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Apotheosis I	By : OneMoreAltmer Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Oblivion Views: 2266 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I didn't create and do not own Elder Scrolls: Oblivion or its characters (except for Tavi, within game format). I make no moneys.

Chapter List
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Author's Note for AFF: Tavi, our narrator, assumes familiarity with the highlights of the Main Quest and the Mages' Guild Quest. Big thanks to Twist Shimmy for beta. Comments, questions, and requests to my livejournal account, onemorealtmer.livejournal.com.

Apotheosis I

�That by which we fall is that by which we rise.� � Tantric
saying

Prelude

I shouldn�t be here.� I am not the woman I was when Ocato promised
me this armor.� She has turned to stone like
the dragon.� I felt her leaving me as I
stood there, dying as I stared up at him, as Ocato yammered about titles and
rewards and glory and the Empire saved.�
Hardly a word about what it had cost.
Too much.� More than the Empire was worth.
Grief and shame and anger haunt my
steps through the Imperial
City. �I will not go to see him, just as I have not
gone to Cloud Ruler Temple
again.� Even coming to receive my
�reward� is bitter enough:� I am in
danger of crumbling to pieces right out in the street, of screaming in pain
every time some well-meaning shopkeep mentions how fortunate I was to know
him.� I reach for my balm of choice.
I suppose I could have simply
become a skooma addict:� I would hardly
have been the first veteran to do so.� I
could have sought out the madness of Sheogorath, but there was the risk that he
would only drive the pain even deeper.�
And either of those ways would have been visible on the surface,
destroying the precious illusion of the Champion, the glorious Arch-Mage.� My choice is both more complete and more
subtle.
I reach inward toward the icy
shadow of Sithis.� His merciful cold
sweeps through my chest � blessed numbness.�
He reminds me that love and salvation were both illusions:� only pain and death are real, and by
embracing and serving death I have conquered pain.
Imagine what Jauffre would have
said, if he knew.� The thought of his
mortified glare almost makes me giggle.�
I don�t remember the last time I laughed out loud.
But the thought of Jauffre also
calls another thought to mind, briefly � what he would have thought, to see me this way.� In some small space where the chill has not
yet penetrated, I imagine I can hear his voice, sorrowful and pleading.� Tavi.� It is not too late for you.
A hallucination I blame on
proximity to the site of my bereavement.�
And in any case, an obvious lie.� It is much too late.� It was too late when the old Emperor died in
my arms, when Baurus sent me to Jauffre, and Jauffre
to the priest with sad eyes and a haunting voice.
To Martin.� Sithis help me.� To Martin.

One � The Collector

Not that I went on that first
errand with the Amulet of Kings right away.�
When I finally emerged from the sewer system beneath the city into the
sunlight, I couldn�t think of anything but how beautiful the world was.
Actually, I didn�t remember
anything about my life before that ill-starred morning.� I�d woken from some forgotten dream into a
prison cell, some fool Dunmer chattering at me from across the hall � and the
Emperor approaching, to flee some danger through the secret passage that
happened to adjoin my cell.� He took a
liking to me, saw something in me then that he did not have time to say�and
then there were the men in red cloaks and masks, brandishing weapons and
shrieking the name of Dagon.� How many
times I would have to hear that cursed name in the coming months!
And then he was dead, leaving me
with a strange necklace and the charge to find his son.� The last of the guards told me to leave
through the sewers and head for Chorrol, where the head of his Order lived.� I suppose he thought I would know where that
was.
But none of it mattered any more
when I saw the sun and the lake.� It was
all just the last part of the bad dream I�d been having, and now it all melted
away.� Cults and assassins and heirs to
the throne � what would such things have to do with me, anyway?� My only ambition was to wander those
beautiful rolling hills, gathering herbs.�
I fancied myself an alchemist, then.�
I imagined myself as having an impact on the world about equal to that
of a redwort flower.
And how did I know what the impact
of a redwort flower should be, I who remembered nothing about myself?� These little things we don�t think of until
it�s too late.
But even my half-formed vision of
life as a flower-picking vagabond faded at the sight of the majestic ruin across
the water.� Vilverin.� I had no memory of anyone ever speaking my
name, and yet I knew the name of this ruin.�
There, do you see how it is?� How
the webs are laid out before us from the beginning?� But I thought nothing of it at the time.� I felt the stirring of ancient knowledge, and
took it for my birthright as an Altmer.�
Of course I recognized it as Ayleid.�
That was only proper.� Of course I
went inside to look.
That tale you will know.� It is in every silly little book they have
written about me, in one form or another.�
There were bandits there, and a necromancer.� From the very first,
fighting necromancers for my life.�
Every thread is carried.� At any
rate, you will also know that among the treasures I found there was a statue,
one of the Ancestors.� I sold it at the
Mystic Emporium along with everything else.�
I always felt the most welcomed and comfortable with Calindil, with one
of my own.� That will sound intolerant of
me, I know, but it is true.� Don�t
imagine that I am blind to the faults of fellow Altmer, however.� As a race we still remember when we were
masters and men were slaves, and our cultivated politeness is only what we feel
is the proper carriage of lords in exile.�
We are an arrogant people.
I had not been in the city long when
an old man approached me in the street, announcing himself as the servant of an
even older mer who wanted to meet with me.�
And he, of course, was Umbacano.� I imagine that he is remembered by his
neighbors as merely a harmless eccentric with a taste for Ayleid artifacts and
the money to own many of them.� Certainly
that was the guise in which he appeared to me on that first visit, as he sat
there at his desk, his hair swirled up in that ridiculous manner that remains
popular among the older Altmer for reasons quite unclear to me, and offered me
twice what I had been paid for the first Ancestor for any others I could find.
�I must say,� he grinned in a
grandfatherly manner, �I am surprised and particularly gratified to be able to
trust in one of our own youth, even as it saddens me that you had not been
taught about the Ancestors before meeting me.�
This is our own heritage, our own history.� I hope that you will take this opportunity to
steep yourself in it.� I envy you the
exploration of the old cities.�
His offer was quite enticing to a
young woman with no other source of income, so I set off directly for other
ruins, as there were many near the Imperial
City.� The next to yield a statue to me was little
Culotte; then came Moranda, my favorite for no other reason than the name.� By then I was growing accustomed to ruins,
and this one welcomed me in, beckoned me eagerly like a prodigal daughter.
I brought Moranda�s Ancestor back
to Umbacano, and he shone with excitement.�
He announced me �proven� and brought out a little sketch.�
�That is the High Fane,� I said,
without thought.�
�Yes,� he said, and frowned for a
moment, scanning my face.� �Yes, it is
the High Fane.� There should be a carving
there that will be an important addition to my collection.�� He gave me a key, and did not say how he had
come into possession of that.
As I stepped out the door into Talos Plaza,
contemplating the High Fane � I thought I had a guess where it was, for no good
reason � I was intercepted by a man perhaps in his thirties, with chestnut hair
streaked with premature gray, and laughing eyes.� He raised his eyebrows as if surprised by
me.� �You are working for Umbacano.�� He had the polished accent of a Breton, and I
liked that kind of voice, as I liked so many things above my station or means.� Altmer arrogance, you see.
So of course I pretended not to
like it at all.� That was my idea of
flirtation.� �Perhaps.� But as I do not remember seeing you in the
household, I�m not sure why that is any of your concern.�
He laughed.� �I also work for him, but not in his
household staff.� In fact I am a treasure
hunter, not unlike yourself.� Will you join me at the Tiber Septim for a
drink?�
I had no reason at the time to be
leery of other treasure hunters, but I was eager to be away.� �I was planning to leave while I had some
daylight left.�
�I won�t keep you long.� What I have to say may be of some use to
you.�� His eyes sparkled with some hidden
delight, and he gestured toward the inn across the square with one long,
tapered hand.
There was no harm in having a
drink.� The ruin wasn�t going anywhere
without me.
He offered to walk with my hand on
his, a gentleman leading a lady.� I
laughed.� Even with my racial arrogance I
had at least some sense of proportion.� I
had crawled up into this city from a sewer:�
I was no lady.� He shrugged and
walked behind me instead.
He bought wine for us both as I
took a seat.� He sat across from me, took
a long swig of his drink, and studied me.
�So he made you his new acquirer of Ayleid items.� What, does he imagine that it�s in the
blood?� That you Altmer
can sniff out your own like hounds?�
So he was arrogant, too.� I found that oddly charming.� �Are you sure that was the first impression
you wanted to leave on me, or would you like to try again?�
�No offense,� he said quickly,
covering the retreat with another quick drink.�
�Obviously you�re competent enough.�
But I know you haven�t been in this game long, because none of us have
heard of you.� Umbacano has access to the
best.�
�And you wonder why he settles for
the likes of me.�� I sipped a little of
my own wine, taking the moment to let him imagine me insulted.� �Honestly, I don�t know.� I imagine it�s because I found the first
Ancestor.� Because I�m
one of his kind.� Perhaps he
trusts in my luck, or he thinks that I find them by some secret knowledge the
rest of you do not possess.�
�Or you are young and reckless
enough to charge into Ayleid ruins, because you haven�t yet run into the trap
that will maim or kill you.� This is a
dangerous profession � you know,� he grinned, �suddenly I feel quite rude.� I have never told you my name or asked for
yours.� Claude Maric.�
�Tavi.�
�Short for an Altmer name.�
�It�s a nickname.� I don�t bother people with the whole thing as
a rule.�� Funny that I should have
implied a rule:� I don�t remember more than half a dozen
people having asked my name before that moment.�
But names were precious commodities.
�Ah.� Tavi, then.�� He leaned forward over the little table
between us.� �As I was saying, it is a
dangerous profession.� Am I correct in
guessing that he has now asked you to go looking for the High Fane?�� Surprised, I nodded, and he nodded back.� �Then you should know that you are not the
first he has hired for that task.� I
researched it for him, figured out that it was a name for Malada, and refused
the job.�
I quickly noted the alternative
name in my head.� �Why did you refuse?�
�Yes, ask yourself that!� It�s because I can�t spend my finder�s fee if
I�m dead.� The place is one enormous
trap, Tavi.� If you like all your limbs
in their current arrangement, you�ll refuse the job too, and go back to
collecting Ancestors.�
I sized him up as I finished my
drink.� He was a well-proportioned man of
adequate grace, presumably enough skill in a fight to get out of any average
sort of trouble.� He did not have the
whiff of magic about him � I had learned to recognize that.� Without that talent, he had no way of
guessing how many dangers I had already bested with quiet feet, a lockpick, and
a well-timed fireball.� He probably
imagined me just a thief with some mediocre weapon skill for self-defense, the same
thing I imagined him to be.
�So that means you know where
Malada is?� I asked.
�It�s out in the Valus mountains.� You�re not
really listening to me, are you?�
�I can�t afford to turn the job
down, Claude.� But I do appreciate the
warning.�� I touched his hand lightly and
started to rise to my feet.
He grabbed hold of the hand I had
given him to keep me at the table.� �You
should at least stay until morning.�
I arched my brows.� �Should I?�
�Night�s falling.� The roads are more dangerous at night.� And anyway,� he said with a wicked grin, �if
you insist on going, this could be your last night in the Imperial City.� You should make it a good one.�
�Really.� And what should I do to make it a good
night?�
His eyes flickered down the length
of my body and back up again, gone more intense than his smile, which was still
casual.� �I might have ideas.� Perhaps I have a weakness for redheaded
Altmer.�
�I imagine you seldom have the
chance to indulge it.� We�re both rare
and notoriously unfriendly.�� I was
grinning.�
He laughed.� �Stay and have another drink.�
�Are you paying?�
�Of course.�
He paid for the next round of
drinks, and for the room.� Board at an
inn named for an Emperor is not cheap.
�He must pay you better,� I
chuckled under my breath as we climbed the stairs.
�That, or
he�s not my only employer.�� He unlocked
and opened the door.� �After
you.�
Perhaps it seems strange that an
Altmer girl should have behaved so loosely, and with a human man at that.� And yet, that elven blood the Bretons claim
had to come from somewhere, did it not?� I was breaking no vows, could not be held
responsible for knowing his; and as for conventional Altmer mores, well.� I have already implied that my feelings
toward my own kind are�complex.
It was a prettier room than I was
accustomed to, and larger � almost a suite.�
The sheets looked clean and soft on the bed, and by the door there was a
table laid out with plates and even a few morsels of food.
I was pinned to the wall almost
before the door clicked shut.� I tasted
the wine on his breath as he kissed me.�
He ran his fingers up through my hair and used it to yank my head back
as his mouth ran down the length of my throat.�
I brought a hand up behind his neck to hold him there, where he bit and
sucked at the side of my neck while his free hand pulled at the lacings of my
shirt.� Little point to
that, since they didn�t go all the way down.� I pushed him away for a moment and pulled the
shirt over my head, throwing it into the corner.� He gave me an appreciative grin, peeled off
his own shirt to show more of his tanned, wiry frame, and returned to me.
Claude�s hands were browned by
years of travel and adventure, and cupped in them the golden tinge of the skin
on my breasts seemed pale.� He pulled me
toward him by the nipples, and I started to squeal in protest, but his mouth
covered mine again, probing now with his tongue.� He kept pulling and pinching, and I melted
into that rhythm, danced my fingertips across his shoulders.� He let go at last, keeping me pinned in place
with kisses, and his fingers snaked down to unfasten my pants.� (I usually wore pants in those days.� It was not the fashion, but it was much more
practical.)� He opened them quickly � a
thief, of course, with hands well-practiced in gaining him entry to hidden
places � and turned one palm toward me, insinuated that hand between me and the
fabric, stroked downward to part those lips with one long, thin finger.� I gasped, tightened my grip on his shoulders.
Now he was moving slowly, so
slowly, a few long, perversely slow strokes:�
and then the finger penetrated me, and then hooked and pulled forward,
moving inside me at the same time his palm pressed up close.� I started growling, clawing at his back,
frantic with need.
He glanced sideways for a second, then moved his hands to pull my pants down from my hips; and
then with no other warning he lifted me up, turned, and set me down on the
table.� Complimentary fruit flew from its
bowl onto the floor.� He pressed hard
against me, and I felt his swollen flesh grinding into mine, desperate to be
freed.� I reached down to help him.� I felt the hard rod fall forward into my
hands, but before I could look or do anything else he grabbed me again by the
hips and pulled me forward onto himself, thrust into me with a sharp exhale and
a fierce grin.� He set his pace hard and
fast, fingers dug deep into my flesh to draw me close, moaning.
I hoped he would not talk.�
Foolish talk is the ruin of sex.�
Happily, he did not.� I aided in
this by lifting a breast toward him in one hand and urging his head down toward
it with the other.� He took the nipple
between his lips, raked it lightly with his teeth:� but this angle between us compromised speed
and depth, and he did not consent to that for long.� He threw me down across the table and covered
me, pounded into me fiercely, so deep that the end of each thrust was a
collision, and I groaned at the intensity of it, a long low sound broken into
pieces by each impact.�
And that only made him
fiercer.� And then rhythm abandoned him,
and he shook, and crowed, and fell forward onto me, gasping.� He stayed there for a long moment, resting on
his elbows with his face inches from mine.�
He touched his forehead to mine, took one deep breath, smiled.� He traced his tongue up the long point of my
ear.� Then he rose and fastened his
pants.� As I sat up and rose from the
table, he collected his shirt and put it back on.
�I got the room for you,� he
said.� �I have other accommodations.� I hope you will think about what I said
before.�� With no more conversation than
that, he left me for the night.

So I slept there, and started my
journey in the morning.� The room was
already paid for, after all, and the bed was very nice.
Malada was further away than I�d
ventured from the city before, and the trip was long.� The mountains were lovely, and I collected a
good many herbs I hadn�t had ever found wild before; but further from
civilization there were more nuisances from bandits and beasts, and the walk
became more and more difficult.� I
started to wish for a horse.
High on a ridge near my destination
I encountered a handful of armed men.�
�Men� is a poor generic term, since they were neither all human nor all
male, but such are the foibles of our common tongue.� They claimed to be hunters, out enjoying the
mountain air:� unlikely, given that they
were all wearing suits of armor, but it seemed safer not to press for a more
realistic answer.� They let me by, and I
assumed that meant that their business, whatever it was, was not with me.
After Claude�s dire warnings, I had
really expected better of Malada.� But
other than being on the verge of collapse, it seemed to hold no greater dangers
than those I had already faced elsewhere.
That, of course, was on the
inside.� Outside, I discovered that I had
been wrong about the men.� They were
gathered and waiting for me at the door, and behind them � behind them was
Claude, on his horse, looking down at me.�
�I would like for you to give me
the carving,� he said.
�Would you!�
I snapped.� �I would like for you to tell your friends to get out of
my way.�
�Come now, Tavi, this is nothing
personal.� I like you.� But I can�t let it get into Umbacano�s head
that you�re actually better at this than I am, and if I allow you to take him
something I told him couldn�t be had, it�s not going to look good.�
I scowled up at him.� �But if you sell it to him yourself, you�re
still his main man.� Even
though you�re actually a coward who steals from women.�
�I wish you didn�t insist on taking
it personally.� Seriously now, give them
the carving so we can all go our separate ways.�
No harm done.�
I don�t know what made me so
stubborn.� The
principle of the thing, maybe.� My general poverty.�
Fear of a group of armed strangers.�
The fact that I�d let this man fuck me on a table, and now he wanted to
steal from me under the implied threat of violence.� I hadn�t mistaken our tryst for a romance,
but this was just insulting.
�I�m not giving it to you.� It�s for Umbacano, and I did the work, and I am
getting the credit and the payment for it.�
He frowned at me, and his thugs did
likewise.� �Now you�re just being
unreasonable.� I did do the research.�
�Then you should have done the
footwork too, if you meant to be the one who got paid.� I took all the risk.�
He pinched the bridge of his nose
in frustration.� �Damn.� I really didn�t want it to go this way, Tavi.�� He started to turn his horse, and as he did,
his bruisers glowered at me menacingly.� He
said the rest over his shoulder, like an afterthought.� �Kill her.�
Kill me!
I screamed, hurled the energy born
of my panic in the direction of his head.�
After that I had to focus on his henchmen.� Usually I favored a good spell from a safe
hiding place, but there wasn�t the time or space for that, and I had to fall
back on crude blasts and my meager skill with a sword.� I acquitted myself well enough to come away
alive and still in possession of my carving.
I almost tripped over his body, my
head too full of weariness and betrayal to watch where I was going.� I had killed Claude, knocked him from his
horse with my blast: he lay unmoving in my path, a faint look of surprise still
frozen on his otherwise blank face.� I
focused on that because it helped me ignore how much of the back side of his
head I had burned away.� I was still so
angry that I kicked him, once, but strangely, that made me instantly remorseful
in a way that killing him didn�t.
A few days ago this man had been
inside me, in a room he�d paid for, and now he was dead.� Just because neither of us
wanted to share.
It was the first time I�d killed
someone I had known, someone not a highwayman or a necromancer, and it felt
very strange.� I erected a crude sort of
cairn for him, supposing that to be right.�
But I took his lovely elven sword for myself, because he owed me
something.
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Apotheosis I