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Apotheosis II	By : OneMoreAltmer Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Oblivion Views: 3007 -:- 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.

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Apotheosis II

Author's Note: This is a direct sequel to "Apotheosis I" and will really make the most sense read in proper sequence. Many thanks, as always, to Twist Shimmy, expert beta and conspirator. Comments, questions and requests to my livejournal account, onemorealtmer.livejournal.com.
�Post nubila, Phoebus.��
(After clouds, the sun.) � Latin proverb

One � The Orange Man

I had been a successful tomb raider and an alchemist.� I had been the Arch-Mage and Champion of
Cyrodiil.� I had been consort to the man
who should have been considered the greatest Emperor since Talos even though he
had not survived his own coronation.
Now I was a murderer.�
After months of avoiding the invitation, I had killed worthless little
Rufio in a fit of grieved fury over my own losses, and in so doing I had
fulfilled a contract from the Dark Brotherhood and implied my willingness to
join their ranks.
What was most horrible about it was the way in which I
continued to feel perfectly justified.�
Rufio had not deserved
everything Martin had sacrificed, everything I had sacrificed.� I was within my rights, if I had to stay
alone in the world my love had abandoned, to scrub it clean of beings who only profaned it and made a mockery of his gift.
That was the kind of remembrance I had to offer him.� It made me more keenly aware than ever that
beneath my Altmeri veneer I was myself a daedric spirit, forged by Mephala, the
queen of strife and death, as she had tried to tell me.
And that, in turn, meant it didn�t matter any more if the
Dark Brotherhood found me again and took me into their dread circle.� At least that would give me someone to talk
to.� Most of my other friends were dead.
I�d returned to my dreary little room in the Inn of Ill Omen
after the killing.� As I closed the door
and slipped my chameleon ring from my finger, I heard the low, cold voice that
had issued the invitation months before, laughing at me.
�Finally, Tintaviel!� You do like to keep your men waiting.�
He removed his own chameleon spell, and I could see him
regarding me with clear pleasure.� He was
a little bit shorter than me, as was not uncommon � somehow the aura of menace
he carried had made me remember him as taller than he really was.� Only his pale face was visible:� otherwise he was swathed in black from head
to toe, including his gloved hands.� His
features, though clearly human, were not easily defined by race, and were
almost delicate enough to be elven.
But I was not the same girl that he had first
propositioned:� I was much harder
now.� �I would not say that you waited, Lucien.� You pursued with some relentlessness.�
�Did I?�
I held out the dagger, my Blade of Woe, still streaked
crimson from the deed done.� �How else
would it keep finding its way home to me after all the times I have left it
behind somewhere?�
He smirked.� �Ah.� Perhaps it has an enchantment that you have
failed to notice.� Surely you do not
think that I have nothing else to do but follow one woman all over Cyrodiil.�
�I found the note you left on that Mythic Dawn girl in
Leyawiin.� Thank you so much for leaving
the body in my room, by the way.�
�No one thought less of you for it.� I knew no one would care about a dead
cultist.�� He raised one hand in a
delicate wave.� �Very well, perhaps I
have looked in on you from time to time.�
Perhaps I have even protected you once or twice, as one would any new
hatchling.� The really promising recruits
are so rare, you see, even when the world is full of mediocre killers.� Take the Leyawiin girl, for example.� Obviously she had the intent, but she was horribly
unaware of her surroundings.��
His mouth spread into that cold smile that did not reach his
eyes.� �Then again, so were you, that
night.� But you were weary from all that
effort in saving the world, and I forgave you the transgression.�
I shuddered.� �Kind of you.�� He
inclined his head politely.� �But what
made you think I was promising?� Why have
you insisted on me?�
�My dear, look at yourself.� You are aglow.� You rejoice in the deaths of the unjust and
unworthy, don�t you?�� I cast my eyes down
at the floor, not really wanting to acknowledge the truth of his words even
though I could feel it.� �The trained eye
can see these things, and the holy eye of the Night Mother sees them even more
clearly.� Without your precious war to
sustain you, the only way to fulfill that kind of delight is within the ranks
of our Family.�� He took one step toward
me and stopped there.� �And that is why
you have finally accepted my invitation.�
I offer you the soothing hand of our Dread Father, and the love of Brothers
and Sisters akin to your true nature.�
You are without home or purpose, and I offer these back to you.� I offer you sanctuary.�
My eyes were damp.�
That would not do.� I tried to
recoil back into myself rather than visibly pine for the things with which he
sought to tempt me.� But the tears were
visible, and I felt the smooth leather of his glove as he wiped them away with
his thumb.� That made my breath catch in
my throat, and he wrapped his arms around me, and stood there, silent and cool
as I tried desperately to recompose myself.
�Ssh,� he whispered.�
�Sithis is the end of pain.� I
will show you.�� His lips came up to my
cheekbone and kissed the spot where my tears had been.� Then down to touch my lips.� For a moment I felt myself respond hungrily: �it felt like so long since I had been touched,
since there had been someone to kiss my tears away.
Then I remembered who he was and what we were talking about,
and balked, and backed away from him.� He
stood where I left him, arms folded behind his back patiently.
�Come now, Tintaviel,� he purred.
�Don�t call me that.�
He laughed.� �Very well.� You are
entitled to a new name to protect your anonymity.� What would you prefer I call you?�
The obvious answer leapt to mind.� �Methusiele.�
He raised his eyebrows at me.� �How antiquated.� But I know you have an appreciation for the
antique.� As you like�Methusiele, come
and let me seal you to your new Family.��
He extended a hand to me.
�I...I don�t know.�
�There are traditions to be observed here, Methusiele.� And I do not think you find me so very
unappealing, do you?�� Again he took one
step toward me and stopped.
I was so alone, and he was delicate and fine, and blazed
with menace and tightly controlled violence.�
Terrifying, had I still had the sense to feel terror.� Lovely, in the same way that
certain predators are lovely.�
�No.�
He advanced slowly.� I
backed into the closed door, and he stopped at arm�s length, cornering me but
not touching me.� �Then you will not make
me insist.� As I say, there is
tradition.� Everyone in the Sanctuary I
control must belong to me.�
That was enough to send one last tremor through my dying
pride, and I lifted my chin in defiance.�
�I belong to no one.�� Did he
think I still had it in me to be easily cowed?�
�You cannot threaten me, because I have slain monsters other mortals
only see in their nightmares.� You cannot
burn me because I have walked in Oblivion, and you cannot chill me because I
have slept in Cloud
Ruler Temple.� You cannot seduce me with whispers because I
have followed a voice that made yours sound like tin.�� I mustn�t choke on that memory now, not in
the middle of my fine self-righteous speech.�
�I make the pact:� I offer you a
place in my ruin.� But do not flatter
yourself that you are its cause.�
For several breaths he did absolutely nothing.� Did not yell or strike me, did not let me go,
did not argue or cajole.� Not even his
expression changed, except perhaps that his eyes looked more alive.
Finally, an unexpected toothy grin � oh gods, he was going
to try to kill me � and that low, soft chuckle.�
�Dread Father.�
You are so amusing.�� He stepped into me, and I was pinned.� He raised one hand to my shoulder,
gently.� He held but did not push.� �So amusing that I will not
choose today to divest you of your illusions.� I will only remind you that this is the price
for my offer.�� He leaned in, breathed
the last into the side of my throat.�
�And perhaps it will hasten along the ruin you seek.�
Among healthy people that sort of statement should not have
been an effective seduction.� But we were
people broken beyond repair, and I turned my face to meet his, to suck his cold
breath into my throat.� There was no
point in damning myself by half-measures.
His tongue probed my mouth and be began to rub at my breasts
with a knowing but demanding touch.� Soon
one hand broke away to pry the knife loose from my fingers, and it clattered to
the floor.� He peeled off one glove and
then the other, and then returned to kissing and fondling me.� I reached up to touch his face, to push back
the hood � but his hands came up to grab at my wrists.� �No,� he whispered.� �You have not earned that.�� He nipped at my lower lip as he pressed his
mouth back over mine, and continued to hold my hands against the door to keep
me from trying again.
He left the kiss again a few moments later to focus on
removing my robe, which slunk to the floor still heavy with drying blood.� He bade me to finish getting naked while he
watched, and I complied.� He removed
nothing from himself, but opened the front of his black robes and of his
trousers.� He ran his fingertips over me
from a pace away, almost casually, looking and assessing, with just a trace of
a smile.� My nerves began to dance from
the lightness of his touch.
�Mm.� Yes.��
He just touched his lips to the side of my throat.� �We must be sure this is memorable enough to
make you feel compliant.� You are a willful
creature.� What will inspire you to
loyalty, do you think?�� He moved two
fingers across my lips, then kissed me.� I met his tongue with mine and reached down
into his pants to stroke up and down the length of his erection.� That he allowed a few times before he swatted
my hand away.� He reached into my crotch
and rubbed there, and I moaned into his mouth.�
But he stopped and moved that hand around behind me, entering me there
with one moistened finger, and I gasped.
He stopped to smile.� �Ah, there.� No one
has been through that door yet, have they?�
That will do.�� He grabbed me by
the wrist and led me further into the room, to the bed.� �Face down,� he said, and when I hesitated he
pulled close and purred into my ear, �Please me and I will please you.� We will both be happier if you cooperate.�� To punctuate this he stroked up the side of
my throat with his tongue.
I lowered myself onto the bed and laid
down on my stomach.� He knelt over me and
pulled my hair aside to kiss and bite at the back of my neck.� His hand � warm, against my whole sense of
his nature � rubbed up and down the length of my back, massaging my ass and occasionally
pulling the cheeks apart in anticipation.�
I bit my lip, panting in a combination of desire and anxiety.
He moved between my legs and drove into me, into the more
usual place.� He paused for just a second
to watch my response, then pumped hard, reaching up
into my hair and grabbing it at the scalp to pull my head back.� He smiled at my moaning and licked the back
of my ear between thrusts.� I had begun
to think it had been an idle threat when he paused and withdrew.� �Now,� he whispered.� �Spread your legs further.�� He encouraged me with one hand, pulling my
knee up to the side.� My hips ached with
how wide he wanted me spread, but I complied.�
He reached down to rub at the place he had abandoned, to reward me, and
I stifled my whimpering with my hand.� He
pulled the juices back toward the new site of conquest.
�Hmm,� he mused.� �Only taming you, not breaking you.� The salve.�� He reached for something in his belt, worked
with it behind my back, and put the thing down within my line of sight: �a little vial of some sort of cream.� He rubbed a bit of this into place, cool and
slightly tingling.
�You�re lucky I have that,� he whispered as he came back
over me, his member now exerting a slow pressure on the unclaimed opening.� �It�s for wounds, really.� Relax now.�
It will not hurt if you surrender completely.�
He pressed into me, the flesh yielding reluctantly.� I felt just the head force its way through
first.�� I shuddered, and he kissed the
back of my neck again.� Then it was
almost as if the rest of his length was pulled in naturally, and the slow
rhythm with which he began to take me seemed as much a matter of drawing back
out as thrusting inward.� I was clenched
tight around him, but the salve kept the way smooth at first, and my body seemed
to want to give over to him.� I could
feel myself still wet and open, cool shivers of excitement and desire still
dancing through me although denied their usual fulfillment.
But perhaps the yearning became too strong, or the salve
began to wear away, because I felt myself tighten further around him, and his
movement suddenly brought a ripping pain.�
I shook and cried out.� He brought
a hand up to cover my mouth, and slowed, but did not stop.�
�Hush,� he said.�
�Give over.� Stop fighting
me.�� I tried to force myself to relax,
to unclench the muscles that had tensed, gasping with effort and pain.� He removed the hand from my mouth and snaked
it underneath me, stroked there just a little bit, until I moaned and sank
deeper into the mattress.� �Good girl,�
he whispered, and resumed speed.
From then on I had to focus on untensing, on giving myself
to him completely � and that was when I understood how that had been the point
of his choice, to habituate me to surrender to his will.� But by the time I thought of that, I was
deeply entranced, slow waves of pleasure gently unfolding through me, and I was
willing to give him this or anything else he asked of me.� I even maintained this blissful passivity as
his own pleasure drove him to a less cautious pace.� He bit into my neck as he came, and I only
sighed.
He withdrew, and as I lay splayed out and half-conscious on
the bed, he refastened his robe and trousers, then went
to pick up my robe and inspect it.� �I
don�t think this can be salvaged.� I
assume you have a change of clothes in your bag?�� I grunted something vaguely affirmative.� �Then I will dispose of the robe.� Clean yourself up and dress.� By the time I come back, you should be
clear-headed enough for me to give you instructions, and I will tell you where
to find your Brothers and Sisters.�
And the chameleon effect rippled back over him, and he was
gone.
It took several moments before I managed to roll out of the
bed onto the floor, toward the chest where my things were.� I wiped myself clean as best I could and
fumbled for pants and a shirt.� I managed
to get them on and sit back down on the bed, but anything beyond that was a
loss.� Although my head did indeed begin
to clear, my returning faculties imposed their own daze and left me just as
useless.
What had I done?
I was taken aback by my violence against Rufio.� I was aghast at what I had allowed Lucien to
do to me.� And I was horrified by the
lonesome, fallen part of me that had already begun to worry about whether he
would really come back for me, because it was afraid he wouldn�t, and I would be alone again.
And the slow, deep ripplings of desire had not yet quite
stopped, even then.
All of this meant that when Lucien did in fact return, I was
still sitting stunned on the bed.� He
stood over me and lifted my chin to look into my eyes.� �Hmm.� You are still not quite in there, are
you?� Perhaps I had better take you there
myself.� I will not have done so much
work just to have you wander off bewildered to be lost or killed.�
I resented being spoken of as if I were
a child, but I resented it the way a sleepy child would.� I sulked in my quiet stupor as he pulled me
to my feet and pulled my bag from the chest.�
�Where is that ring you wear?� he asked, then
remembered where I had put it, retrieved it, and slipped it onto my
finger.� Holding my hand, he rehid
himself, and I felt him pull me along, down and out of the inn and to the
nearby stable.

He helped me up onto a majestic black mare with awful red eyes.� He mounted in front of me, felt for my arms
and put them around his waist.� Then he
made clicking sounds to the horse, called her Shadowmere, and we were away,
with a speed that my paint horse could not have dreamed.� The speed with which the Heartlands passed by
did nothing to clear my head, nor did the hours of silence between us that I
used to deepen my self-deprecating reverie, so I nestled my face into Lucien�s
back and closed my eyes.�
By the end of the day we had reached Cheydinhal � from near
Bravil to Cheydinhal in a day�s ride, and not along the main roads.� A marvelous horse.� With one hand at my waist and one at my
elbow, he escorted me to an abandoned house, and we slipped inside.� Here he made himself visible and felt to
remove my ring.� Then he took me by the
hand and led me down into a tunnel beneath the house, and to an eerily glowing
red door.
�Sanguine, my Brother,� he said, and the stone door rolled
aside.
What luck that the password should have been the name of the
Daedric Lord who had brought me together with my dead lover for the first time.� A horrible
shudder of grief swept through me, and I was not only quite useless again but
in danger of throwing myself onto the floor in a weeping wreck.
He gathered me up calmly and held me to keep me
standing.� �Ssh, ssh.� Only a little further now, Methusiele.� Your Family is waiting to meet you.�
I didn�t want my Family any more.� I wanted Martin.� What had I done?� What was I doing?
But Martin was gone.�
Jauffre and Baurus were gone.�
Every reason I had not to surrender to my real nature had left me behind
forever.� I took a deep breath, nodded
assent to Lucien, and allowed him to continue leading me into the Sanctuary.
�You are going to see a skeleton shortly,� he murmured into
my ear.� �It belongs to the
Sanctuary.� Do not attack.�� I nodded again, thankful he�d warned me,
because I would have done it.
The stony hall the skeleton patrolled was the central hub
from which several passages extended.� We
passed the doors on each side and walked into the passageway in the back, following
it to another door there.� Here, Lucien
gave a knock with a particular-sounding cadence, and the door opened to show an
Argonian woman, mostly green with red cheeks.�
She was dressed in black too, but rather than a robe she was wearing a
sort of wrapped armor.� She ushered us in
and closed the door behind us.� Lucian
sat me down on the bed, and the two of them regarded me like a horse they might
buy.
�Here she is, Ocheeva,� Lucien said.� �I assure you that she will be worth the
wait.�
�Hmph.�� Ocheeva studied me, pushed back my hair with
her cool hand to look into my eyes.�
�This one is still so raw, Lucien.�
�So you will guide her.�
You will tame this fire to our use, and we will burn Cyrodiil with it.�
She looked again, and her eyes widened in recognition.� �Dread Father!� She is the � �
�Yes.� And we have
her.�
As best I could read Argonian faces, Ocheeva scowled.� �Oh, this is dangerous.� She is so well-known.�
�It�s perfect.� She is
above suspicion, with every reason to travel frequently.�
�Can she be subtle?� We seldom get contracts to wipe people out by
the dozens.�
�In closed spaces, she melds into the shadows.� Even I have to concentrate to keep track of
her, until she strikes.� She is an asset,
Ocheeva.�
�Hmm.�� Ocheeva stepped back and stomped several
times on the floor, making a hollow noise.�
A trapdoor, I supposed.� �I will
apprentice her to Vicente.� He has a way with
the temperamental ones.�
�Good, but do not neglect her yourself.� There is no substitute for your motherly guidance.�� He scratched underneath the ring of little
horns around her head, and she narrowed her eyes happily.
�Flatterer,� she growled.
The trapdoor swung open, and the head that emerged was gaunt
and white, with glimmering red eyes.� A vampire.� I reacted
by instinct, raising a hand with flames already dancing between my fingertips.
�Hold!� Lucien
shouted, and lunged forward to grab my hand.�
Ocheeva grabbed me on the other side to make sure I tried no other
violence.� The vampire ducked for a
moment, then re-emerged, looking startled and
confused.
�There!� Ocheeva snapped.�
�That�s the Fifth Tenet nearly broken already, and the night�s hardly
begun.�
�She has been fighting necromancers and vampires for some
time, Ocheeva,� Lucien sighed.� �She will
not attack him now that she knows.� She
never attacked Hassildor.�
Lucien knew about Hassildor?
�Is that a promise?� said the vampire, still not emerging
entirely from beneath the floor.
�Yes, Vicente.� Come and meet Methusiele.�
�Lovely name.�� He climbed up at last to join us, covering
his discomfort by straightening his black vest.�
�Surprising lady.�� His accent was Breton, and he had long brown
hair, tied back in a ponytail.� He looked
at me, and he raised a finger to point as his expression shifted.
�Yes, you do recognize her,� said Ocheeva, preventing the
question.� �But here she will be
Methusiele.� We will keep custom.� She will need it more than most of us.�
�Good, Ocheeva.��
Lucien smiled.� �I am glad to see
that you are coming around to my way of thinking.� I am going to want regular reports on her
progress, and I am going to want to be pleased with them.�
Nearly incinerating Vicente had finally started to clear my
head, and I spoke.� �I am in the room with you.� One of you might try addressing me directly
at some point.�
The other two gawked at me, but Lucien chuckled.� �Ah!�
There she is.� This is our Methusiele.�
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Apotheosis II