Chapter Text
Martin thought the end was closing near, one way or another. As he stumbled forward towards the window, his eyes caught a figure moving with purpose through the chaos, a silhouette against the flickering flames. The city was filled with shouts and the clashing of steel, but this woman moved through it all as if she were made of something more. Her sword flashed with a deadly precision, cutting down the Daedric foes as though they were little more than nuisances. She was not clad in the same armor as the castle guard he had seen fall one by one through the siege, nor the armor of the Imperial Legion he had been fervently praying would come. She was something different all together, slaughtering her way as she surged towards the chapel.
The first thing Martin noticed was her unrelenting pace in the face of destruction. Where most would have faltered, she fought with the certainty of someone who had faced death before and lived to see the light of another day. He watched as she, with a single strike, dispatched a Scamp as it lunged towards her, grotesque claws outstretched, and sidestepped its body as it fell, newly separated from its head. Her movements, while graceful and efficient, were charged with raw power like she was one of the very daedra she slew.
Martin backed away from the shattered stain glass window he watched her from slowly, observing everything in the strangely disconnected manner he had been in these latest few hours. He supposed it was better than allowing himself to be overwhelmed as he tried to remain composed in the face of the scant few shaking, terrified citizens who he had managed to usher into the chapel in the wee hours of the morning, which now felt like an age ago.
The second thing he noticed as she made her way through the entry of the chapel was her imposing stature. She stood a head above Berich, one of two the remaining guards. Her arrival was flanked by the Captain of the guard, a few of his men, and three Imperial Legion Soldiers. Their arrival brought no feeling of relief for Martin yet however, as the wave of brimstone and heat which ushered them in was an acrid reminder of the gravity of the situation which they were faced with.
He had spent so many years in isolation and meditation, forsaking his own desires to seek the will of the Divines, but now, faced with the burning ruins of Kvatch, he felt emptier and more disconnected from the gods than ever.
The woman was now stood in counsel with the guards discussing an evacuation plan for the chapel refugees, with the Captain declaring his goal to retake the castle. After establishing their tactics, she stepped away, her face twisted grimly as she removed her helmet and wiped away the sweat and filth that stained the uncovered portions of her cheeks and chin. Her countenance was schooled into something friendlier as she walked towards the group of citizens huddled in the pews, closer to where he stood at the altar of Akatosh. She smiled warmly at each as she spoke to them, murmuring that if anyone urgently sought medical attention to speak up and if they had the ability to stand on their own to follow the watchmen out of the city to safety beyond the walls. Martin was jolted into action upon realizing they would be able to finally leave the damaged chapel, and made to step forward towards the group as he knew they would require his help.
Before he could take another step, she approached, her eyes scanning him for any signs of injury. There was no time for formalities—no time for introductions. At that moment, she saw him as something more than just another frightened refugee, but as what he could not say.
“Have you brought help? We’ve been trapped in here since the daedra first started arriving last night,” Martin said as the strange woman stopped before him.
“Worry not,” said she, “I have brought men to take all of you to safety. They have established an encampment for survivors outside the gate. You will head there shortly.”
She paused, smoothing errant curls from where they had fallen out of her braid presumably during combat while wearing the mithril helm she had removed upon entering the chapel.
“Are you Martin, the priest?” she said, fixing her eyes intently on him. They were an odd shade of green and gold, and the intensity of her stare was rather unnerving.
“Yes,” Martin found himself replying wearily, “I am, though I do not know what good I am in such times as these.”
The woman placed her gloved hand on his upper arm, as if to ensure he paid heed to what she spoke next.
“I would bid thee to wait at the camp outside the gate, and watch for my return, once I have completed my mission in assisting the Captain retake the keep. I have a matter of very grave import I must speak to you about once I have rid the city of the danger,” she stressed.
Martin was very unclear on what this strange woman could have to say to him that would be so important as to stop in the midst of her actions to tell him not to flee further than the encampment beyond the city walls. He found himself nodding in lieu of asking any questions however, as her urgency gave him pause.
“Take care until my return, Martin. I will be brief,” she said, dropping her grip on his arm and nodding towards the departing group.
She spoke with such confidence regarding her resolving the issue quickly, Martin had no choice but to believe the woman must be mad.
He could not focus on her deranged behavior, however, as the insanity of the events which had taken place over that day overrode any thought Martin’s mind might have contained, hollowing out any consciousness beyond putting one foot in front of the other as he helped guide the refugees out of the city. The flurry of actions even once they had passed the borders of the city allowed no room for reflection as Martin continued forward, surrounded by the sobs of relief between family reunited, and the screams of agony at those who found no survivors awaiting them.
Martin found himself later at the edge of the encampment, staring vacantly out at the forests below the Colovian Highlands, bathed in moonlight. How long he stood there he did not know, only aware of the thudding of his own pulse in his ears, the stench of burnt flesh still on the breeze. His whole body ached, not like the soreness of a hard days labor, but as a paroxysm of the muscles, as though his whole body had been tensed at once in a cramp and only now began to release from its fit. Once, in his errant youth, he had received an accidental glancing blow of a shock spell by an acquaintance; the resulting feeling, though the effects were not permanent nor life-threatening, was very similar to this. It was as if his every nerve was lit up, even in his teeth. Behind his eyes had begun to ache, and he began to wish he had the energy to summon tears. His home destroyed, the parishioners he saw daily slaughtered in the streets, and the Gods silent all throughout. Martin felt adrift, with no idea what to do, but a burgeoning anger smouldering in his chest.
He was snapped from his reverie by an enormous crash resounding from inside the city walls. He assumed it must have been the castle collapsing due to the siege still ongoing, if the ceaseless clamor was anything to go by. He stepped into action once again, tending to the wounded peoples in the makeshift healer’s tent closer to the entry. They surely would have to begin to flee further, if the onslaught would continue, and he wanted everyone to remain prepared for that.
Whether to make towards Anvil or Skingrad was the question, he contemplated. Anvil was closer, and that portion of the Gold road less treacherous at night, but conversely Skingrad would put them closer to the Imperial City to seek aid.
He did not get to continue further in his concentrations, as the gate to the city opened once again, and the captain of the guard and his scant few men came stumbling out. They were followed by the strange woman who appeared to be carrying a large, dark orb, and several large pieces of daedric armor.
She made her way over to where Batul, the Orsimer smith, had set up a meagre excuse for a shop and immediately began dickering with the woman over the armor set. Eventually they seemed to settle on a sum agreeable to both, and a pleased grin settled on the taller woman’s face as she accepted the Orc’s coins. She appeared to be bleeding from several places during all of this.
The woman now turned, and upon seeing Martin began to stride over to where he was.
“I heard about how you helped the Guard drive the daedra back. Well done,” he said.
“Thank you,” The woman blinked at him for a moment, then finally replied.
“Are you still in good health? Nothing has occurred out here since you escaped has it?” she urged.
Her strange protective behavior would irk Martin, if he wasn’t so puzzled by it.
“No, I assure you I am quite alright, far better than many here have fared I fear,” Martin said, glancing at the wounded he had been tending to.
“I am afraid we cannot help them further at this moment, we must leave at once. You must come with me, Martin, your life is in danger,” the woman pleaded.
“Danger, you say? You came here to tell me this?” he scoffed, “There are many others here who actually need your help, I have no idea what you want with me.”
“Sir, I implore you to listen to me, the matter is of life and death–“
“I have seen enough death today to believe I need not any more,” he cut her off. “Explain yourself or leave me alone. I must return to my duties.”
The woman deeply sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.
“You are Brother Martin, the priest of Akatosh, correct?”
“Yes,” he said, beginning to lose patience. “I don’t think I’ll be much help to you. I’m having trouble understanding the gods right now. If all this is part of a divine plan, I’m not sure I want to have anything to do with it.”
“There is a plan. We’re part of it.” she said with fervor.
“What plan? What are you talking about? I prayed to Akatosh all through that terrible night, but no help came. Only more daedra. What can you possibly know that would help me make sense of this?”
“I had hoped to speak to you more privately but I see you are untrusting of me,” she muttered lowly.
“Madam, while I owe you a debt, I do not even know your name,” he said bluntly.
The strange woman huffed a laugh at this as though it amused her, which did nothing to quell Martin’s growing ire.
“Who I am is of very little consequence at this particular junction,” she said, her mouth twisted wryly. “Who you are however, is the crux of the matter.”
Martin believed his eye was developing a twitch at this point from irritation at this vexing woman who would not get to the point.
By the mercy of the Nine, however, she seemed to read this on his face, and cleared her throat and extended her hand.
“I am Ysabeau, of Haafingar, in Skyrim.”
A Nord. That explained the height then, Martin thought. She had dropped her hand back to her side while he thought over this.
“Listen,” she spoke lowly, “you are Uriel Septim’s son. I have been tasked with retrieving and escorting you to safety. We must leave.”
“Emperor Uriel Septim?” Martin said, eyebrows raising in alarm, “You think the emperor is my father? No, you must have the wrong man. I am a priest of Akatosh. My father was a farmer.”
The woman pinned him with a sharp look, obviously losing her patience as well.
“The daedra came here for you. The Emperor knew you were in danger. Hence, why I arrived here ahead of any aid, including the Imperial Legion.” She said briskly.
“You spoke to the Emperor before he died? And he told you to find me? An entire city destroyed to get at me? Why?” Martin said forcefully. “…Because I’m the emperor’s son? This is too far-fetched.”
“Why would I lie to you?”
He considered her a moment. She had, from what he had heard secondhand and witnessed himself, essentially driven back the daedric forces on her own, and entered the demonic gates and shut them down herself. Even though all logic told Martin these were the acts and words of a madwoman, he beheld no signs of anything beyond exasperation in her face.
“I don’t know. It’s strange…I think you might actually be telling the truth. What does this mean? What do you want from me?”
“At risk of nagging, firstly I would like you to come with me to safety, please. We make for Weynon Priory, where Jauffre awaits thee. He will surely do a better job of explaining this to you than I can, and I believe you can trust him.”
“You destroyed the Oblivion Gate, they say. You gave them hope. You helped them drive the daedra back.” Martin said, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Yes, I’ll come with you to Weynon Priory and hear what Jauffre has to say. Lead on.” Martin said, nodding decisively.
Ysabeau looked surprised and pleased at this, and instructed him to gather up anything he thought he might need for the journey, for Weynon Priory was more than a fortnight away by foot travel. He had very few possessions left, as most everything was in the Chapel Hall, and he did not think he could face returning to that place tonight. Ysabeau agreed with him and assured him she had more than sufficient supplies, and enough gold septims to pay for anything he might find himself needing, and so they departed.