"So," Martin started, breaking the silence. "How did you get caught in this mess?"
He looked at the priest, considering, before giving an answer. "Well, I met your father," he said, mulling it over. "And he gave me this necklace to give to this other guy, and then the other guy told me to get you." He went through the explanation briefly in his mind before adding; "Oh, and he died. Your father, I mean, but I guess you already knew that. Still, it wasn't a very nice occurrence."
Martin's eyes were flickering with barely concealed amusement. "Are you joking?"
He shrugged. "I was in prison, and the Emperor was running from assassins. He had to use this shortcut or something, which cut into my cell. I just kind of followed. He was a kind man." You look just like him.
"Why were you in prison?" The Breton frowned slightly, searching for memories and finding none.
"Truthfully?" He asked, and Martin nodded. "I have no idea."
"How do you not know why you were in prison? Are the guards corrupted?"
He shook his hear hurriedly. "No, nothing like that. I just can't remember why I was put in there."
Martin furrowed his eyebrows. "You can't remember?" At the Breton's confirming nod he continued. "Well, what can you remember?"
"I know how to speak, and walk," he offered honestly. "Besides that, not much. I don't even know my name. Just waking up in a cell."
"Oh." Martin seemed to think about that. "You don't have a name?"
"Not one that comes to mind," he replied. Martin looked away after that, staring into the scenery, and the Breton tried not to feel crestfallen. He went back to fiddling with his armor's light fabric, happy that it wasn't heavy like iron. His only weapon glowed on his back, engraved with symbols from a lost language.
After a while, Martin spoke again. "Do you want a name?" The Breton thought about the question briefly, running a hand through thick hair.
"As much as anyone else," he finally said, and Martin seemed to take his answer as seriously as his expression.
They left it at that for a long time, two souls walking above Tamriel's soil, lost in contemplation.
The first thing he saw when they reached Weynon Priory was a sword pointed at his face, the first thing he heard being screams.
It was one of the assassins that had killed Uriel, or at least he resembled one of them. The blade was conjured, shimmering with Magicka, a demand for the Amulet of Kings booming behind a thick helmet.
He didn't know what to say to that, the man appearing out of thin air, but Martin's blast of lightning seemed to be enough. The offender was launched into the sky, skull banging against stones, reminding him of all the death he'd seen in his few days of life.
Martin and another Dunmer made quick work of the rest, he himself standing there uselessly. He felt a bit sheepish at that, but that went away when he saw Brother Maborel's corpse.
He ran toward it as the last assassin was finished, falling to his knees in front of the dead body. He heard Martin come up behind him, voice sympathetic.
"The Dunmer says that Jauffre might be in the Chapel." He offered a hand, but the Breton didn't take it.
"He gave me his horse," he murmured sadly, recalling the bloody steed sprawled along the grounds, all as a result from attacking scamps while he was away.
Martin took the incentive to pull him to his feet, the Breton stumbling slightly. Martin thrust an iron dagger in his hands, elaborating at his confused expression.
"I understand that you're fond of knives," he explained, leaving the Breton to briefly wonder how that was discovered. "And, well," he continued, glancing at the greatsword with something akin to disgust. "I don't believe you'll be using that anytime soon."
He thanked Martin, taking the offered blade, feeling it in his hand. It was light and fitting, and he lead the way to the Chapel with renewed courage.
They were greeted by the sight of Jauffre, standing tall, fighting off three of the killers at once. They immediately went to help fend off the attackers, Martin blasting spell after spell like he wished he could, Jauffre's katana shining proudly.
It was fine until the other two teamed up, unknowingly leaving him with his own guy. He hadn't realized how truly weak the journey to Oblivion had made him, and was disarmed within seconds. The offender shot a gust of ice his way, knocking him off his feet. The bag was snatched off his waist like they knew what they were looking for, contents dumped out, and he watched as potions, a forgotten bow and arrows, and his map fell out. The Amulet of Kings was last, glowing brightly.
It was snatched by the attacker just as his comrade was dealt with, and he ran out of the Chapel doors, disappearing with a spell. The Breton cried out, heart sinking, as the others ran toward him.
Martin pulled him to his feet, shivering tremendously, and started to gather up his items. The priest tucked them into his too-small bag without question, handing the bag back and shrouding him with healing Magicks.
When it was done, he looked sadly at Jauffre, the very fate of Tamriel gone with his thief. Even when the Blade dashed outside in a hopeless chase, even when Martin gave him back the dagger with a reassuring smile, he didn't bat an eye.
And, under his breath, in his mind- that was the moment he swore to get it back, swore to save the world.