She climbed the stairs and leapt a dozen feet into the paraqet where she watched the sun set. The cold wind cut through her doublet, but she did not shiver. Her fist raised at the setting sun trembled and glowed as she summoned a scamp from the fire shores of Oblivion. It smelled like sour milk, rotten eggs, and vomit. She was five and a half feet tall and could look down on it and its crooked legs, tail and grey skin. Its tongue lapped two rows of fangs. It’s hands looked like rat’s hands. It scratched behind a long pointed ear and gurgled.
The two figures stood at the top of the thin stone tower in the orange morning sunlight and she began to speak to it.
Her cherubic face. She frowned. Deep laugh lines creased her alabaster skin around the eyes, but these did not move when she spoke to the creature. She had not smiled in a long time. Her soft jaw stiffened and thin lips bent low.
"Good morning."
It could not respond.
"Sleep well?"
The scamp drooled.
"Not me." The wind whipped her blue hood and her voice became ice. "Not ever again I should think. Thanks to your kind."
She had killed hundreds of scamps in Oblivion, summoned and killed hundreds more in training for the war that took him away forever. She told it the date.
"It will be time for me to go soon."
It’s head bobbed from side to side and it squeaked.
She sighed. The sun was over the mountains. She pulled the master-forged steel cutlass on her side from its sheath.
"Time for you, too. The spell is almost over and you’ll be pulled back home to Oblivion. But…" she looked at the red glow of the enchanted sword "…I want to tell you. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I don’t know why I did any of it."
She braced herself. She counted down the remaining seconds of the summoning spell. “Ten…nine…”
The scamp was oblivious. It was standing on the ledge of a hundred foot drop. On “eight” she rushed the creature, swiped her sword from its ribcage to its fanged mouth and staggered it over the ledge. It screamed as it fell. She kept counting down, watching the demon fall.
"…two…"
At “one” the spell wore off and the creature was torn back to Oblivion just before it would have splattered on the jagged rocks below. The mountains reported echoes of the beast’s cries for help. They were miles away from anyone who would hear.
Fateless stood on the ledge, huffing in cold air as she stared at the puff of smoke that trailed off at the bottom of her wizard’s tower.
"Why do I do this?" But there was nobody there anymore at all.
She went downstairs. Her footsteps echoed across the huge main chamber of her tower. The candles around the enchanting altar flickered and cast shadows on the piles of books and scrolls strewn across the vast stone floor. She jumped over a tall stack of books and landed on a shining magic circle and teleported into the basemant.
It was full of a dozen treasure chests. She listened to herself breathing in the damp basemant air as she opened a brown wooden chest. The creak of the lid shattered the silence. She gathered a handful of alchemical ingredients, shut the lid of the chest with a deafening boom, and teleported to the main hall.
She went back to her bedroom, next to her garden, and stood in front of the closet that kept everything important to her. She tried on a dozen different outfits, but in the end wore what she always wore: quilted doublet, laced leather pants, doeskin shoes, necklace, rings, gloves and sword. Her blue hood, symbol of her station as Archmage, draqed over her shoulder length black hair and obscured her eyes. She looked like any common sailor, but all the items were enchanted, secretly stronger than ebony or steel. She collected as many potions as she could carry, checked her inventory kit and stepped out to the balcony.
The purple transport circles shimmered. To no one she said aloud, “I wonder if its the magic that keeps them clean.” No one answered. “I don’t want to go.” She stepped on the pad that would send her to the Arcane University and disappeared.
Fateless was standing in the library of the Arcane University. When she materialized a dozen blue robed mages stood up and ran at her all speaking at once.
"Where have you been?"
"In my tower, growing roots and flowers in my garden."
She marched out the door with five mages trailing after her waving papers in the air.
"Well, the Council has been looking for you! There’s a million things to do."
"No [censored]?" That shut them up.
After a moment’s shock at her obscenity they laid into her again. The Elder Council wanted her to speak at the ceremony commemorating the anniversary of the death of Martin Septim, but she knew that already. There were about a hundred invoices for school inventory that needed to be signed, a dozen applications that needed her seal, a stack of letters from reporters that wanted to know what “really” happened at the battle against Mehrunes Dagon and the invading forces of hell, another stack from chapel priests across Tamriel that demanded to know the Archmage’s official metaphysical position on the transmutability of humans into divines and the magical implications of hierophanical apotheosis.
She was lithe, acrobatic and faster than all of them. They struggled to keep up with her and when she did a back flip down a flight of stairs they broke into a full sprint calling, “Archmage, this is very serious!” and “Where are you going?”
In the old days, she thought, I would have laughed at that.
She passed through the university’s garden and made sure the flowers and roots were growing well. Three sages were arguing about what gifts would be appropriate to offer at the ceremony.
"Considering Martin’s death, no gift of weapons…" said one with a long beard.
"I beg your pardon. Martin Septim did not die. He became one…with Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time!" said a well-tailored one.
"Nonsense!" said the third. He had an eye-patch and was much older. "People can’t become one with gods just by smashing up a few jewels and muttering incantations. He just prayed, and the divines answered his prayer."
The long-beard spoke up, “Well you’re both wrong. The Emperors were always already divine! Martin died to save us, gave up his mortal form and revealed his true aethereal form…”
She jumped over them, and they did not notice. She landed in front of the door to the Alchemy Department and went inside.
"Welcome to the Univer…well, hello Archmage!" said a serene blonde woman.
Fateless greeted her and they sat down.
"I’ve managed to track down the jatamarnsis plant."
"How much?"
"It was very hard to track down you know. Only grows near High Hrothgar in Skyrim." She rambled. "Just what sort of potion is this for anyway?"
"Julienne."
"I’m afraid it will be a thousand septims."
"Damn. I have some potions to trade. You know they’ll be the purest. Offset that a little."
Fateless put red and blue bottles on the wooden table. Julienne held them up to the light and gawped at them.
"My word…I should say so. But I’ll have to sample…"
"That’s fine" Fateless interrupted. "Try the intelligence potion."
Julienne drank from a red bottle and her eyes shimmered.
"Yes, indeed! I think so! I can get that price down for you. Say you know Camilonwe’s comments on transpontine circumpenetration of the limen are starting to make sense to me. Always was a puzzle before, but I think…"
"The ingredient?"
"Oh yes, right here. You know, you could probably use that for some kind of altering potion. Or a nice perfume! It just occurred to me."
"Right" said Fateless. Julienne handed her a small silk bag. Fateless opened it.
"Yes" she said and sighed a relief. "Thank you, Julienne."
Julienne wrote up a receipt and Fateless paid her for the rare plant. The door swung open and the five angry mages stormed in.
"Archmage, this is intolerable! High Chancellor Ocato himself is demanding your presence at this very instant!"
Fateless put the silk bag in her kit and stood.
The mages were silent. She grabbed an empty sack from the corner.
"First. I’m going to see Ocato right now. And remind him that it was I, a worthless pirate urchin, that put her ass on the line to help Martin…" she thought of his face "…to help Martin stop the daedra from pouring into this reality and killing us all."
The mages were stunned. She was indeed a pirate’s child and now she sounded like a tough-but-fair captain spitting orders at a crew.
"Second. Put everything I need to sign in this bag. If I can brave the dremora warriors and lava rivers of Oblivion, I can get this [censored] paperwork done over the weekend. Get it?"
"Yes, Archmage" they said in almost unison. The ones with papers filed passed and put their documents in the bag and left. A tall man with brown skin dressed in white robes fumed.
"Listen you…"
"What, Delmar?" Fateless cut him off. "What am I?" She knew he was probably a better mage than her and that he wanted her job. She stared him down.
"Traven. Would never have spoken in that…"
"Hannibal Traven is dead." Her voiced cracked a little. "I watched him die. He sacrificed himself…" she thought of Martin’s face "…to help me kill the King of Worms. And he put me in charge. How many times do I have to save the world, Delmar?"
Delmar’s shoulders sank. “Yes, Archmage. But…”
"Sorry, Julienne" she said to the serene blonde woman "But I’ve got to run."
Fateless cast an illusion spell. Delmar fumed some more as he looked around and could not detect her. Julienne was suddenly absorbed in a book and Fateless left.
She stayed invisible as she crossed the marble bridge into the city. It was not difficult for her and she wanted to remain unseen. It had been months since she really needed to be in the Imperial City. It’s white streets and marble buildings, the huge throngs of people pressing in for the anniversary ceremony, the brackish smell of the waters of Iliac Bay on the warm breeze assaulted her senses. She was thick and numb from loneliness and she could only think through her plan. She would put together the ingredients after the damn speech, keep the speech short and simple. And when that’s done and we’ve all exchanged our smiles and gifts, I’ll probably have shaken hands with every adoring fan in Tamriel and by that time the sun will be setting. That’ll be my moment, she thought. Because the Shadow Legion guards will make sure to clear everyone out of the Temple of the One and I’ll be alone. The guards will be there but they won’t think anything of the great Heroine of Kvatch hanging around the gravestone of her best friend. A little water and a jar. I’ll have to chug potions till my bladder’s full and my brain is squeezing. Then just add the plant Julienne got me. Then add the powder that Ogier said he’d get. If he has it.
She realized she was running and leaping over people. She landed and stopped. She was almost to the market district and hundreds of people were crowding past. It was one year since his sacrifice and everyone from every part of the Empire had come to celebrate the end of the Oblivion Crisis. There were plenty of humans—gorgeous Cyrodiilics from the heartlands, dark skinned and turbaned Redguards from across the Alikir desert, big hardy Nords from the mountains of Skyrim, fair-haired and sophisticated Bretons from the coast lands of High Rock. The city was pressing in on her and she felt like she was being crushed. A crowd of tall, gold skinned Altmer elves jostled a thin Orc woman. They started to scold her until a big male Orc came over and they scurried away. A beggar child picked the elves’ pockets in the commotion and Fateless watched her take the money and dip down an alley. Her illusion spell wore off and she followed the child.
She knew all the streets and alleys of the city well, and when she caught the child she whispered, “Shadows hide you. And in the future don’t be so wreckless.” The child was too frightened to speak, a thin hungry little Imperial girl. “I was just like you once. Follow me.”
The child smiled and followed her. Fateless showed her a secret alley within an alley and told her when she reached the docks to tell the Thieves Guild she wouldn’t be meeting them that night. The child said she would do it and Fateless gave her a septim and an apple from her kit.
She emerged in the market district and the din of footsteps on cobblestone shook her. It was packed tight with people talking about the ceremony and Martin Septim. Street vendors had set up temporary stalls all along the edges of the streets and the smells of cooking meat and spices mixed in the air. Hot steam and the clinking of coins and the jingle of armor and whisp of robes. High born and low born; human, elf, cat-people, lizard people. She kept her head down and tried not to look into any of their faces. It was easy for her to go unnoticed in the crowd and though she felt like she was loosing her breath in the press she pushed on toward Ogier’s shop.
A small band of bards camped out in front of the door to the shop. One was playing a strange reed instrument with a high pitched whine and another was singing well off key in between slugs from a cheap bottle of wine. The din was really giving her a headache now and she just needed to get around the bards to get into to see Ogier.
"Scram, you [censored] scalawags" her voice was high pitched, but dead even, monotone and cold.
They laughed and the drunk bad singer slurred, “Oi, what’re gonna do, [censored]? We’re the best band in the world! We’re rebels we are!”
"You’re drunk and you’re in my way."
"Yeah we’re the [censored] sixy rebels o’ Cyrodiil! Nobody tells us what to d…"
She punched him and he fell flat unconscious.
"You do what I tell you or else I slit your throat."
"She don’t mean it, boss! C’mon boys let us git us some, oi!"
She tapped him on the chest and a burst of light came out of her hand and she saw the words in her mind and made them real to demoralize suffer no fools invoke with no doubts no hesitation.
The bard’s cheeks sank and his eyes screwed up with terror. He became gaunt and trembled.
"Leave" she said.
They ran blindly into the crowd carrying their unconscious singer with them.
Ogier’s shop was not busy. There were three dark-blue skinned Dunmer elves in the corner speaking in some old language of eastern Morrowind. She could tell they were mages from their robes and the books they had open on the table. Ogier was at his counter talking to an Altmer.
Fateless did not approach Ogier but let the relative quiet of the shop sink in and drive the din of the market out of her. She listened closely to the dark elves, but she could not understand them. They were laughing quietly to themselves.
"You may speak."
Fateless eyes adjusted to the light when she focused on a face. She thought of Martin and she thought of how she didn’t want him to die, but the face she was looking at was the ash blue angular face of the Dunmer sage.
"What?"
"We saw you standing there, listening. Speak, outlander."
"I couldn’t understand you anyway. What were you talking about?"
They laughed.
There were three of them. The one who spoke to her had the reddest eyes she had ever seen in a Dunmer. His ears were sharp. His hair was up in a tight single tail and he had a neatly trimmed mustached and beard on his chin. To his right a Dunmer in black robes, clean-shaven with short hair. He was the youngest. Sitting nearest her was a very old mer with a long and scraggly blueish beard tied with a ring. His eyes were glowing in the dim light of the alchemy shop and he was wearing burgundy robes. They each had necklaces made of finger bones. They had all kinds of charms hanging off of their belts with daedric inscriptions written on them.
"We’re wizards from Morrowind. We left home last year to come to the Imperial City and see what the mages have got up to here."
"That’s damn convenient. I’m the Archmage of the Arcane University."
They stood. “Well met” they said and something else Fateless could not understand.
"And so you are also the Champion of Cyrodiil?"
"That’s me."
They looked to each other.
The one in black robes said, “See. I told you if we went to an alchemical store some mage would show up. Taverns just draw drunken sellswords.”
"Yes," said the glowing eyed one "We’ve hit a stroke of luck."
The one who spoke to her first said, “I am Bithisarea. My rude companions are too much to handle.”
They laughed.
"I’m not used to seeing Dunmer being so jovial" she said.
The one in black said, “Morrowind has had a tough history. Makes us foul tempered. But we’ve had such an incredible journey…”
The long beard finished for him “…we’ve learned to lighten up a bit. I’m Gathaspa. The gentlemer to my right is Melar. Please sit.”
Fateless looked to the counter. Ogier and the Altmer were still talking and neither had notice her come in. She sat down.
"These books are yours? They look remarkable. Spell books? History?"
"A bit of both" said Gathaspa.
"The political situation in Morrowind is really unstable" said Bithisarea.
"We decided we couldn’t wait for the Houses and the Tribunal Temple to finish arguing about ‘the true meaning’ of the Almsivi and the Nerevarine" said Melar.
"So we grabbed as much as we could and headed west" said Gathaspa. "We figured Cyrodiilics wouldn’t care about the metaphysical implications of the Almsivi’s actions and the Nerevarine’s appearance’s effect on hierophanical apotheosis."
Fateless groaned and told them about the chapel letters. They all laughed except her. She was amazed to see these old Dunmer wise men cracking on and she wanted to laugh herself like in the old days but she couldn’t. She saw Martin’s face in her mind and the look on his face the last time she saw him.
Gathaspa chuckled. “So it looks like you’re going to have to go through that, too.”
"What’s your take on it?" said Melar innocently.
"Yes, surely" said Bithisarea "the Archmage and the lady who saw it all happen could" he slapped his hands together "put a lid on the conflicting opinions…before rival sects start killing each other."
"I don’t know."
Peels of laughter.
"That’s real intelligence, sera" said Gathaspa. "You’re a smart one for sure."
"I don’t know, but I have a few ideas. I also have this crazy notion that whatever happened it can be undone."
This garnered many oos, an “Oh, my” and a “Very interesting.”
"Purely theoretical, of course" she was quick to add and she remembered a bright spring day when she was a teenager on her father’s ship caught in some doldrums off the coast of Cyrodiil when there was nothing but still and water and all she had to do was read but her father had said she shouldn’t spend so much time with all that theoretical stuff so she should get in the water to swim or practice swordplay with the crew. The light reflecting a thousand different ways off the ripples of the water but then she thought again of Martin and how theoretically she could bring him back. If this damn potion works it will, she thought. I will bring him back out of that stone statue and if it means fighting Akatosh for his soul I’ll do it because it isn’t [censored] fair. It isn’t fair for me to want him back. Why would I? Because we need an Emperor, she thought. An Empire without an Emperor is lost adrift and bound to turn bad without direction. I shouldn’t want him back just because he was my friend, she thought, but we should accept that he died to save the world. And what would it gain me to save the world and lose my self? she thought and she didn’t know what that meant.
"But if I came down on any side I think it would just make it worse. I’ll let the theologians work it out for themselves. Common folks won’t care…it’s too esoteric. They live. No more gates to hell opening up in their tomato patch. Long live the Empire."
"Perhaps," said Gathaspa "But you know we wizards usually end up a little different than your average superstitious citizen."
"Indeed," chimed Melar "Do you remember the mammoth?"
"Oho, the mammoth!" cried Bithisarea. "Now that’s a good story."
She was very interested in these strange Dunmer from the east now and she thought she would rather be here talking with them than with the bloody Elder Council or any of the angry mages.
"What about the mammoth?" asked Fateless.
"We were traveling across Skyrim," started Gathaspa "and a Jarl who really had it in for Dunmer moving west into his territories got hold of us."
"He wanted to show the local Nords that Dunmer wizards weren’t as impressive as the rumors told" said Melar.
"You know the Nords. Actually, I respect them" Bithisarea said.
"I don’t" chuckled Gathaspa "But it’s just an old mer’s opinion."
"Well, they have a good heart" said Melar. "And after the Nerevarine and all…a lot of us Dunmer felt lost inside. We didn’t really have any feeling left in us so the three of us went West thinking there might be…"
"…some consolation in the wandering…" Bithisarea said.
Said Melar quick with a bursting pride on his face ”Just like our original ancestors and our prophet Veloth left…”
"Focus, young one! Stay on topic" scolded Bithisarea.
"Yes. The mammoth" Melar said.
Gathaspa continued. “The Nords had said that the Dunmer had great magic and ancient mysterious wisdom. People were starting to get interested in the Anticipations…”
"…Reclamations, now…" groaned Bithisarea.
Melar picked up the train of thought. “…in our religion then, let’s say. And the ruling Jarls didn’t want that and they didn’t want fakes using their exotic looking Dunmer mojo…”
Gathaspa finished “…to shill the rubes.”
Fateless listened.
Melar said, “So he kidnapped us while we were on the road from the College of Winterhold to the Shrine of Azura.”
Bithisarea said, “We were brought into the town square of Windhelm and blindfolded.”
Gathaspa looked confused and muttered, “The Jarl…what was his name? Fyorldi Hamsonson…son?”
Melar pressed on, “He gave this great big speech to all the townsfolk assembled that the ‘dark elves’ were so stupid that they wouldn’t know a ‘mammoth’ if they had their hands on its ass.”
"Of course we don’t have any mammoth in Morrowind" said Bithisarea. "As you don’t have any in Cyrodiil."
"No silt-striders outside of Morrowind as I know…" said Gathaspa and his glowing eyes squinted like he could see one of the famous giant transport bugs of his homeland.
"So you see we had no frame of reference, sera" said Melar.
"They had us blindfolded and they made us put out our hands out to feel what was in front of us…" continued Bithisarea.
Gathaspa’s nose began to scrinch in disgust at the memory. “…and they said to each of us in turn ‘What’s in your hands?”
Melar said, “I said it felt like a giant snake. I heard everybody laughing.”
Bithisarea likewise, “I said it felt like a big tree trunk.”
Gathaspa was almost choking. “And I was the lucky one. I said it smelled bad and was probably some kind of weird dog covered in [censored].”
"The crowd was just lost in laughter at that point" said Bithisarea.
Melar went on, “They took the blindfolds off and there before us was a beast we’d never seen before! A mammoth. All tusks and nose and hair…”
"…and legs…"
"And tail and smelly butthole" Gathaspa gagged and drank some water. "The Nords were all good and drunk and having a damn good time at our expense."
"So you see he thought it was a snake because he had the nose. I thought it a tree because I had the leg. And he thought it some kind of dog because he had it by the tail."
"Three perspectives of three blindfolded men with no frame of reference."
"That’s when Gathaspa dinged."
"Dinged?" said Fateless.
"Yes, it was like a bell went off. And I could see that all of our religious opinions and arguments…Almsivi is this, Almsivi is that…"
"Martin Septim died…Martin Septim did a big spell…or whatever…Martin became a god or didn’t become a god…"
"They’re all just different descriptions of the same thing, but all by people who are only getting bits and pieces of the whole."
"And who have no frame of reference…there’s no words for it…"
"…and so there’ll be an endless storm of words about and around it."
"Maybe things can contradict and be true still. We are but mere mortals. Even the Dwemer with all their knowledge still managed to [censored] up big time."
"Humility and tolerance, muthsera."
"Tolerance and humility. Different words, different context, different perspectives."
"But we’ve kept you far too long, Archmage. Three old wizards jawing away."
Fateless said she quite liked the story. She looked to Ogier. The Altmer turned around. From a different angle she recognized him.
"I think I know exactly what you gentlemer are on to."
The Dunmer were very pleased at that. She told them that she had to go and thanked them for their story. She told them that they should present themselves at the Arcane University and speak to Julienne and she would see that all their needs would be met. They were very thankful for this and as she stood they stood. They said good-bye. The three Dunmer left.
Fateless put her kit on the shop counter.
"By the nine!" cried the Altmer.
"Hello, Sinderion. Ogier."
"Speak of the devil!" cried Ogier "We were just talking about you."
"I helped kill the devil, remember?" This was almost a joke and she almost felt herself laugh. Sinderion and Ogier laughed.
Sinderion was about a foot taller than her and his gold hair stood straight up like a candle flame.
"We found it, Slim" he said.
"Yes!"
Ogier handed her a box. “I don’t think it’s worth it, Slim” he said “Even if it works…”
"I know."
Ogier put his hand on the lid of the tan pine wood box. “Even if it works, there’s no telling what he’ll be like.” He had long brown hair and a round pink face. His hand on the lid of the box was stained and calloused from years of mixing herbs into potions. She put her gloved hand on top of his.
"I’m ready to do it. If it comes to that" she said. They looked on her and in their eyes they were afraid of her. Sinderion swallowed his spit loudly. They looked at the box. She opened it.
Inside was a small white jar, a clear bottle full of water and a silk bag. She opened the silk bag. It was full of colorful sand. Red, orange, yellows and blues mixed together.
I’m ready to do it, she thought. If it isn’t him and just some undead thing or a daedric thing, I can kill it. She thought of her training with the assassins and how much she hated them but it was necessary for her to get to this level. She couldn’t remember the faces of any of her victims, and that’s a damn relief she thought but anyway they were [censored] people and now I’ve got ice enough in my veins that if this goes wrong I could kill him again…
"You didn’t kill him the first time, child" said Sinderion and she realized she had uttered her thought out loud.
Fateless looked up at him and he put his hand on her face. She realized he was wiping some tears off of her cheeks. She was embarrassed.
"I have to go"
"Wait," said Ogier "maybe we should…"
Sinderion stopped him, “No. Just go and try it. We’re at the end now. Just go see it through, Slim. We’ll meet you at the university tomorrow morning, like we planned.”
Fateless left the alchemy shop and cast an illusion spell. She went back to the university and up to her private quarters. No one detected her. She prepared herself for the speech she was to give later that day. She wore the Imperial Dragon Armor the battlemages gave her after the war. But she kept her blue hood on.
When she left the university this time she did not disguise herself with magic. She knew she would be recognized and that was fine because this time she wanted to be. Adoring fans came up to her. She signed a few autographs.
She went to the Elder Council and met Ocato. He was still a twitchy, high strung elf and the stress of keeping the Empire without a crowned leader was fraying him.
"I don’t know how we’re going keep it all together" he said "but the ceremony will be good. What are you going to say in your speech?"
They were in a large round hall. Dozens of people were running around moving decorations and signing things. She told him she was just going to keep it short and optimistic.
"No theology, then? Good. Let the people make up their own minds what ‘really’ happened. We’re agreed."
They walked together to the Temple of the One. This was the moment she had been dreading. A crowd of thousands had already gathered and a stage was set up near the statue. No one was speaking. The Imperial guards and their Shadow Legion of battlemages were stationed all around the crowd. The sun was just about to start setting and she thought a lot could happen in just a day.
They went up to the stage and sat down. A priest of Akatosh began the ceremony. He lead the crowd in singing then gave a short sermon about St. Alessia and the Dragon. She could not focus on it. She just watched the crowd and felt the heat of the sun on her face and the sweat against her skin. The armor she wore was not heavy, but it was hot and she was not used to it. She looked at the gloves and the light bounced off of the yellow and black inlay.
The priest was done and sat down. Ocato took the stage. She knew this was going to be a longer speech about the history of the Empire and that he was going to read the names of some of the soldiers that died in the war against Oblivion.
She shifted her feet as sweat pooled in her boots. She kept wanting to check her kit to make sure her robes, potions and ingredients were still there but didn’t. No point of course they’re there, she thought and she looked over to the feet of the statue. It was enormous. She’d been here many times since the end of the war to visit Martin. She thought of those final horrible moments when the red giant Daedric Lord Mehrunes Dagon manifested himself—a hundred foot tall demon with too many arms stomping all over her city. And she and Martin ran to this place. He turned into a giant fire dragon, all right, she thought. And bit that big red [censored] in the neck. The light, she thought. And then he turned into a big stone dragon statue. The gods are cruel, she thought but then…no that’s not fair to them. They’re probably insane on some level, mad with too much power but they care for us and try to help in ways. The statue was fierce, a hundred feet tall again and white and the claws of the dragon seemed ready to strike still, ready to defend and protect the people of Tamriel. But she kept looking to it’s hind feet at the base. That’s where I’ll be tonight she thought once the stars are right and the magic from Aetherius is aligned. A little water and a jar. I’ll just have to wash his feet and then I will have him back.
The ceremony droned on. The names of the dead. She recognized some of them and thought of their faces when she could remember them.
Ocato finished. It was her turn.
She approached the stage. She told the crowd about the night Emperor Uriel VII with his dying breaths gave her the mission to find Martin, and the tale of the Amulet of Kings. She told them of the ancient artifacts they gathered and the adventures she’d had and the times she had spent with Martin saving the world from evil. She told them and it became less of a speech and more of a story of legends. She told them Martin’s last words, “I do what I must do. I cannot stay to rebuild Tamriel. That task falls to others. Farewell. You’ve been a good friend, in the short time that I’ve known you. But now I must go. The Dragon waits.”
Then she told them all to be happy and that we are all lucky to be alive and that the fate of the Empire is in their hands. In her mind she called herself a coward and a hypocrite because she herself had not been happy in so long and no one really knew what the future held. But she told them nice things anyway.
And she blurted out in the end, “Martin loves you.”
She hadn’t planned to say that. Ocato and the priest of Akatosh leaned forward in their chairs. It was too much. It could cause all kinds of trouble. Just the tense of the verb. She hastened to add a few words to clarify. She told everyone to do their best and love each other. She was embarrassed but the crowd didn’t seem to notice so she finished her speech with many thanks and “this was all for you.” She went and sat down.
She tried to look at the crowd and tell herself she did it for them, but she didn’t really feel that way she felt…
She shook her head and wiped her face with the back of her hand. Snap out of it. She looked to the feet of the dragon. Tonight, she thought.
Some people came up and left flowers around the base of the statue and cried and others left drawings of loved ones lost in the war and letters thanking Martin. A few more adoring fans came up and she shook hands with them. They had gifts for her, and she had the Shadow Legion guards take the gifts and told them to gather them up and leave them at the university.
A barracks stood nearby and she went in to change out of her armor and into the special blue robes she had made for the ritual. She checked the kit and all was ready. She waited in the barracks and when she came out it was night. And the time had come.
The square was empty. It was a warm clear night and the stars were just where she needed them to be. She could hear the clink of the guards’ boots in the distance as they patrolled the outer perimeter of the open aired temple. The ground was covered in bouquets and so she walked on a sea of flowers up to the statue of the dragon.
She had her book, she had the scroll. A little water and a jar. She drank the potions she would need to enhance her intelligence and willpower far passed any natural skill. Her skin glowed and her robes shimmered with magic light. She felt her brain pressing against the inside of her skull and quickly she laid out her alembic, calcinator and retort. She ground the strange northern jarmarnsis plant and the colorful sand in her mortar and pestle and placed them in the alabaster jar. And she took a lock of her hair and placed it within. She read from the book in a crooked old tongue from Akavir and cast the spell from the scroll.
She added the water to the jar.
She shook. A bright circle of light exploded around her. She could feel light streaming out of her mouth and eyes. She closed the jar and cast one last spell to finish.
A burst of blue light and the whispers of aethereal voices.
Dark and quite again. She held the white jar in her hands.
She opened the jar and a fragrant aroma poured out.
She kneeled at the feet of the dragon and poured the strong perfume on them. She washed the dragon’s feet with the perfume and she thought of Martin’s face. She thought of the crowd from before and she realized now that was only half of it. You can’t kid yourself anymore, Slim she thought. You did it for him. The magic perfume glowed on the feet of the statue and she looked up into the face of the dragon. It was a face she’d seen so many times before and she thought of Martin’s face but this time one of the many nights in Cloud Ruler Temple where the had hidden from the daedra and they had stayed up telling each other jokes and laughing and comparing notes on magic.
And her eyes focused on the face of the dragon and Martin’s face and she could not hide it anymore. She thought of the ice in her and felt it melting and felt all the grief and sorrow she refused to feel before and yes, I did it for you Martin she thought. That’s why I did it all because at first I was just happy to be out of jail and then when we met I thought we would either die together or win the war and after we would get to be together.
"I was in love with you, Martin."
She said it aloud, the thought she would not allow herself in all that time. She realized it for the first time and it was like her eyes could focus on herself. She said it aloud to the face of the dragon high above her and she knew she had seen it so many times before, but it dinged like that old Dunmer wise man had said. She said it again out loud and the words felt strange in her mouth.
But then she started laughing.
She laughed out loud and thought of all the jokes they told and laughed some more. She felt her face and there were tears on it and she didn’t care and she laid her head down on the feet of the dragon statue which she had washed with magic perfume. A little water and a jar she thought. She had forgotten all about her spell, her plan to bring him back. She was just laughing and holding the feet of the dragon. She felt everything she had not let herself feel and it all came at once. This is insane she thought, but it didn’t matter because all this time she was afraid and angry and she let all that go.
The spell didn’t work, she thought, but maybe in some way it did. I have you back, Martin. I can think of you and not be a cold resentful [censored] anymore.
"Thank you, Martin" she said to the statue and where she had poured the perfume the statue started to glow. She collected herself and jumped back.
"I don’t know what you’re doing, but you’re doing something."
The blue glow spread up the legs and chest and across the wings. The eyes of the dragon lit up bright orange. The guards came running toward her. A low rumble filled the open-aired temple, thunder shook the clear skies.
She heard a ghostly whisper in her ear, “Love, my love. Love on.”
A battlemage was at her side. “Champion! What’s happening?”
And they all heard a man laughing.
The glow of the statue subsumed.
"Nice light show, old friend" she said to the statue. "Thank you. Again, thank you."
"Just what the hell was that?" said another battlemage. The statue was surrounded by guards in armor standing on the cobblestones draqed in flowers.
"I did a spell" she said. "For Martin."
"Archmage," the leader of the battlemage guards confronted her "What kind of spell was that?" She was a huge Nord woman in silver battle armor with long blonde hair. "Was that the dragon…laughing?"
"Just a little something to mark the occasion. Nothing dangerous. Move along!"
"Archmage," said the Nord woman "you should have told us about this. The battlemages could have helped you. You could have given us some foreknowledge of…"
"It doesn’t work that way, soldier" Fateless said. "I had to do this one myself." She used her natural Imperial charm on her. "Now, if you don’t mind I have to get my kit together and clean up."
The Nord woman spoke, “I guess it’s fine then, Champion. Back to your posts!” The guards sheathed their swords and went back to patrolling.
One of the men looked around and said, “I sure hope they don’t make us clean up all these flowers and stuff everybody left behind. Say, you don’t know any spells that can help us out there do you?”
She laughed. It feels so good to laugh again, she thought.
"Never mix magic and cleaning" she said. "Doesn’t go well. Brooms come to life, buckets of water try to eat people. Bad scene. Sorry."
He laughed, “Ah, well. Maybe they’ll get someone else to do it.” He walked off into the night.
She felt herself smiling. Her cherubic face. There was red in her cheeks and her hands were warm. She gathered up her tools and put them in her kit.
She stood in the small sea of flowers and watched the sun coming up. The spell had taken longer than she thought and she was very tired. She felt her heart beating against her robes and closed her eyes. The strange odor of the magic perfume lingered and mingled with the memorial flowers. She took a deep breath and let it out. And she was not alone.
"Shadows hide you!" a high voice piped.
She looked down. It was the homeless girl from before.
"Did you make the big thing go all blue?"
Fateless stooped down to eye-level with the girl. “I had some help, but yes.”
"Wow!" said the little girl too loud. "Shhh…sorry. We’re supposed to be quiet."
Fateless laughed, “Don’t worry, kid. If you’re here with me it’s all right for now. What did they say?”
"They said they still want to see you. But it is at your dis…dis..pepshun?"
"Discretion" said Fateless. "That means I can go when I want to. Say, what’s your name? I’m Fateless."
"I’m Magdalena" the girl said proudly.
"All right. Want to walk with me a while? I can take you to the big school. It has more things that go blue."
"Yeah!" giggled the girl "Can I have another apple?"
"Sure. Let’s go."
They went to the Arcane University together, Fateless leading the little girl by the hand. In the morning the streets were beginning to fill with people, locals and some visitors leaving town. People were already talking about the dragon.
"It’s a good sign, I tell you. Martin and Akatosh are watching over us still!"
"I dunno, probably just some light show they conjured up."
Fateless bought the girl a sweetroll and an apple. The girl skipped as they crossed the bridge to the university. When they got to the gate she got scared of the big battlemage guards, but Fateless consoled her and told her about how she was the Archmage.
"I’m kind of like their boss."
The little girl was very impressed by that.
They went through the big gate and over to the Alchemical Department. Julienne, Sinderion and Ogier were waiting inside. Fateless gave Magdalena a chair, some charcoal and some paper and told her to draw whatever she liked. Magdalena was at that moment the happiest girl in Tamriel.
"Oh, what a lovely new friend you’ve made, Archmage!" said Julienne.
Sinderion and Ogier looked weary.
"Sinderion and I stayed up all night! So out with it, what happened? We heard there were some lights and…"
"It didn’t work" said Fateless.
Sinderion sighed, “I’m almost relieved. But I’m sorry. I know that you wanted…”
"I didn’t know what I wanted, Sinderion. Not until last night. But something did happen." She looked over to Magdalena and laughed.
"By the nine!" said Ogier, smiling. "I don’t think I’ve seen you laugh in a year."
"I haven’t."
Sinderion said, “Yes, something happened. Something happened to you. You’re different. But the same…like when we met…”
"Martin didn’t come back" she said "But I think I did. I’m back now. In a way. Excuse me."
Fateless went to a closet and changed into her usual outfit. When she got back the three Dunmer were there.
She introduced them to the others. She told them about the spell. Everyone was impressed and the Dunmer said it was a good sign and they asked if they could stay on a while and she said yes. She insisted on it. She told them that she was going to sleep well all afternoon but that evening she was going to have a party and they all had to come. They said yes.
At the party the whole college was lit up with color spells and fireworks. Everyone had the day off by Archmage decree. She told jokes. She danced. She did backflips and acrobatics and a band played. Even the angry mages were there and relaxed and drank wine. Even Delmar danced.
And she laughed and she cried and she let herself feel again. She thought of Martin’s face, but then she saw Magdalena picking flowers and running barefoot on the lawn in the garden chasing lightning bugs. She thought of the future now instead of the past and what she should do and she told herself that she had a new purpose. Love, my love. Love on. And this time she listened to herself.