This may or may not be the final instalment. I don't know if I can get away with adding what more I'd like to add without waving goodbye to canon once and for all. Enjoy, anyway.

The next few months passed Oreyn by with astonishing speed. He marvelled inwardly at how much could change with so little changing at all. The Master took to spending most nights at his house, where they would stay awake talking until the small hours, and in the mornings they would walk together through the Chapel grounds to the Guildhall where they would continue with business as usual.

She had insisted that there was no reason to hide their relationship, arguing that there was no-one above her in the Guild hierarchy to punish her, and any accusations of favouritism towards Oreyn could be quashed as he had been her superior in the first place. He agreed to his readily, if only to see the expression on Magnus' face.

Despite how natural it all felt, there were days when Oreyn could barely believe this turn of events. It was utterly strange to see her asleep next to him, curled up and vulnerable, and know that she had fought so many battles and been a saviour to so many people. When they were alone Guild formalities were left aside, and they were perfectly happy to while away the time in each other's company.

A bare six months had passed when he noticed a change in her. It was a sickeningly familiar sight; the Master was getting restless. She became withdrawn and distractible, often speaking vaguely to herself for short periods before coming to her senses. Oreyn prayed that he was misreading the signs, but in his gut he knew that he knew her too well for that to be the case.

He woke in the middle of the night late in Rain's Hand, pulled out of a light sleep by the sound of spring showers against the window pane.

It was pitch dark in the room, but Oreyn could make out the form of the Master sat on the floor, staring intently at something. Shaking the fatigue from his head, he reached over and lit a candle.

The Master was surrounded by books and papers, and in front of her there was a large map of Cyrodiil, which had been marked at certain points with red ink. She did not move when Oreyn lit the candle, only looking up at all when he whispered her name.

"Go back to sleep, my love," she said gently.

"What are you doing?" he yawned.

"Do not concern yourself with it," she looked ragged, as if she had not slept for days, and knowing the Master this may have been the case.

"Come and get some rest."

"But I have so much to do," she raked one hand through her hair and, referencing something in a thick tome, marked another cross on the map.

"I worry for you," he frowned. "what is all this about?"

"There is a path laid down for me," she said quietly. "I have been putting off following it for a long time. But there are still some preparations I must make."

"What are you talking about?" he sighed, attempting to hide his frustration.

"In your face I behold the sun's companion," she whispered. "The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness."

"I don't know what this madness is about," he shook his head. "but if you are tiring of me, say it now and save the both of us some time."

"What?" her head jerked upwards. "Oh, Modryn, no…"

Abandoning her papers, she walked back over to the bed and climbed in next to him. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and wrapped one scarred arm across his chest.

"I cannot tell you of what I speak," she said quietly. "For I am yet to find out myself. But something in my stomach tells me to fear the coming days. Know this now, my love. Whatever trials I may face, my heart and soul belong to you. As soon as I can let you in, I will, I swear it. But not today. Not now."

Oreyn opened his mouth to speak but was halted by the sudden heat of her lips against his. He let out an involuntary hiss of pleasure as her deft fingers travelled down over his stomach, and he was asleep within the hour.

When he woke the following morning she was gone.

If Oreyn had paused to listen to the rumours that were spreading like wildfire some months later, he may have understood something of where the Master had gone. But of course he did not, knowing better, he thought, than to trust such stories. After all, it had not been too long ago when some rabbit-faced Breton had insisted to him repeatedly that she had left on an expedition to the Wrothgarians that morning, when Oreyn knew for a fact that she was in his house sleeping off one too many bottles of mead from the previous night.

He was vaguely aware, perhaps, that whisperings of Daedra and destruction were becoming more frequent, but he stoically ignored them. In fact, in the months she had been gone Oreyn made no effort to discover the Master's whereabouts, preferring to deflect all questions on the matter by maintaining that she was away on business. This was partially due to his trusting her motives; and partially because he was terrified of discovering something he would rather not know.

The missive came early in Sun's Height, brought by a messenger on foot who denied payment for the service. He would have recognised the handwriting anywhere.

Oreyn,

The time has come for you to know the truth, my love, if you still wish to hear it. If our time apart was as hard for you as it was for me then I apologise deeply, but there will be no more secrets now.

Things are worse than I ever imagined, sera. But there is hope.

I am not so far away as you might think. Come to Weynon Priory outside the city walls as soon as you can, and I will tell you all that is within my power to tell.

He wasted no time in hastening to the Priory, foisting some paperwork onto a rather bemused Sabine Laul and making for the city gates as fast as dignity would allow him.

He found himself in state of such utter relief upon seeing her unharmed that he barely took note of the bloodied corpses strewn around the chapter house. She was sat across a table from a rather exhausted-looking priest, and he indulged himself in watching her for a few moments before announcing his presence.

"Sanguine, you say?" she frowned. "Interesting choice for a priest."

"I was not always so inclined towards the Divines, my lady," the priest sighed. "although from what I can discern you are yourself not so unused to the conflict between Daedra and Aedra."

"I have come to see that it is possible for both forces to be used for the greater good."

"That much I can tell. It is a difficult and admirable balance to strike."

Oreyn, upon being struck by a twinge of jealously, decided it was time to make himself known.

"Master," he said quietly, placing a hand tentatively on her shoulder.

"Modryn!" she span around, laughing, and threw herself at him with an embrace so forceful it threatened to knock them both onto the Priory floor.

"Good to see you too," he smiled, burying his face into the warmth of her hair in spite of himself.

"You are a light in dark times, my love," she said quietly, holding him at arm's length. "But I am being rude, of course."

She sat in her chair once more and gestured for Oreyn to pull one up beside her.

"Martin," she continued. "Allow me to introduce my Champion Modryn Oreyn. Oreyn, this is Martin. Septim. Heir to the throne of Tamriel."

Oreyn's crimson eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

"Sit back," she smiled wryly. "I have something of a story to tell you."

"The Emperor gave you the Amulet of Kings and you never thought to say something?" Oreyn managed to ask her through his post-coital haze some hours later.

"Well, that's that moment ruined," the Master sighed, lifting her head from his chest and propping herself up on one arm. "But honestly, Modryn, what would you have thought? 'Oh well that's perfectly feasible, better let her get on with it then?'"

"I might have," he frowned.

"No, you wouldn't," she smiled. "You would have said 'oh goodness, the new recruit's a few straws short of a haystack, better call the guards'. That's a good thing, by the by. Anyone who accepted such a tale out of hand would need their heads examining. I needed to prove to you… to myself… that this wasn't just some insane notion."

She reached out her left arm. It was bound tightly in muslin which she began to unwrap, wincing as she did. The last layer revealed an ugly burn, sporting the glossy, almost-healed sheen of a wound treated by magic in a hurry.

"Nothing could be more real," she shook her head. "the threat is here and now. With the Amulet gone I have precious little time."

"It is as I feared then," he groaned. "you're going to go and save the world again."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to try," she smiled weakly, tracing the scars on his chest with her forefinger.

"Hear me now," he cupped her cheek in his hand and looked her dead in the eyes. "I never say it enough. I'm excruciatingly proud of you. I hope you know that."

"Know this," she closed her eyes and laid a tender kiss on his neck. "every foul creature I slay; every unholy gateway I close; it is for you. We must leave for Bruma on the morrow. You may not see me for quite some time."

All of Chorrol knew that something was amiss. Instead of the nightshade tones of the evening a fiery haze had settled across the sky, and deep peals of thunder reverberated around the city. No-one was under any illusions of what was transpiring. News of Oblivion gates had spread across Cyrodiil in days, and many knew that it was only a matter of time before one endangered them too. The guards had ordered everyone inside their homes, making half-hearted reassurances that the city walls would hold.

Oreyn and the recruits locked themselves in the basement of the Guildhall, and not a single weapon remained sheathed. Even the layer of Colovian stone separating them from the outside could not entirely muffle the cries which echoed across the empty square.

Every sword-hand in the room twitched as they heard the wild braying of a horse, followed by the Guild doors giving way and heavy footfalls on the floor above them.

Oreyn took several tentative steps forward to listen closer to the door.

"Oreyn! Oreyn are you in there?" it was the Master's voice, and he quickly swung the door open at her words.

"Thank the Nine you're safe," he sighed as she entered the basement. "we're all accounted for."

"We have no time to waste," she breathed. Her face was streaked with ash and sweat, and a thin rivulet of blood ran down her cheek from a shallow cut under her eye. "the Daedra are swarming. I need every able man-at-arms and I need them now."

Guards were stationed by the gates, ready to let her small band of soldiers outside the city walls quickly before anything else could get in. As they tugged the heavy oak doors apart, Oreyn was faced with the peril of which he had only heard fearful tales. The reality outstripped any evil rumour a hundredfold. Stone teeth surrounded a gaping maw of flame, which crackled and oscillated as it spewed forth vile creatures beyond his darkest nightmares.

"No time!" the Master cried, pulling on her winged helm. "Charge them!"

She sprinted forward into the swarm, her guild brothers fast on her heels. In the moment before he was forced to engage in battle Oreyn caught sight of her slamming her shield into the snout of a great twisted lizard, and heard its skull break with a sickening crack.

The soldiers had to fight almost without thinking, so great was the task they had to comprehend. Pausing for a second to wonder at what evil they were facing would have been enough of a distraction to endanger their lives, so instead they pressed forward, hacking indiscriminately at any alien flesh that stepped into their paths. Eventually, mercifully, all the creatures were cut down with all the men still alive, no matter how barely. The Master beheaded one of the fallen Daedra for good measure and turned to her men.

"More will come," she cried. "You must hold them until I return!"

With that she turned on her heel and launched herself through the flaming portal, eliciting a gasp from those who had not heard that part of the story.

"Stop gawping!" Oreyn shouted, snapping out of his own trance. "You heard the Master! Keep your weapons drawn!"

He hadn't a whisper of an idea how long they stood there, taking down wave after wave of the demons. The perpetually blazing sky gave no indication of the time.

Some good men fell. Oreyn himself, already fighting through the pain of a cracked rib, was questioning how long his own stamina would hold out- and somewhere behind that, wondering if the Master would ever return at all.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when the ground underneath his feet began to shake violently, and the claws of the hellish gateway began to crumble. There was a moment of perfect silence, then a shockwave erupted around him, knocking all who stood there to the floor. Smoke rose, the sky faded from orange to the blue of early morning, and all was quiet.

Getting painfully to his knees, he glanced about to see what had become of the gate. It lay shattered, merely a pile of smouldering rubble, and, amongst the destruction…

"By Azura," the Master coughed from the epicentre of the debris, brushing fragments of the wreckage from her armour. "That one was a tricky bastard."

"Are you alright?" he called, presently unable to get satisfactorily to his feet.

"Yes! Are you?" she cried, limping over to where he sat. Oreyn noticed something glowing softly in her left hand.

"I'm fine," he nodded, grimacing at the pain in his side.

"How long was I in?" she sat beside him, pulling off her helm and gauntlets off to feel for the source of his discomfort.

"I don't know. A few hours perha- ah-" he shuddered as a wave of convalescence pulsed through his chest. "Thank you."

"Are you alright to walk, my love? I can't stay long," she frowned.

"I think so."

With her assistance he rose unsteadily to his feet, and when he was upright the two of them shared a lingering embrace on the crest of the blood-stained hill.

"I must go to see the Countess," the Master stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. "You will see me soon, I promise. Especially if my plans fall into place."

Predictably, she took her leave of him with this last aggravatingly vague comment, leaving him numb and dumbstruck as dawn broke over Cyrodiil. He had thought idly, many moons ago, that he would happily fight the hordes of Oblivion for her sake. How utterly typical of her that he should end up keeping that promise.

Conscripted by the Hero of Kvatch herself, they had said. Just another title for the same person. Master, Crusader, Hero, he thought, she still had a chip in her front tooth and snored when she'd been drinking.

How strange it was to be part of her army. How strange it was to see her at the head of the army, grim-faced and armed to the teeth as she and the Emperor-to-be welcomed allies from all corners of the land.

Despite her request that Oreyn should be sent, the two of them had only exchanged bare pleasantries before one of the Bruma militia led him and the other Chorrol soldiers to their encampment. Ordinarily he would have been irritated by the lack of attention, but he knew that these were not days for folly. They were a nation at war, and the Master was a general before a lover.

He was still mostly unclear as to what is was the army were to do. He imagined it would be a similar situation to that at Chorrol on a grander scale, but he had heard whispers that the Master and the Emperor were willingly allowing the gate to be opened; he knew this could not be true, however.

When he finally saw her alone he barely recognised her. Her hair was cut shorter, coiled back from her face, and she possessed an imposing quality that had not been there before. She sat, bundled in furs, on one of the many sets of city steps, staring out across the Jerall Mountains. It appeared that she had been in the middle of carving arrows but had got distracted, and her sturdy branches and wood shavings lay scattered around her feet.

"And by what title am I to call you today?" he asked quietly, pacing up behind her.

"Do you know what I'd give," she said, not looking up. "for you to call me 'boot' and box my ears?"

"What?" he smiled at the back of her head, watching strands of scarlet hair come loose in the wind.

"All the mazte in Vvardenfell, Oreyn," she turned around and grinned sardonically at him. "I forget I have a name at all, sometimes. Good of you to come."

"I hardly had a say in the matter."

"Pssh. You wouldn't have come just because you were told to."

"I suppose not," he sighed. "Go on. What are we to do then?"

"Well, tonight we're going to do something incredibly dangerous, to acquire something that will enable me to do something even more dangerous, so that eventually we can do something which may- or may not- but almost certainly will…" she paused here, sucking on her teeth in thought. "…save the whole of Tamriel from destruction at the hands of Mehrunes Dagon."

"Ah."

"Yes."

"Just a normal day's work then."

"Quite," she swallowed, getting to her feet. "I am glad you're here. I'm rather terrified, if I'm being perfectly honest. Don't tell anyone."

"I promise," he pulled her into his chest with one arm, kissing the freezing tip of her ear.

"Right," she sighed. "I should probably go. Rally the troops and all that."

"Good luck, Master," he released her from his embrace and she trudged off through the snow.

"Oh, Oreyn," she called back to him. "Try not to die, will you? Someone's got to do all the paperwork."

Oreyn was sure that there was not a single man on the battlefield who did not think all was lost when the siege crawler broke through. For one devastating second every soldier's heart skipped a simultaneous beat, in a silent recognition that the world as they knew it had come to an end.

The relief then, when instead of advancing the siege crawler crashed into a twisted mess on the snow, could barely be described. The few remaining Daedra were quickly cut down and in the moment before the Great Gate too crumbled, the Master was thrown from its jaws with astonishing velocity. She rolled head over heels through the bloodstained snow before coming to a stop by a heavy snowdrift, breathing heavily and clutching something in her arms.

Martin had been the first to reach her, taking the glowing whatever-it-was from her grasp and helping her to her feet. Her armour was badly dented but, all in all, she looked remarkably unharmed. The surviving men formed a ring around her, cheering and whistling for her glory.

She drew her sword and plunged it into the ground before her, eliciting yet another raucous cry from the assembled crowd.

"Men of Cyrodiil!" she cried. "Today was not merely a battle to be fought. It was living history, and each and every one of you has been part of it. Be proud, soldiers, that you can one day tell your children that you fought alongside your Emperor. It will not be long, now, til the Dragonfires are alight once more, and the Empire will have you to thank for its safety."

She stayed a moment while Martin made his own speech to the militia, then succumbed to the pain which obviously had a firmer grip on her than it had first appeared, allowing two Blades to help her up the slope towards Cloud Ruler Temple.

Oreyn was on his way back to the encampment with the rest of the remaining soldiers when a tall Nord in Blades armour stopped him.

"The Hero has requested that you join us at the Temple. Will you come?"

"Of course," Oreyn nodded.

"Good. Follow me."

With their combined injuries the two of them made slow progress, but Oreyn was inside the Temple and out of his battered armour within the hour. He paced anxiously about the main hall in borrowed clothes, waiting for the Master to summon him. He had considered talking to the Emperor-to-be, who was sitting only a few yards away from him reading quietly, but decided that he had done enough ridiculous things already to last him an entire lifetime.

Eventually he was called into the West Wing and pointed towards the Master's chamber. He knocked firmly, waiting for her response before stepping inside.

To his surprise she was lain, somewhat awkwardly, in a large tin bathtub, the water murky with blood. When he entered she crossed her arms over her chest in a strangely chaste gesture, which made her look like anything in the world but a great leader of men.

"You're alive, then?" she smiled weakly at him, but her voice lacked the light-hearted tone that she had intended. More had fallen that night than any of them cared think about.

"Just," he said quietly, moving closer to her.

"I've got a rather embarrassing favour to ask," she said, and Oreyn could have sworn he saw her blush for a second. "I can't quite lift my arms properly and my hair's all covered in blood and ichor and, well, it's pretty disgusting. Give me a hand, will you?"

Oreyn nodded and came to crouch behind her head. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and began to methodically rinse the gore from her hair and face, intermittently rinsing it with fresh water from a pitcher beside the bath.

Now he was closer to her he could see the damage she had taken in horrific detail; purple bruises had blossomed on nearly every part of her body, and although there were few lacerations to speak of it was obvious that she had taken some heavy blows.

"By the Nine," he breathed. "what happened to you in there?"

"Well I had this theory," she sighed. "Since I had precious little time to play with it seemed better to just run than stop and fight anything. So, consequently, I got rather badly pelted with arrows and rocks and lightning and whatnot on my way."

"That was stupid," he said gently.

"I don't see how," she shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. "It worked, didn't it?"

Unable to argue with this logic, Oreyn continued to massage her scalp, resisting the urge to insist fervently that she never leave the house ever again.

Washed clean of the grime of battle she was an unearthly sight to behold, broken and beautiful, the hills and valleys of her body tainted with the ugly souvenirs of war. Her face glimmered in the damp and the candlelight, tiny droplets of water clinging to her eyelashes like Azura's own stars.

He bowed his head toward her with the utmost delicacy, worried that one heavy touch might hurt her further. However, he found her kiss as firm and fervent as always, and he was reminded for the umpteenth time that no matter how fragile she may look, she was a warrior, perhaps the finest of her time, and it would take more than a few heavy blows to trounce her.

As she brought her sharp teeth down on his lip he slipped his hand under the water's surface, extracting a hiss from her throat which may have been pleasure or pain or both.

"I'm ready to get out now," she laughed gently. Within a few awkward moments she was out of the murky water, wrapped in cloths and his arms, listening in rapture to his heavy heartbeat.

As she slipped her fingers under his waistband he stopped her.

"You're seriously injured," he said quietly. "you don't have to."

The corners of her mouth twitched upwards as she looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"You don't know how close we came to losing each other tonight. I have to. It's for my soul."

Oreyn nodded silently in understanding, then leant over her welted shoulder to blow out the candles.

"I've finally secured the contract from Traven," the Master sighed, sitting heavily behind her desk.

"How did you manage that one?" Oreyn took the papers from her and examined them.

"I agreed to give lectures at the Arcane University, on Oblivion and Daedra and whatnot. Only once a month, it won't keep me away from the Guild for long."

"So you're a lecturer now?" he arched an eyebrow at her.

"I suppose so," she smiled absently.

"Don't you think you're taking this all on a bit quickly?" Oreyn asked tentatively. Her wounds from the final battle had barely healed yet, and she could scarce step onto the street without being mobbed by grateful admirers.

"I need to keep busy," she said simply.

He understood. When she had returned from the Imperial City she had stayed up into the night with him, filling in the gaps from their months of separation. Martin's sacrifice had saddened her deeply. She explained that he had become something like a brother to her, as they had both shouldered the burden of unlooked-for fame. However, she refused to dwell on her grief while there was still so much damage to be repaired.

In the meantime she had insisted on picking up where she had left off within the Guild, taking an almost obsessive pleasure in the most mundane of tasks. It made her visibly awkward when she was hailed as Champion, particularly by her Guild brothers, but she had come to accept that it was a title that she would not shake easily.

Oreyn himself had been in the Imperial City on business a week or so after the crisis had ended, and had not been able to resist sneaking into the Temple District to see the aftermath of the battle and the great stone dragon at its centre. Even then, despite her vivid descriptions, he could not picture the fight between the two titans. Daedra and Divine exchanging blows as the Master watched, mere yards away. It was a staggering thought.

"I want everything to be boring now," she announced a little later, sat cross-legged on the floor of his house. "Painfully, thoroughly boring."

"Good luck," Oreyn smiled, refilling her wine glass for her. "Unfortunately you rather seem to attract excitement."

"Aye, that I do," she sighed. "But here's the thing; I really don't want to die."

"Did you want to before?" he frowned.

"No, no, of course not," she shook her head. "I just mean… I don't want to risk it any more. There's a little too much to live for."

"The sun's rising," he noted quietly. "Morning Star. It's the Fourth Era."

"So it is," she smiled and raised her glass to him. "Well then. Here's to an utterly uneventful year."

Oreyn agreed that this was definitely something he could drink to.

Thanks always for reading and reviewing :)