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"Well in all honesty it was boring," the Master sighed, knocking back the last dregs from her flagon and calling over to Emfrid for another.
She had turned up at the Guildhall a couple of weeks after setting off on her Pilgrimage, forcibly dragging Oreyn to the Grey Mare so she could divulge all the details of her story.
"What were you expecting it to be?"
"I don't know. Enlightening?"
"So I take it you're coming back now."
"What? No, no," she waved him off. "Let me finish will you?"
"Oh, very well."
"So I get to the last Wayshrine and I get this vision, and I'm miles above the Imperial City, right? And the spirit of Pelinal Whitestrake comes and speaks to me-"
"I'm sorry," he scoffed. "did you say Wayshrines or Skooma dens?"
"Shut up Oreyn!" she glared at him. "I know it was real. He told me where to find the first relic, in an Ayleid shrine at the bottom of Lake Rumare."
Holding up a finger to silence him, she reached under her table and pulled something out of her pack. Placing the winged helm on the table, she leant back in her chair, arms crossed triumphantly over her chest.
Oreyn picked it up and examined it from all angles, frowning. "There's a reasonable explanation for this."
"Maybe," the Master shrugged. "I got a nice helmet out of it though."
After the Master left in search for the Priory of the Nine, Oreyn heard nothing from her for weeks. He had no cause for alarm though, as one couldn't go anywhere in public without hearing excited gossip about the so-called 'Divine Crusader'; how she had been granted a boon by Kynareth herself, had deciphered ancient riddles in secret tombs, had walked across thin air to retrieve a holy relic.
No matter whether these rumours were true or not, the Master's gift of the gab was certainly alive and well.
Regardless of how important and life-saving her quest was purported to be, Oreyn couldn't help but be thoroughly irritated that he had been left in sole charge of guild affairs- and more importantly, that he was forced to spend time with Magnus. The whelp had been utterly unbearable since the Master had left, and Oreyn had begun to spend most of his time writing to border settlements to see if they needed a long-term guard placement.
It was Magnus who ran into the Guildhall one particularly balmy morning in Last Seed to announce the Master's return.
"Oreyn! Oreyn!" he cried gleefully, running up the office stairs unbidden.
"It's sir to you, boot. And what is it? Have you forgotten how to tie your shoelaces again?" Oreyn spat.
"No sir," Magnus smiled, seemingly oblivious to the insult. "The Master is back! They say she is performing miracles at the Chapel!"
"She's what?" Oreyn got to his feet. "Dear me, what is that girl doing now?"
"You seem to have little faith in our Master, sir," the boy sniffed.
"For your information, boot, I have known the Master longer and better than you ever will, and I advise you to keep your mouth firmly shut on the matter," Oreyn narrowed his eyes.
He left for the Chapel with Magnus following at his heels like an insolent puppy. Otius Loran was keeping the throng of locals away from the Chapel doors, but, recognising them as guild brothers, waved the two of them through.
The sight that awaited them was a strange one to say the least. Several golden daedra lay slain about the floor, the carnage being cleaned up by Gureryne Sevilo. The priest Areldur stood in a corner speaking intently with a Redguard whom Oreyn did not recognise, and, near the altar, the Champion sat alone at the end of a pew.
Magnus rushed forward before Oreyn could stop him, falling on one knee at her feet.
"Master!" he exclaimed. "All of Chorrol is speaking of your great deeds!"
"Mm…" the Master, who appeared to have been sleeping, opened her eyes slowly. "Magnus? Is that you?"
"Indeed, my lady," he bowed his head. "I came here to receive yo-"
"Where is Oreyn?" she yawned, interrupting him.
"Here, Master," Oreyn pushed past Magnus smugly, making sure he stepped on his toes in the process.
"Hello," she smiled sleepily. "Sit, will you? You're making the place look untidy."
"They say you have been performing miracles," Oreyn raised his eyebrows as he took a seat next to her.
"Have they indeed?" she laughed gently. "I wouldn't go that far. I took the burden of an old curse from Kellen, the Redguard lad. It's not so bad though. I'm just tired. Very tired. And look what I got in return…"
With what seemed like a great effort, the Master reached down and picked up a pair of gauntlets from under the pew.
"So it's true?" he marvelled. "You've gathered the Crusader's Relics?"
"Mm. Most of them," she sighed. "I've got more to do. Not today, though. I'm too tired."
She closed her eyes again, resting her head wearily on Oreyn's shoulder.
"I'm sorry if I've been neglecting the guild some, Oreyn," she murmured. "this will all be over soon. I trust your judgement until then."
"Not at all," he swallowed.
"I'll stay at your house tonight, if you would? The barracks are no better than the inns for noise. And I'm so very tired…"
"Of course, Master," he helped her to her feet and gave her his arm as she shuffled drowsily outside, making sure to flash a superior grin at Magnus as he did so.
Oreyn was working late in the Guildhall offices when he heard noises from downstairs. He was certain that he had locked the doors, and kept one hand on his mace as footsteps approached. When the figure reached the top of the stairs he thought for a second some mythic hero was standing before him, clad in glittering armour emblazoned with the red diamond of the Nine. It did not take him long to come to his senses and realise it was the Master, returned after a long absence in search of the Crusader's relics.
She perched on the edge of the desk, tugging off her winged helmet as she did so.
"You… found them all?" he breathed.
"It would seem so," she nodded. "actually, you can have this if you like."
She unsheathed a mace from her belt and handed it to him. It was inset with runes that glowed softly in the semi-darkness.
"Is this…?" he trailed off, looking up to her for confirmation.
"Indeed. But it's not as if I need it. After all-" she pulled her sword from its scabbard and performed a few experimental jabs before replacing it. "-I'm not a barbarian like you."
"I'm not sure whether to thank you or berate you for that," he smiled.
"Berate me," she nodded grimly. "I'd be worried if you didn't."
"Why are you here?" he asked slowly. Her face was set in a grim resignation he was not unused to. This was not a spontaneous visit.
"Tonight I travel to meet the knights at Garlas Malatar. The relics have been restored, Oreyn. I must face Umaril now. I felt I should take a detour to inform you. It is, after all, something of a dangerous mission."
"I see," Oreyn started intently at the wood-grain of the desk for a moment before speaking again. "Don't go."
"What?" the Master frowned.
"If it's that dangerous then don't go. This is not some mercenary leader you can cut down with a few well-aimed blows. If what your prophet says is true, this in an ancient and powerful creature. It is too dangerous, Master."
"Do you doubt my abilities?" she stood, glaring at him.
"That is not what I'm saying," he shook his head. "If anyone can succeed here, you can. But you are too important to too many people to risk your life now."
"What are you trying to say?" she said quietly.
"Do not risk your life," he replied simply. He did not meet her gaze.
"I am no coward, Oreyn. When- if- I return, it will be first to the Priory in the West Weald. Meet me there if you wish the news first. Goodbye."
She turned on her heel and left him.
They carried her down into the Undercroft on a board of oak, her sword at her chest with her hands clasped at its hilt. The relics she still wore shone softly in the torchlight.
The eight knights served as pallbearers, some grim and stoic, some weeping openly at their loss. Sir Avita wound tiger lilies into her hair, and each of the others took it in turn to leave their own token in her tomb. The Prophet stood alongside Oreyn, his head bowed in mourning, speaking prayers to the Nine that were echoed by the others.
When Sir Thedret had laid his offering, he turned to face Oreyn.
"Would you like a moment with her, Sir?" he asked.
Oreyn nodded, and Sir Thedret and the others filed out in silence. He walked to her casket slowly, half of him wanting nothing more than to turn away and leave. But he carried on forward, until he could see her body, illuminated by candlelight, her eyes closed in peace. In death she looked as beautiful as she ever had in life, from the way the braids in her hair softly framed her face to the smattering of dark freckles across the bridge of her nose. Oreyn could have fooled himself, too, that she was wearing that smile she so often wore; the one that said 'I know something you don't'.
He clenched his teeth against the many bitter emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. Clasping one cold hand in his, he reached into his pocket and brought out his own token; the ring she had taken from Azani Blackheart's body on their first mission together. He smiled at the memory in spite of himself, and laid the ring on her chest.
This was wrong, he thought; she should not be buried in secret in the undercroft of some forgotten Priory. She deserved mourning parades through the streets, a pyre in the Ashlands; but not this.
He was working up the courage to tear himself away when a voice called out from the shadows.
"Listen to me, son," it appeared that the Prophet had not left with the others as he had believed. He stepped out from the darkness and stared at Oreyn intently. "She will surprise you yet."
Oreyn hesitated for a moment, then nodded a thanks to the old man and hurried away before anyone could spare him a kind word.
Oreyn remained at the Priory for several days. Despite his protestations the Knights had insisted that the Crusader's death be kept a secret, and he had no wish to return to Chorrol and deal with the inevitable questions straight away. Mostly he kept to himself, taking walks across the West Weald in solitude and reading on the Chapel tower.
On one of the rare occasions he had socialised with the others during his stay he was taking breakfast at the communal dining table. To his great relief they all spoke very little- most were still brooding over what had conspired at Garlas Malatar. Oreyn had just finished his meal and was preparing to leave the Priory when Sir Thedret stood up suddenly, holding out his hand to signal for quiet.
"There are noises coming from the undercroft," he whispered.
"Aurorans?" Sir Carodus asked anxiously.
"I don't know. I'm going to take a look," Thedret unsheathed his sword and ran down the steps. Oreyn clenched his fists under the table but did not move. If the Crusader's tomb had been desecrated there would be a great deal of blood spilt that day.
Oreyn and the remaining Knights listened intently, sword-hands at the ready, but no sounds of a struggle could be heard. Eventually the undercroft door creaked open and a stunned-looking Sir Thedret ascended.
The reason for his expression soon became clear, as the Crusader herself followed soon behind him, looking nothing worse than dishevelled.
"Morning all," she smiled. "thanks for the lovely send-off, but I'm afraid your efforts have been a little wasted. Sorry about that."
"C-Crusader?" Sir Lathon laughed. "You're alive?"
"It would appear so, wouldn't it?"
"And Umaril? What happened?" Areldur asked quickly, seemingly the first to recover from the shock of seeing their leader resurrected.
"Oh, he's dead," she nodded. "Yes. Very, definitely, properly dead this time. No worries on that account."
As casually as one who had just been raised from the dead could be, she helped herself to an apple and began to pull the withered flower blossoms from her hair. It was then that she noticed Oreyn amongst the knights, and her face broke into a smile upon spotting him.
"Oreyn!" she threw her half eaten apple to the ground and dashed over to him. "You stayed here all this time?"
"You were dead," he frowned. "I saw you."
"Oh, come now," she smiled gently. "did you think that would stop me?"
"But you were dead," he repeated. "I was at your tomb."
"I know," she said softly, looking down. "I saw it, somehow. You gave me Blackheart's ring, didn't you? Thank you for that. I know it is not something you would not have parted with readily."
"You were dead," was all Oreyn managed to say.
"Well, yes, so you keep saying," she laughed. "I'm going to take a nap, I think. Death is rather exhausting, it would seem. Shall we return to Chorrol tomorrow?"
Oreyn nodded dumbly as she walked away.
"Has Oreyn left already?" the Crusader asked her knights the following morning. She leant in the Priory doorway, munching absent-mindedly on a pear, bare feet crossed at the ankle. Having tired of trudging around in the cumbersome relics for weeks she had opted for her training leathers instead, finding their simple comfort a welcome reprieve.
"I don't think so, my lady," Sir Brellin replied. "his pack is still upstairs. Have you checked the grounds?"
"I have," she nodded. "where in Oblivion has he got to?"
Deciding that Sir Geimund would not object to the Divine Crusader borrowing his horse for an hour, she saddled up the stallion and began to ride aimlessly around the forests surrounding the Priory, presuming that sooner or later she and Oreyn would cross paths.
She was right on that count, as little more than half an hour had passed when she caught sight of him, sitting at the base of the Wayshrine of Akatosh that lay just west of the Priory. She dismounted the horse and, after tying its reins loosely to a low-hanging tree branch, stepped quietly over to where Oreyn sat. He barely acknowledged her presence as she leant against the crumbling pillar next to him, just remained taciturn, staring out across the grassland.
"Are you alright?" she frowned. "you seem a little… distracted."
"I am not distracted," he said.
"Oreyn, I do believe you're sulking," she said quietly.
"You really are an incredible fool sometimes, Master," he snapped suddenly, getting to his feet and stalking around to the other side of the shrine.
"What?" the Crusader clambered over to face him again. "Oreyn, are you angry at me?"
"Angry?" he hissed. "I'm furious, Master, if you must know."
"What exactly have I done?"
"You went and got yourself killed, that's what you did!" he snapped.
"I'm… sorry?" she hazarded. "I don't really understand why that's such a crime to begin with, but I hardly see the point in persisting with your grudge. I managed to rectify the situation after all, and the odds were stacked slightly out of my favour."
"It's all just a joke to you, isn't it?" he said, glowering at her. "How do you think it felt for- for the rest of us? We didn't know you were coming back. We thought you were gone."
"Oreyn, I-"
"You can't just swan into people's lives, turn them on their heads and expect everything to be fine if you decide to go and die on them-"
"Oreyn!" the Crusader interrupted loudly. She shook her head, eyes wide with bewilderment. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Not a one. Can we please knock the crazy on the head and go home now?"
"You're lucky you're good with a blade, Master," he scoffed. "because you're remarkably thick in the head."
Oreyn stared at the Crusader with something which may have been disgust and may have been something entirely different, but either way left her utterly bewildered and not a little offended.
"Modryn Oreyn," she hissed. "I will not tolerate your insults. I may be your friend but I am still your Master, and unless you explain your insubordination right now there will be consequences."
"Are you threatening me?" he sneered.
"Yes," she whispered. "and you should know from that alone that I mean what I say. Explain yourself. Now."
For a long moment he remained silent, his flaming eyes fixed on hers, waiting for her countenance to slip. When it did not, he sighed heavily and sat down at the edge of the shrine.
"It couldn't be good enough for you, could it? Bringing down the Blackwood Company, having the whole guild at your command. You had to have more. Did you not think that we depended on you? All of us?"
"You didn't depend on me that much, did you?" she asked quietly. "I would never have left you with the responsibility if I thought you couldn't handle it…"
"Master," he stood up to face her, though it seemed to take him a great deal of effort. "I depend on you more than you could possibly know."
It was not his words that made everything clear to her, but his expression. He told her everything with one livid scowl, one twitch of his narrowed eyes.
"Oh, Oreyn…" the Crusader's brow creased, and she took a step back on her heel. "How… when?"
"I honestly don't know," he shook his head, eyes glancing to everything but her face. "I'm truly sorry, Master. I understand if my position in the guild is forfeit."
Oreyn closed his eyes in anticipation of the harangue he would surely receive, and was more than a little surprised when it never came. Instead he felt calloused fingertips on his neck and warm breath against his cheek, and before he could comprehend these sensations she was kissing him.
"Master?" he frowned when she finally broke away from him.
"Had you fooled, did I?" she smiled softly, twining her fingers in his. "Come. Let's go home."
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