Skyrim Page 3 - "Either you're naked, or I'm drunk. Maybe both."

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Taking the Nine in Vain - 1/6

[(Anonymous)]

When I returned to Cloud Ruler Temple, Martin was waiting for me. As usual, he was sitting at what had become "his" table, in the Great Hall, with an ever-increasing collection of books. But unlike usual, he was barely concentrating on what he was reading. One hand tugged at his thick brown hair, while the other tapped impatiently against the wooden table top, in some sort of rhythmic pattern. He sighed at the reference tome in front of him, and his eyes darted around the room in boredom. Thus he saw me as soon as I entered, shaking the snow off my cloak, and lugging a large sack. His entire face lit up with delight.

"You're back!" he exclaimed. "Did you get the artifact?"

"Of course," I nodded. "Have I ever let you down?"

"Well, no, my friend. But sometimes things go wrong despite our best intentions. You might have become lost, or hurt, or...". He stopped himself, and instead turned his attention to the sack, which I was able to carry only thanks to my strongest Fortify Strength and Feather spells. "May I see it?"

"Help me lay it out on the table," I commanded him. He chuckled under his breath, a combination of sheer relief at my safe return, and because I was the only person who would dare issue orders to the would-be Emperor of Tamriel. Admittedly, Jauffre tried to give him orders too, but he would couch them in delicate terms, as suggestions. Always a diplomat... I, on the other hand, would simply tell Martin what I wanted him to do; which had recently gained me more than I'd ever dreamed of having, in the form of blissful nights with the most attractive man I'd ever met.

(Obviously I cared about the Empire, and wanted its Emperor to be crowned as soon as possible. Why else would I let him constantly send me away from his side, to acquire the priceless trophies that we needed to perform the ritual, and recover the Amulet of Kings? But the truth was that Martin the man - ex-mage turned priest of Akatosh - was far more important to me than Martin Septim, illegitimate son of Emperor Uriel. His parentage felt irrelevant, so I treated him accordingly: the only person to use his name instead of a title. Apparently he appreciated this, since he was always begging the Blades to do the same. However, it seemed that they could not overcome their trained deference to the role, even when the man occupying it implored them to.)

We emptied the sack carefully. Martin stared at the ancient cuirass as it lay on the table. His finger traced the gilt design, reverentially. "The Armour of Tiber Septim himself!"

Of course, we knew that the line of descent was broken several times, when the crown had passed to nephews or cousins instead of offspring. Nonetheless, we were both overwhelmed by emotion at this tangible connection between Martin and his legendary predecessor. The armour stood as proof that the god Talos had once been an ordinary man. I saw Martin wiping tears away from his eyes with the sleeve of his robe.

I wondered anew how similar the two Septims would prove to be. Was Tiber Septim, the great war chief, a powerful mage able to protect himself against the forces of evil? The history books were unclear on this. Would Martin Septim's intervention against Oblivion be so mighty that the gods themselves would take him up as a Tenth Divine? Only time would tell.

Martin must have been having similar thoughts. "The Septim blood may flow through my veins, but you have the soul of a hero," he pronounced, looking up at me and smiling. I gazed into his wide blue eyes for what seemed like minutes, feeling myself slowly drowning in desire. The charisma of the man! If I hadn't rescued Martin while he was still reeling from the disaster at Kvatch, I'd have thought he could cast Charm spells that would last days. As it was, it seemed to be some sort of Septim ability, to go with the prophetic dreams and ability to wear the Amulet. Voice of the Emperor? Hmm.