Next Deadline: November 23 2014
"This is mad, Martin!" The former priest sighed.
"Yes, I know," he said, standing from his bed. It was early morning, only a small candle to light the room with the absence of a window, but it was enough. "It's the only chance we have."
"How?" Akatosh set down the plate of food he had brought up for his friend, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. "You can't be serious."
"I am!" Martin promised, coming over to the Breton. His bright blue eyes revealed his own doubt, and Akatosh's frown deepened. "We need the Sigil Stone to complete the ritual and go into Paradise. There isn't any other way to get the Amulet back."
"I have Sigil Stones!" He pressed. "I have lots of them! Can't you use one of those?"
"The Stone has to be from a Great Gate," he said, but the hero already knew it. "We have to let the Mythic Dawn continue on with their plan."
"Martin..." Akatosh looked down, fists clenched. The heir sighed again, reaching out a hand. He let his fingers brush against the shorter's cheek, over to where the bandages were from the night before. He was glad that his potion seemed to have worked overnight, healing the wound well enough for his friend to be able to speak. The Imperial lifted Akatosh's chin up, looking straight into his eyes.
"I know you can close it," he said. "You've done this many times before." Martin dropped his hand, trying for a reassuring smile. "I believe in you."
He fidgeted nervously. It was a short time before he responded, regretting his decision every second, but there simply wasn't another way. "What do we have to do?"
Martin walked past him, opening the door wider for them to step through. He closed it behind Akatosh, leading them down into the Blades' sleeping quarters. "First," he said, walking alongside his friend. "You should talk to Narina Carvain."
The room was empty, beds abandoned, the candles having been put out. He grabbed a helmet as they went outside, holding it against his unarmored chest. "Who?"
"The Countess of Bruma," Martin said. Snow was falling from the sky, little flecks of white being lost in the air. It was cold, too, and Akatosh wished briefly that he could replace his thin shirt with a heavy coat. "I have a feeling she wouldn't be very pleased to have a gate to Oblivion outside her walls without someone informing her ladyship first."
"I don't think she'll be pleased either way," he replied. "But why should I be the one to tell her?" They stopped walking by the edge of Temple's drop, looking over at the view. Akatosh could make out the fuzzy imprints of mountains through the heavy layer of fog but that was about it, and the height was a bit disconcerting. It was like walking across the thin daedric bridges in the Deadlands, feet pressed together and movements slowed in order to not topple off the edge and fall. One step in the wrong direction, and he could easily catch himself going over the mountain and down into, well, oblivion.
Martin's voice lead him away from his thoughts, and he couldn't say he wasn't grateful. "Who else?" He asked. "Around Cyrodiil, people have recognized you as their hero. And for good reason, too. If the Countess is going to listen to anyone, it's the hero of Kvatch."
He laughed nervously. "But not the emperor's son?" Akatosh asked. "I mean, you're not exactly a nobody."
"Actually, I am," Martin said. "My birth has been kept a secret. My existence has been kept a secret. No one knows of Uriel Septim's son, because I haven't done a deed to prove my worth. I don't have a legacy, Akatosh, and my word won't account for anything at all."
His fingers traced the symbols engraved in the helmet's metal briefly, running across the delicate designs. "Not yet, maybe," he agreed. "But, I, uh- I think you'll be just as great as your father was. I mean, I didn't really know him," he hastily went on. "But I knew enough. Uriel was a good man, that was for sure, and he used to be the reason I'm still here."
You're the reason now, he wanted to say, but didn't.
Martin didn't seem to know how to respond to his mess of a speech, and the shorter didn't blame him. "So, you'll do it then?" He finally asked, and Akatosh gave in.
"Yeah, I'll talk to her," he replied. "What do we do after that?" Martin shrugged.
"After that," he spoke, looking at his companion. "We prepare for Dagon's wrath."
Bruma was quiet, the morning lazy as the sun broke through the clouds and tried to dispel the snow. He pushed his way through the doors to the Castle, Kvatch armor a nice weight on his shoulders and iron boots thudding against the carpeted floor.
Narina was a beautiful woman, hair curled around her lovely face and irises glimmering in the flames of the fire places. Her posture was stiff, legs crossed as she sat in her throne, talking to Burd.
The two both turned as he approached, the Countess cutting off the conversation swiftly. "Ah," she greeted. "What news do you being from Cloud Ruler Temple?"
Burd gave him a little grin, one that he retuned to the captain of the guard as he answered. He told the ruler of Martin's plan, watching her face contort in doubt and disbelief. Akatosh quieted when he had finished telling her of the battle strategy, waiting.
She crossed her hands over her lap, frowning. "A desperate plan indeed," Narina said. "This, what, prince? Emperor? This Martin would risk my whole city to gain a Great Sigil Stone?"
She didn't sound happy, that was for sure, and he winced. "We need to recover the Amulet." He glanced behind her throne at Burd, but the Nord was waiting for her answer just as he was.
"This is the only way to stop the invasion from Oblivion?" He nodded, trying to look as apologetic as possible, but he had a feeling she understood.
She looked up at Akatosh, considering him. "I must confess, you are the first person to speak of victory against these daedra," she admitted. "This war has seemed hopeless to me, but what else was there to do but hold on and wait for a hero to arise and save us? And now it seems there is an heir to the throne after all, hidden at Cloud Ruler Temple... and maybe, a hero as well?"
He felt that there was something else to the Countess' words but he didn't understand it, giving the best answer he could. "Whatever Martin is, he awaits at the Temple." She actually laughed, a small little thing, but it wasn't of happiness. It was more like hope leaving her heart than a sign of joy, more like hope that drifted off into the air as a symbol of her loosing it.
"You misunderstand me," she said, leaving him little time to follow that train of thought. "Or maybe you purposely avoid answering my question? Very well," she dismissed. "Don't think that I doubt you. The rulers of Bruma have had long dealings with Cloud Ruler Temple. We know whom they serve." He didn't really understand anymore, feeling relieved when she continued. "I will meet Martin at the Chapel. When all is ready, I will order my men to stop closing the gates and prepare for battle."
She stood before he could speak, offering him a nod before walking forward. Burd gave him a clap on the back before hurrying to follow, and Akatosh had no choice but to tag behind.
He walked close alongside Martin as they strode past the lines of citizens, all cheering them on as they left the Chapel. It had been a short meeting, Cyrodiil placing its fate in their hands, but the crowd waiting for them outside was something different on its own.
Having Bruma cheer them on, to acknowledge the small army as their saviors... it stirred both a sense of dread and awe in him. Nobody had known him before he had woken up in the Imperial Prison, at least judging from how not a soul recognized his face, and he had been all over Cyrodiil. But now, as the townspeople applauded them as they left for war and called him a hero, that feeling of uselessness went away. Maybe he did deserve the title hero of Kvatch, maybe he was the savior of Bruma. Maybe, with Martin, he could end the Oblivion Crisis.
If anything was possible, as it seemed to be, there was no reason why a little Breton like him couldn't save the world.
The snow had stopped falling but it hadn't melted away, crunching under their feet as they lined up outside the lone Oblivion gate. Overhead, the skies had yet to darken into a fiery storm, instead leaving the pale canvas to light their vision, and he supposed he should be thankful for the little things.
He stayed with the troops as Martin marched forward. Before he could pass, however, Akatosh grabbed his hand. The heir's fingers were protected by the golden armor of Tiber Septim, the Divine's chestplate fitting on his form, and he resisted the urge to tear up just then.
"What is it?" Martin asked him, voice quiet. The soldiers were talking amongst themselves, waiting for their leader, and he knew he was disrupting that. But...
"It's just," he fumbled for a sentence. Martin waited patiently, easily the most beautiful person in Tamriel, and suddenly he knew what to say. "You're pretty amazing," he told his closest friend, words exactly the ones he had said to Uriel Septim moments before the man had died, and there couldn't be anything more perfect than that span of few seconds as Martin registered the pathetic praise. And then, although he didn't speak, he smiled the most heartfelt smile Akatosh had ever seen, and they both knew it was more than enough.
Martin waited until the hero let his hand go, walking out in front of his army. "Citizens of Cyrodiil!" He shouted, voice carrying over the group. "The Empire will stand or fall by what we do here today. Will we let the daedra do to Bruma what they did to Kvatch? Will we let them burn our homes, will we let them kill our families? No!" He shouted, and Akatosh jumped. "We make our stand here today, for the whole of Cyrodiil. We must hold until the hero of Kvatch can destroy the Great Gate, and we must kill whatever comes out!"
The skies darkened, bursting with red lightning and flames, and the men unsheathed their swords. "Soldiers of Tamriel," Martin called out. "Do you stand with me?" They all yelled in fury and affirmation as the first of monsters stepped out of the gate, running forward, and Akatosh was right with them.
He stayed back as the soldiers grouped up and attacked, battling away the monsters with metal and spirit. The Breton spotted Jauffre cutting away a Dremora, keeping the monsters easily at bay, and he ran over to Martin.
They had talked briefly about their strategy back in the Chapel. Akatosh was to stay behind in the battle, only fighting when necessary, preferably near Martin for easy healing if the need arose. Baurus and a few other Blades had been stationed near them at all times but by no means away from the fight, making sure that no one fell. It was a smart plan, but he didn't know how much it would hold.
Martin, for his part, was firing a series of lightning strikes at the beasts, not enough to draw any out but just the right energy and Magicka to kill them. He stopped as Akatosh approached, barely any demons outside the Deadlands, and he could feel the tension it caused as they waited.
"Are you okay?" Martin looked painfully anxious, sparks running up and down his hands, but he let the spell fall at the question.
"I don't think I could give you a proper answer right now," he answered, being as honest as possible. "I'm just," he faltered, looking at his friend. "Worried about you."
He was a few seconds away from answering when the air rippled, an explosion of fire coming from the left. Several shouted in alarm as the second Oblivion gate formed, the portal dispersing a larger cluster of enemies that ran toward them at full speed.
Baurus came up in front, taking on a nasty looking Dremora head-on, while most of their army scrambled to join him. Akatosh stayed back with Martin, hand posed at his hip, but his friend had already started rushing forward. The Breton yelped, trying to follow, but he only fell to the ground as the earth rumbled underneath his feet.
The third Oblivion gate took form as it did with the two before it, coming to creation in a burst of flames. He could actually feel the heat from where he was as a fellow soldier hoisted him up, getting him to his feet before returning to the battle. Akatosh didn't have time to thank him, instead wincing in pain as he realized his bandaging had come undone and the still fresh scar on his cheek had taken damage from the fall.
It was a shallow enough scar considering the wound it had been hours before, fingers managing to wipe away the blood, and for that he was thankful. Akatosh didn't dare try his luck at a healing spell, instead pressing a hand to the side of his face to numb the pain and looking for Martin.
The heir found him before Akatosh got very far, frowning as he caught sight of his friend. "What happened?"
"The zombie bite!" He said, opening up his fingers. Martin reached over to close the scar with his Magicks but the ground rumbled worse than it had before, and they both struggled to stay upright.
The ground burst open, the Great Gate crawling out from the earth. It was taller than the White-Gold Tower in the Imperial City, standing above their heads, and the view of the Deadlands flickered and came to life inside the gate's spindly daedric structure. The whole battleground went silent for a moment as it rose, and Akatosh realized he had never felt fear so prominent in his gut before than looking at the very thing.
"I can't make you do this," Martin murmured, eyes wide and voice barely tangible, and Akatosh let the fear go.
"It's fine," he promised, words slightly muffled by the wound in his cheek and the sounds of battle all around, but it was strong enough to be heard. "I've got this."
He started to head forward, Martin following close behind, both worming their way through the battle for Bruma. "Akatosh-"
"I love you," he spurted out. And as he ran to the Great Gate, rushing through the other dimension before he could change his mind and back out, the hero only fully registered what he had said when he was completely gone.