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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.

Chapter List
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Twelve � All That I�ve
Blessed

I slept on the floor of the Temple, curled up beneath the statue.� I heard periodic discussions of this by the
door, but no one came forward to disturb me.

When I woke, I gave serious thought to telling Jeelius to administer vows to me
and let me stay there.� Now that I had
finally come back to this place where I could feel Martin around me, I could
hardly bear the thought of leaving.
You must, he
whispered.� We must complete this work.� It
is not enough to have you in my Temple
when you should be in my arms.�
Another wave of heat, another attempted touch.� You
will come back and tell me how things progress.�
It will be just like it has always been between us, he added with a
laugh.
�With the one glaring exception,� I muttered.
And that is what we
must correct.� More
heat, and then his frustrated growl.�
I miss you so much, Tavi.
�I miss you,� I whispered, touching the foot of the dragon
statue because there was nothing else for me to touch.� �I hope that you and Mephala know what you�re
doing with me, because I don�t.� But I
will go to Vanua, and see where that leads.��
I walked out, reluctantly, past the pillars that ringed the outside of
the holy space.
I told you I would
always love you.
I looked back over my shoulder, almost smiling.� �I told you I would always come back.�
Jeelius was waiting by the door, a respectful distance
away.� �You�speak to the Dragonborn?� he
asked.
I supposed there was no point in denying it.� �Yes.�
�Do you hear him answer?�
�Yes, I do.�
He nodded.� �It is as
I thought.� Of course he would make his
consort into his saint.�� He watched my
eyes widen in surprise.� �Was it a
secret?�
�No.� No, I suppose
not.� But�but we knew there would be
limits.� As an Altmer I could not have
been his wife.� His people would not have
accepted it.�
He grinned, showing all of his sharp teeth.� �And you still worry?� I am an Argonian, and he is a god.� I don�t think
it matters as much anymore.�� He
shrugged.� �You may come and go from here
as you please, Beloved of the Dragonborn.�
I will make sure no one ever disturbs your communion.�
No one had ever been as generous to me for as little
expected gain.� I touched his
shoulder.� �Thank you, Jeelius.�
Shadowmere had waited for me, and I accepted that she was
still my horse.
The ride to Vanua was short, and the ruin itself unusual, in
that it did not seem to be a protected shrine like so many of the Ayleid
ruins.� There were no traps, even though
there were the usual catacombs and some Welkynd stones.� The only bars to my way were gates and uneasy
dead.
Halfway down into Vanua I found one body resting
peacefully:� it bore a shield with a red
lozenge, and a little diary with a grim opening:
This journal is a
record of failure.� My
failure.
The body before me belonged, according to this, to Sir
Amiel, who had been part of an order called the Knights of the Nine.� They had once retrieved and cared for some of
Pelinal�s relics, but were soon torn apart again by rivalry and covetousness of
the weapons and armor they had found.�
Sir Amiel had been the leader and thus took the blame upon himself:� he had come
here in search of the Helm in a last effort to restore the original spirit of
his Order, after most of the others were dead.�
The journal assumed that I was likewise a true believer looking for the
Helm, wished me luck, and bade me take Amiel�s ring to open his abandoned
Priory again.� In its locked vaults, it
said, I would also find Pelinal�s Cuirass and could �claim it for my own.�
I did not think I would claim it for my own, after everything I had just read about the bad ends of those
who had taken that attitude.� But I had
been charged with the task of claiming it for use.
The Helm was no more difficult to acquire than any Ayleid
treasure, and I pitied the old man who had failed to reach what was, for me,
such a straightforward goal.
The journal directed me to the southeast of Skingrad, in the
West Weald.� The bones of the Priory were
still lovely � a build similar to that of Weynon, I remembered with a
soul-weary sigh.� The chapel was on the
other side, though, with an empty garden plot next to it.� I entered the chapel first, and could still
feel a faint shadow of holy presence there.�
I touched one knee to the ground and one hand to my head in a show of
respect, then went to inspect the house.� This was empty and dusty, but still as sound
as the chapel.� Its main difference from
Weynon was some lovely stonework in the floor:�
a circle of eight red diamonds around a ninth.
I�d seen the red lozenge on Amiel�s shield and on the ring
I�d taken from him; and I�d been a treasure hunter for long enough to recognize
the likelihood of a hidden door, especially as there was otherwise no way down
to where most Priories would have had a cellar.�
I looked for the little flaw where the ring would fit as a key.
With an alarming clatter the pattern collapsed downward in
tiers, becoming a staircase.
The cellar was ordinary enough, including storage and
something of a training area and armory for the Knights.� Through another door was
the undercroft, which was the largest and most open I had seen.� In the center of the floor was another circle
of red diamonds, and on the opposite wall, I could see the Cuirass hanging,
covered with an old cloth bearing the single lozenge as its insignia.
Between us, the walls were full of crypts�and as I stepped
forward, the spirits began to stride out from them.
I stood still, a light ripple of shock all around me,
waiting ready for me to aim it.� But
nothing more:� this did not have the feel
of an unholy place, and I did not want to make initially friendly spirits
change their minds about me.
�I am Sir Amiel,� said the one directly in my path.
Ah, yes.� �I found
your ring,� I said.� �I have brought the
Helm.�
That earned a smile and a nod.� �Still, I cannot simply allow you to pass.� It has been my hope that the Priory would be
reopened and the Order restored, but that will take a worthy Knight.� You will have to defeat us all in single
combat before we can give you the Cuirass.�
This was not about winning one trinket:� it was about winning the goodwill of the
Nine, about serving whatever plan both Martin and Mephala � my Mother � seemed
convinced would gain me my one real desire.�
I bowed to him.� �As you like.� Am I
granted my choice of weapon?�
�Of course.�
I purred as the full heat of my magicka poured to my
hands.� �Call Hold when I am to stop, then.�
I learned their names as Sir Amiel sent them against
me:� Gregory, Casimir, Ralvas, Henrik,
Caius, Juncan, Torolf.�
I swigged down one healing potion after Casimir, one after Caius, two
after Torolf.� They had clearly been
worthy fighters in life, but they could not do the things I could do.
It felt good.� Soon it
felt magnificent.� The flow of power seemed to revitalize my
spirit in a way that even the blessings of the Nine and my love had not, and to
make me wholly Tavi again.� By the time
Sir Amiel faced me himself, I was laughing.
Only after we were done did I reflect on the list of
names.� One was missing that had appeared
in the journal.� �Sir Berich is not
here?�
Sir Amiel frowned.�
�No.� We were never
reconciled.� It is one of my deeper
regrets.� But you are proven worthy of
the Cuirass and of the Order.� What is
your name, good Knight?�
�Tintaviel.�
�Then you are the inheritor and leader of the Knights of the
Nine, Sir Tintaviel.�� As I arched an
eyebrow, he added uncomfortably, �That is the traditional title.� It is� it is odd to pass the Order to an
Altmer woman, given the history of Pelinal and our holy relics.� But perhaps that is, itself, a sign.� So be it.�
Wear our symbol and spread our name.�
Call the people back to the Nine.� ��
I made the rounds for friendlier introductions, and one by
one, the Knights revealed pieces of the story of their collective fall and the
fates of the relics.� The Sword and
Greaves had both gone with Sir Berich � they knew not to where.� Sir Casimir had once claimed the Gauntlets,
but they had fallen from him when he struck a beggar in anger, and could not be
lifted again by him or anyone else.� They
were in Chorrol, he said.�� Sir Henrik
had retrieved the Shield but never got back to the Priory:� he had devised protection for it at Fort Bulwark
but fell in its defense.
Sir Ralvas had died struggling to retrieve the Mace from the
Chapel in Leyawiin � a test of faith, he said, that he repeatedly failed and
still could not solve.� Sir Juncan had
met a similar fate seeking the Boots at an outdoor sanctuary for Kynareth near
the Imperial City.�
If I went after the Boots first, then, I could report back
at the Temple
of the One.� I approached the Cuirass �
Sir Amiel and the others now stood aside � and taking out the Helm, hung it on
the display rack above its mate.
Sir Amiel looked confused when I turned again, so I
explained.� �These things were made for
one purpose, and for one purpose only will I wear them.�
He grinned widely.�
�Then you will succeed where we failed.�
I am certain.�
To be honest, I didn�t feel I would need them sooner.� I had more enchanted items already than I
could use, and did not carry most of them, let alone make use of them.� The Ring of Khajiit and the fisherman�s ring,
and Nocturnal�s key, and a sword and robes I had enchanted myself.� Almost everything else I had secreted away in
one or the other of my houses, depending on which �self� had won them.
It started to feel silly to keep them all, on
reflection.� I made a side trip to
Cheydinhal to go through my things there, a process rich with layers of
ambivalence.� Over the course of a week I
sold what I thought could be put to honest use and buried the rest: �not a graceful solution, but a relatively
quick one.�
Although it was logical enough that Kynareth had an outdoor
shrine instead of a Chapel, it also created an odd resonance in my head with
the shrines of the Daedric Lords.� (All
gods were whole, Mephala had
said:� they only gathered in different
courts.)� The residing priestess was
perfectly happy to tell me the location of the Boots:� I must go to the �Grove of Trials� and be
tested.� She pointed me to a nearby
clearing, and I went there and waited, feeling the open, clear sanctity of the
place.
The bear arrived at dusk.�
The bear, larger than any
natural beast I had ever seen, and quite consciously and deliberately moving
toward me.� I stood and started to gather
my power.
No.� It was the shrine
of the goddess who ruled this creature:�
I should try not to kill it here.�
I shouted and clapped to startle it into flight, which was useless.
But then I felt the spiritual presence surrounding the
animal, and went still.
It approached me, looked into my eyes � even with mine when
it was on all fours.� It watched me for a
moment, and I stood.� It raised one paw
and gave a casual swat at my side, and after staggering to recapture my
balance, I stood.
And then it turned and walked away from me, toward the rocks.� I heard stone sliding against stone, and knew
that a way had opened.� I followed the
bear at a respectful distance until I found the open door, and entered.
On a little altar, between two giggling but passive
spriggans, were the Boots.� I took them and
set off for the Imperial City, for the Temple,
eager to run back to the place I had spent so long avoiding and feel again the
flood of love and warmth there.
�I have three of the relics,� I told him, pressing my hands
against the stone effigy.
Good. �Then go to Leyawiin next, and do not go to the
Priory first.� He added before I
could ask, You will see why when you get there.� But Zenithar insists that if I told you
outright, we would be cheating.� We need
to make all of the Nine happy � they act as one.
I stayed for hours, basking in his ethereal presence.� Other worshippers got as far as the door and
were waved away by Jeelius with mutters about the Beloved, the saint.� Again, it was finally Martin who had to tell
me to go.� Be safe, my love, he said.
Leyawiin was sunny,
which was boggling.� In the Chapel was a
warrior named Carodus who came straight to me with his head hung in
defeat.� He�d already tried to win the
Mace and failed, and guessed me another pilgrim come to make the attempt.�
�The priest told me that Zenithar�s gifts are founded in
Kynareth�s,� he said.� �But I don�t
understand what that means.� I don�t
understand what I was supposed to do.�
Perhaps you will do better.�� He
pointed me toward the undercroft, where he said a saint was buried.
I found the right alcove and knelt � and reeled as the
vision came, swift and sudden.� I was on
a ledge in darkness, and across a bottomless abyss I could see the Mace in the
distance.

Alone of my things the Boots were with me, the gift of Kynareth.� I put them on, and a faint path seemed to
appear before me, a thin bridge of light.�
I did not want to test it.� For
all that I had courted the void in my time of despair, the sight of a literal
void stretched before me was a terror now that I had purpose again.
Were all voids really one?�
Were Lucien and Vicente�s souls sleeping somewhere in that endless
blackness?� Would I fall past them if I
missed a step?
But this was the way.�
If I had run underfoot of Mehrunes Dagon for him, I could do this.
I slowly touched one foot to the bridge of light, and it
held firm.� Slowly, timidly, I crossed to
the Mace and looked at it closely.� Pelinal�s Mace (swinging into
my chest, breaking my ribs) � no, not his now.� Not the implement of my death but a tool for my
deliverance. �Gingerly I took it into my
hand.� At once I found myself back in the
Chapel, still holding it.� I took a deep
breath, thanked the gods, and returned up the steps.
Before I was through the door I heard the clash, the
shouting.� Three golden warriors were
attacking, and Carodus was standing against them, already hurt.
They felt like daedra to me, although they were a kind I had
not seen, so I called lightning down on them.�
It made disturbingly little difference.�
Fire, then, and the Mace still in my hand, although I
had always hated blunt weapons.�
Happily I did better with it than I had any right to expect � one of the
virtues of its blessing, I suspected.
When they were down and Carodus healed, I knelt beside one
of the bodies and tried to think through my anger.� They felt like�like Meridia, I thought.� Of course Meridia, she who
had favored Umaril.� That would
make these � I searched my memory for the name from my otherwise useless study
of conjuration � Aurorans.� Prettier than dremora, and happily quieter, but not more pleasant
overall.
Carodus was apparently inspired by the whole incident.� He asked the meaning of my insignia, and when
I told him, he asked to join the Order.�
I was not entirely comfortable with the idea of having followers, but I
supposed that was what �restoring the Order� would have to mean, allowing
people to join it.� And he seemed capable
enough.� I began telling him how to find
the Priory, and then shrugged that off and let him follow me there.� It took days for us to get there, because his
horse was distressingly slow compared to Shadowmere.� I dropped off the Boots and Mace, and went
out again after the next two relics.
I was distracted on my arrival in Chorrol by a plea from a
local shop owner:� her daughter, Dar-Ma,
whom I remembered as a particularly friendly and cheerful Argonian, was
missing.� She�d vanished in the middle of
an errand to a village called Hackdirt.�
I agreed to investigate, and quickly found that the whole place was run
by some freakish, violent cult.� It gave
me no end of joy to burn through the lot of them and free
the girl.
When I returned to town and the Chapel, the Altmeri priest
was happy to show me the Gauntlets, which indeed were immovable.� The priest, Areldur, also told me that a descendant
of the failed Knight, Sir Casimir, lived there, crippled by the curse Casimir
had called down on himself in committing unprovoked violence while wearing a
holy relic.� The boy, Kellen, was an
invalid.� Harsh, I thought, to inflict
punishment on the knight�s blameless descendants.� Especially harsh from the
god of mercy.
Areldur�s glance away was quick and subtle, but he was of my
kind, and I knew how to read him.� When I
pressed, he admitted that he knew what would end the curse and lacked the will
to do it.� Someone else must take it
willingly.
I had to think very carefully.� My purpose was to destroy Umaril, and for
that I would need every ounce of strength, surely.�
�No.� No, my purpose
was to win Martin, and to do that I must please the Nine.� I went to Stendarr�s altar and prayed to know
his will, and the answer seemed clear:�
this was the way to the Gauntlets.
I should have known I would pay for executing Dark
Brotherhood orders inside Stendarr�s Chapel.
I went down into the room where they kept the young man, and
as soon as I touched his shoulder he leapt up from where he�d sat on the bed,
beaming with joy.� He laughed, jumped,
ran from the room crowing.� I sat down in
his place, more tired than I had ever been.�
I cast spells on myself to relieve the fatigue, and found the strength
again to stand.� I would have to work a
whole fabric of such spells over myself regularly from then on.�
Areldur was astonished and humbled when I came up trudging
up the steps.� He praised my selfless
act, and then wondered aloud what kind of priest he was if he could not be so
generous.� So I�d saved one man but
perhaps ruined another.� Still, the
Gauntlets were now the weight of any other like pair, and I brought them down
to the Priory.
There I found that Carodus had been joined by the priestess
of Kynareth.� She�d already been there
for days, he told me, and was cleaning the whole place from top to bottom.� She told me her name was Avita, and told me
how she had received orders to join us in a dream.� I agreed:�
far be it from me to deny the word of a goddess.
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Apotheosis II