I was desperate.

In desperation for answers I managed to flee into the newly-appeared Door in the Niben Bay before we returned to Cloud Ruler Temple, hoping for solutions from Sheogorath. All I got were the powers of a Daedric Prince and answers to questions I didn't ask. I had returned before I was even halfway through a pregnancy I had not asked for, a pregnancy that bound me to a duty that I did not want.

I was running around in circles in my own mind, in such a desperate fit of illogic that everything suddenly fell into place in a way that induced hysterics. The Blades kept me in that temple for months to ensure I did not flee back to the Isles and I, going stir crazy, pulled the threads together and formulated a plan I wasn't entirely sure would work.

I pulled in every favour I was owed. Every life I had saved, every man I had killed for, every Daedric worshipper I had crossed paths with. Every fence I had used when in the Brotherhood, I went to them. People who used the Brotherhood had the coin to do so, and thus the influence in society I needed. I spent months poring over old kills that had been particularly high-end, narrowing down to political rivals and fighting scholars, until I had a list of people I needed to contact. And I contacted them all.

Mother of the unborn heir, former assassin, and newly Champion of Cyrodiil and Prince of Madness. It gave me leverage on all angles. A good word here, a silent threat there, and a dose of guilt-inducing words.

I was going crazy.

I discovered the rumours about the Old Way when in contact with an official within the Elder Council. The elf who had traversed it, a thief named Nyralim on the greatest heist the Thieves Guild had undertaken in years, had not held his tongue once he was safely out of the reach of the guards. I had come across him in the palace, when he was fleeing the monks and I was heading towards my target. It had been the reason for the tightened security on that fateful day I found myself thrown into the Imperial Dungeon.

Two stone statues guarded the door to the Palace within the Way. When Nyralim had passed them they had sprung to life. He had noticed that they were no longer made of stone: they moved fluidly, had colour in their cheeks and bled like the Mer they had once been. It had been a ritual which turned those Ayleid people into guardian statues.

I just had to reverse it.

Lauraine was sat in the great hall when Jauffre joined her. There was a low fire crackling, but the only sounds that reached her ears were the occasional scratching of armour whenever Baurus moved, and his controlled breathing in the warm room.

Scrolls were scattered before her: old papers, letters and correspondence, ripped pages from old books and her own neat notes that betrayed her noble childhood. One letter, opened but only half read, had delivered some awful news only hours earlier.

Lauraine had tried to contact the Cheydinhal sanctuary, and had worried after three letters had gone unanswered. She had sent someone to investigate, with instructions on how to get beyond the door if no one came in and out. The lettered response had been grim: Lauraine had stopped reading when she came to the details of the six bodies and the pile of dust heaped in the corner. It broke her heart, to hear that all her friends were gone, doomed to a Purification.

Jauffre cleared his throat, pulling her from her thoughts. She was sat on the opposite side of the bench that Martin had usually sat on, working as hard as he had in the months leading up to the culmination of the Oblivion crisis.

Jauffre had entered, cold and with the lightest layer of melting snow on his armour, and seated himself opposite her. He was wary, eager to keep her safe and only ever feeling truly comfortable when she was in his sight. If he had his way, Lauraine was sure that her guard of only Baurus would at least triple.

The heavy woollen dress she was wearing kept her warm, though her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and she got the distinct impression that Jauffre disapproved of her attire. He would have her in full armour if he could, but her belly had grown too large for her to wear it comfortably, and the woollen dress helped alleviate the backache she was experiencing.

Lauraine put down her quill when he sat down opposite her, but busied her hands with sorting out the mess on the table.

"Have you made any progress today, my dear?"

She gave him a small smile.

"Yes. I have invited the elf that traversed the Old Way here to speak with me, and he has agreed to come. I also contacted an Ayleid fanatic in the Imperial City: they will both arrive in seven weeks and I hope they will give me the final answer I need to this puzzle."

Jauffre pursed his lips the tiniest amount, in disapproval of her plan. Baurus noticed it and pretended he had not, and Lauraine herself was not paying attention to his face enough to notice. He instead gave her a pointed cough before speaking again.

"Are you sure that is wise? That is alarmingly close to your expected date. You might not be well enough to receive them."

"I am not some sickly waif who is about to give birth to an overly large and heavy Orcish baby, Jauffre. I am a physically fit woman. As long as there are no medical complications, I should be fine. I trust the mages enough to deliver my child." She placed her notes in one pile and moved them to the bench beside her, so she could organise the maps. Jauffre almost tutted, but stayed quiet and watched her.

She had a point, after all, and Jauffre did not know what had happened to her in the Isles.

"What are you hoping for?" Looking almost surprised that he had asked the question, Jauffre stared at her resolutely. Lauraine gave a sigh, lowering her head slightly as she put the maps back down.

"I will love my child no matter what gender. Though I spend my nights begging the gods that I have a daughter."

Jauffre looked puzzled, but said nothing. Lauraine continued.

"If my plan fails, the child will take up the Dragon Throne regardless of gender. If I were to have a son, and my plan succeeds, I may have another legitimate son in the future. I do not want two children fighting over a throne one of them may never have." She paused, thinking. "Besides, I just… I want a daughter."

"You have a lot balancing on whether or not your plan is successful, Lauraine."

She pursed her lips into a frown, and narrowed her eyes at him.

"I have come this far, I will not fail now."

Dark and dusty could not have been a better description of the Emperor's Quarters when Lauraine stepped foot in them again for the first time since the death of Martin. The room had a haze to it, a fuzzy combination of dust and wooden blinds and the setting sun that made it hard to see clearly in the room. Lauraine had brought a lit lantern with her to brighten the room up so she could look around properly.

No one had entered since the day in the Temple District. But now she was being forced to move into the room, at Jauffre's insistence, for it was the safest room in the entire temple. That, and both Lauraine and Jauffre knew that her temporary bed, near to the guard barracks, was no longer feasible. A new born babe was not conducive to their sleep cycles.

Lauraine held the babe in her arms, two weeks old and bundled up in cloth to protect from the cold. Empress to Cyrodiil the moment she had left her mother's womb, the babe had not been named yet. Baurus had suggested to her the name of the previous Empress, but the idea did not sit well with Lauraine as the Empress had not been Martin's mother. For now, she was still brainstorming names.

There could be no doubt of the baby's heritage, however. The Septim genes had overwritten her own wonky genetic coding. Martin's sharp icy blue eyes had been passed on instead of her own darker blues, and the wisps of dark hair on the babe's forehead hinted at his brown having dominated over her blonde locks.

The girl was all Septim, right down to the shape of the little nose, and Lauraine knew that once the babe reached her toddler years there could be no mistaking her parentage. It made her proud, in a way that gave her the brightest smile and broke her heart.

Perching herself on the edge of the featherbed, Lauraine gave the room a thorough look-over. It would be fine to live in once it had been cleaned, but the loss of Martin would ache the most in this room. The windows needed to be open desperately: the room smelt stale and dusty and yet Lauraine half prayed for a whiff of Martin's scent as she sat on the edge of the creaky bed.

A sharp knock on the wood at the door drew Lauraine's attention and stirred the babe awake.

"Ma'am? We have a Bosmer and a High Elf sitting in the great hall who claim you summoned them here. They're refusing to disclose why they're here?" The voice belonged to Caroline, who poked her head through a moment later. Lauraine sighed.

"Yes, they're here for me. Would you mind taking her to the nurse?"

It took hours of descriptions, searching and cross-referencing before Lauraine and the two elves were able to come up with any idea of what could have happened in the Old Way. Umbacano prodded and questioned poor Nyralim for every minute detail, in order to string together a possible ritual.

As it turned out, the main things needed were a knowledge of transformation and necromancy.

And a focus orb.

Lauraine's thoughts turned suspicious the moment Umbacano revealed he had one in his possession.

"Umbacano, you must have known that I could simply just take the focus orb from you, yes?"

"But you have honour, and I highly doubt the Champion of Cyrodiil would like such bad publicity as would arise if you did steal it from me. I ask only a small price."

"I am two weeks out of the birthing room, what you ask is certainly not small. I won't even consider leaving for another two weeks."

"The Bosmer can come with you, then."

"Eh, no, don't bring me into this."

"The throne room in Nenalata has been untouched since it was sealed. There will be plenty for you to take back to your guild."

Nyralim's eyes lit up, and Lauraine gave a small groan. It would appear she had little choice: Umbacano would not settle for one of the Blades.

"Shit, shit, shitting hell, close the fucking door, find the switch or something!" Nyralim's voice was panicked and cracking with stress, and he half threw his arrows into the throne room in Nenalata as Lauraine hurriedly looked around for the switch to seal it up again. Lauraine slammed her palm into the glowing blue tablet as Umbacano and his undead reached them, the marble slab raising in time to save both human and elf.

Hearing the roar of frustration from the other side of the wall, both archers gave each other a look, nodded and sprinted in the opposite direction towards the exit. Nyralim went ahead, shooting any enemies they may have missed on the way in whilst Lauraine made sure to close every door and hit every switch behind them.

They ran as fast as they could, pure adrenaline and fear spurring them on. Umbacano had transformed almost immediately into the lich king: at the piercing shriek he let loose both archers had realised they had no chance fighting in close quarters with him, and the moment he raised his undead they had turned on their heel and left the way they came.

When they reached the surface, panicked but with the Nenalatan king far behind them, Nyralim pulled the concrete door shut with a bang and grabbed the closest rock, using it to draw the giant symbol that the Thieves guild used to convey immediate danger.

Lauraine was still vomiting from the exertion when Nyralim was finished checking the seal, and he gently pulled her braid out of the way as she gripped a rock tightly.

"Eh, they're never gonna believe me when I tell them that I helped the Empress Regent vomit after we watched an elf turn into an old ayleid king."

Lauraine gave a small grin at his words and spat out her foul-tasting saliva, wiping her mouth with her gauntlet.

"It's so unbelievable that they just might." She winked as she slung her bow back over her shoulder, and Nyralim gave a wistful look over to the Imperial city. Lauraine saw, and smiled.

"You don't have to accompany me back to Cloud Ruler, I'll send you your payment by courier and we can part ways at the Imperial City."

"It ain't that miss, it's just what if he gets out? I know Bravil would be first and he'd probably just be killed there, but how many people will he kill before that happens?"

"There'll be mercenaries in the Imperial City, we can offer to pay them to go in and kill him. He will not get out for a while at any rate, and I'll send someone in a few weeks to make sure."

Nyralim gave a sharp nod, and with a quick glance back at the entrance he and Lauraine found their horses.

"Will you return straight to the temple?" Nyralim asked as he mounted his horse. Lauraine looked over the bay, towards the three-faced door on the small island.

"Not quite yet. I have a few small errands to run."

"You're back! Caroline, go alert Jauffre. How was the journey?"

A month after she had departed, Lauraine arrived back at Cloud Ruler Temple in a bad mood, desperate to see her daughter.

"It was fine, lots of undead, Umbacano turned into an ancient lich king and I got a nice lesson on how to shut ayleid doors."

Baurus paused on his way to her as he heard her comments. At his blank look Lauraine sighed.

"It's a very long story. Umbacano won't be joining us again, however, which means I need to translate everything we left here myself. Is the focus orb safe?"

"Right where Umbacano left it." They ascended the steps to the temple, Lauraine leading her horse behind her carefully up the icy steps.

"And my daughter?"

Baurus grinned.

"Keeping the barracks awake and on their feet with her fine lungs. Every time she so much as whimpers, Jena is there."

Smiling, Lauraine led her horse into the stable and handed him over to the stable boy.

"I'm glad, I've spent the month worrying. Now come on, let me get inside, it's freezing!"

It took another seven months for Lauraine to figure everything out and ensure the spell would work. She was stressed beyond belief; when she was not translating or looking after her daughter she was being hounded at to hurry by Jauffre. The empire was starting to fragment, incredibly slowly but surely, and the announcement eight months ago of the successful birth of the heir to the Septim throne slowed it only a little. There had already been two offers of marriage for her daughter, whom she had named Alessia after the first Empress.

But finally, after months of near worthless-translation and numerous scholars and arcane tutors later, Lauraine found herself, along with Jauffre, Baurus and a mage from the Arcane university, back in the Temple of the One for the first time since the end of the Oblivion Crisis.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Lauraine turned to look at her companions.

"When it changes, no matter how much pain he looks like he's in, you cannot touch him."

"What will happen?"

"The dragon will briefly come to life before the transformation part of the spell will take effect: this is why the Ayleid statues always appear larger than life. It will shrink: bones will realign and skin will soften, but it will hurt him. At the same time I'll be dragging his soul back through from Aetherius, so if you touch the dragon or the body whilst that is happening it will latch on to you because you're an easier vessel to inhabit. So, golden rule, don't bloody touch it." Baurus gave a nod at her instructions and Jauffre pursed his lips, sceptical that this could really work.

"Baurus, barricade the door. If this does work, it's bound to attract attention." Jauffre spoke the words with a little apprehension, but kept his eyes on Lauraine and the mage as they started to set up around the dragon statue. Void essence, a sample of blood (taken from her daughter and stored) and numerous other ingredients were placed at the foot of the statue before both women took a step back and started their separate spells.

Jauffre watched as the ingredients combined immediately and started to glow, rising from the ritual bowl and seeping in to the statue itself. A golden light made its way up the dragon's legs and to its torso. The light increased in intensity, until it covered the entire statue and started to light up through cracks in the stone. There was a roar as the dragon's head and neck regained the ability to move, a roar which became louder as the mage finished her spell.

"…et lapis invertant."

There was a crack, louder than almost anything Jauffre had heard in his life. Lauraine, casting her own spell, physically pulled a ball of blue light from the air and all but threw it towards the dragon as the stone fell away from it like shedding skin. The blue ball hit the dragon just as it crumpled, falling onto the broken wall of the Temple with a roar of agony that shook the district. The sound was awful to hear, and Jauffre felt pity for it as the sound of snapping bones could only just be heard beneath the roars.

The transformation happened quickly. Jauffre could not believe his eyes as the dragon became more human-like, its shape changing each second until finally the roars died down. What was left in the centre of the Temple of the One was Martin Septim himself, panting heavily and groaning in pain but alive. He was stark naked and on all fours as his face twisted through the pain, but Jauffre and Baurus merely stood there in disbelief.

It was Lauraine who moved first, unbuttoning her heavy fur cloak as she walked towards Martin. He crumpled to the ground as his strength failed him, having not moved for nearly two years. Lauraine held her hand out warily at first, probing for any sign of the magic before the mage gave her a confirming nod. Throwing the cloak around his shoulders, she knelt down to try to help him get back up on to his knees. When he was at her eye level, she pulled the cloak around his front and tied it before looking into his eyes.

"Do you know who you are?" His eyes were hazy and confused, but he nodded, wincing at the movement.

"Martin Septim." He gave a heavy breath of pain, and Lauraine looked behind her for help getting him to his feet.

"He still remembers who he is, at the very least." She said to Baurus as they lifted Martin to his feet. Baurus gave a comforting smile.

"Then that's promising."

Nevertheless, Martin still looked dazed and confused as Lauraine pulled her cloak's hood up over his head. Slowly, Lauraine and Baurus followed a composed but grinning Jauffre as he led the way out of the Temple of the One. Jauffre had been right in guessing that their mission would draw attention: a crowd of people were surrounding the temple outside the giant door. They were almost ambushed by them in their confusion at the sight of Martin and their hero.

"Quick, get him to the Imperial Palace. Ocato will help us." Jauffre commanded, and they followed. Baurus gave a chuckle.

"He'll be overjoyed!"

Lauraine raised an eyebrow as she shifted Martin, and shook her head slightly.

"Or he'll be horrified!"

Ocato had, understandably, been equal parts joyful and equal parts horrified when they half dragged a dazed and naked –except for the cloak- dead emperor through the doors of the White Spire.

But he had been helpful, once they had calmed him down and explained the situation. Martin was given clothing and quarters and confined to bed-rest, something he did not protest to. He was asleep within an hour, fully exhausted from his painful transformation.

There was no need to return to Cloud Ruler Temple. Jauffre sent word to the Temple and requested any vital belongings, half of the Blades and Alessia be sent to the Imperial city. Lauraine almost gave a sigh of relief when he sent that order off: she was half scared he would force the girl to remain at the Temple until Lauraine could go and retrieve her.

As it was, half a day later Lauraine and Jauffre stood in the chambers of the Elder Council, Ocato at their side, trying to explain everything that had happened. It took some vigorous persuasion, but after an hour the Council unanimously agreed that they believed the truth, that Martin Septim had returned. Ocato dismissed the need for the Council to accept his claim; they had already done so just before the battle in the Imperial City nearly two years prior.

Once the Council dispersed, Ocato turned to Lauraine and Jauffre.

"There is, of course, one more issue. A rather delicate one."

Lauraine frowned. "Go on."

"The issue is that of you and your daughter. She is, of course, the only heir to throne should Martin die. You said Martin knew who he was, but no one knows how much he remembers, correct?"

Pursing her lips, Lauraine nodded.

"Then we need to face the very real possibility that Martin might not remember who you are. He may choose to divorce you and marry another once he has recovered."

That made Lauraine clench her back teeth as she looked at Ocato.

"And your point, High Chancellor?"

"If this happens –and this is of course a very big if, we are not sure how much Martin remembers- and Martin has a son with a new wife, you understand the situation that could arise. The people of Cyrodiil have already accustomed themselves to the idea of the child of the Last Septim and the Champion of Cyrodiil –their saviour- on the Imperial throne."

"What, am I supposed to just leave Cyrodiil if that is the case? So you can sleep better at night?"

"You may not have a choice. Your daughter would not be the first to be murdered as another heir's rival for the throne."

Ocato's fears were unfounded, as it were. Martin awoke the next day very well aware of all the events leading up to his being petrified as a dragon. For the following two weeks he was confined to his quarters, where he had to come to grips with the reuse of his muscles. He was aided by a healer, and as he had not suffered atrophy he had been able to walk again by the end of the first week.

Two weeks after he regained the use of his legs, he wandered the Palace in hopes of finding Lauraine. He had seen her often during the last three weeks, and knew he had her to thank for his life, but he did not have the chance to speak to her privately and her quarters were placed on the opposite side of the tower to his.

They were hiding something from him, that much he was certain.

Lauraine had seen him frequently, but never for long periods of time. She always left at noon, and just before he was served his evening meal, and she never took either meal with him. The timings were too strict for him not to have taken notice.

Further, Martin was not an idiot. Lauraine had taken to wearing thin dresses that clung to her figure, and the changes he could see were stark. Her larger bust was telling enough, and it combined with the way she cocked her hip out as though she were used to carrying a child in her arms. There were some circles under her eyes and, perhaps most tellingly, she had lost her scrawniness completely: her hips were wider, and she had put on enough weight to look healthy. Someone was making an effort to ensure she was eating properly.

He had also been told by Jauffre about the false marriage that the Blades had claimed had occurred between himself and Lauraine on the eve of the Battle of Bruma. Try as he might, Martin could think of only one reason they would invent such a falsehood, and that reason boiled down to an issue of legitimacy.

He had been one of the main priests at the Temple of Akatosh, and he had attended to more births than he would have liked. He knew what a woman looked like out of the birthing room, and he had seen the mothers of Kvatch enough to know how a mother of a young babe looked. Lauraine matched it all.

But the question, for him, was how old was the child? The age determined if the child was his own or not, but a part of him knew it must be his.

Martin found her quarters an hour after searching, though there was no reply to his knock on the door. Carefully, he pushed the door open, finding himself in a room not much smaller than his own but sparsely decorated. The double glass doors to the balcony were flung open, allowing the sunlight in to brighten up the room considerably. Martin could hear a laugh trickle into the room from the balcony, and guessed that the reason she had not answered his knock was because she could not hear him.

Wandering further into the room, Martin kept quiet in his curiosity to see what she could be doing on the balcony. He saw her standing there, leaning down with her back to him, clad in a thin blue dress to better stand the summer heat. Caroline stood behind her in her Blades armour, alert but smiling softly.

Then he saw the child. Lauraine spun, swinging the little girl up into her arms as the child let loose a series of high-pitched giggles, and he watched as Lauraine gave her a dramatically loud kiss on her nose. She was unaware of his presence, but Caroline must have heard him moving for she straightened immediately and gave a stiff bow.

"My lord Martin!"

Lauraine froze where she stood and turned, balancing the girl on her hip as she did so. Martin looked at the child and felt his heart skip a beat. She was only a little thing, and at the stage of her life where he could not tell by sight alone if she was six months old or a year old or anywhere in between.

He saw Lauraine grip the little girl tighter.

"Caroline, could you please give us a moment?"

When Caroline left and did not take the child with her, Martin knew.

Lauraine closed the balcony doors behind the Blade as she left, before she handed the girl a clearly well-loved doll and sat her down into a crib on the balcony. Surprisingly, she stayed quiet aside from a few cooing noises.

"Martin, you should have sent for me. You shouldn't be wandering around on your own when you've only just regained the use of your body."

They moved to the edge of the balcony; Lauraine leaned her elbows on it and turned her head to look at him. He stood upright and still, unsure where to look.

"I know, Lauraine."

He could see her stiffen in the corner of his eye, and it only served to confirm his suspicions. She shifted, turning more of her body towards him, though her eyes flickered to the horizon.

"How long have you known?" There was a fear to her voice, and he looked over to her to observe her properly. There was no denying, in the bright sunlight with the thin blue dress she was wearing, that her body had undergone some deep change.

"I have suspected for two or three days. I think you forgot that I used to be assigned to the chapel births when I first became a priest. And there was the matter of our invented marriage. A nice touch, I might add, claiming that we married the night before the Battle of Bruma. It would erase any suspicion of illegitimacy considering she was conceived less than twenty-four hours later." His voice took on a bit of a smirk, secretly gladdened that he could outsmart Lauraine in this. She knew he disliked her habit of keeping things from him, and it was satisfying to lay her secrets before her.

At his tone, Lauraine relaxed visibly against the railing of the balcony. Martin could see her letting her breath out, as her chest fell and some of the tension left her frame.

"I wanted to tell you, but Ocato and Jauffre advised against it, until you had recovered. I wanted to bring her to you, but Caroline has been assigned as her guard and I didn't want to put her in the path of Jauffre's anger." Lauraine spoke carefully, her eyes on Martin as he moved over to the crib to look at the child inside.

"You could have just told me." Martin spoke quietly, his eyes on the little girl that he could not doubt was his own. Her eyes matched his, a brighter blue than her mother's, and where Lauraine was blonde, the girl's short hair was dark. Even in her face he could see the Septim traits, the stronger jaw and the thin lips.

Lauraine came over to join him at the crib, her mouth pulled down into a frown.

"I was scared to. I didn't know how you would react, to the idea of a nine-month old child you didn't even know existed. I didn't want to upset the balance."

"People keep asking me, and I feel the need to say it again, but I do remember everything, you know. My feelings have not changed: I love you."

Lauraine felt like her smile could split her face, and she wanted nothing more than to lean across the crib and kiss him. She had missed him so, and she had not initiated any physical contact aside from the odd brush of his hand whilst he was recovering, but theirs was not the important reunion of the day. That could wait, for when they had privacy behind closed doors.

"And I you, but mine is not the love you need to gain." She motioned down to the crib with a smile, and Martin's fingers tightened on the bars of the crib.

Martin could scarcely believe it. He had a child, the little girl cooing in her crib was his, the result of a singular night of passion and relief when Lauraine had returned from the Great Gate. He loved her already, as she looked up at him with wide eyes as though she could not be sure what to make of him.

"What is…" Lauraine could almost laugh at how shocked and awkward Martin was if this was not such a crucial moment. "What is her name?"

"Alessia. I wished to name her after one of our mothers, but Jauffre advised that as she was illegitimate, and the only heir at the time, it might be best to establish the Imperial link as best we could."

"May I?" Martin held up his hands awkwardly, uncertain if he could ask and leaving it up to Lauraine to interpret what he meant. Lauraine's responding smile was blinding, however, and she leant into the crib to pick up Alessia and place her in his arms for the first time.

Martin held her awkwardly at first, attempting to copy the way Lauraine had held her without much success and talking to Alessia quietly.

Lauraine could only watch as the midday sun shone, and smile with relief.

4E10

"I cannot abdicate."

Martin, seated at the large desk in their bedroom, watched Lauraine as she stood looking out of the balcony doors. Her arms were folded, her fingers tapping against her sides nervously as her gaze wandered over the city below. At Martin's words, she turned to face him, and her face was a mix of fury and fear.

"Ocato is dead. Assassinated, by those Thalmer thugs."

"I know you're scared, Lauraine. But the empire is beginning to fracture, and I cannot abandon it now."

Frustrated, she took a step towards the desk, pausing after the first step and looking at him as though she could not understand him.

"So you're going to stay here? Martin, Ocato's chambers were one floor below. Does it not bother you, that an assassin managed to make their way this high up the tower without being caught? The empire is beyond saving, Martin, you must know this. Already you've had three pretenders to the throne, and the Thalmer deny you're Uriel's son."

At her words, Martin put the quill in his hand back down on the desk and rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He understood where she was coming from, he truly did, but abandoning the empire now didn't seem right.

"What else would you have me do? If I abdicate, assassins will follow us anyway. There is nowhere we can go where we will be safe."

He was wrong, of course, Lauraine knew that well. She had not told him the whole truth of what had happened in the Shivering Isles, unwilling to let anyone know of her last true haven should things go wrong. One of the first spells she had learned on her return to the Isles had been to create the door into the Isles from any shape and location. She had not needed to explain any long absences once that skill had been learned, nor explain away the growing number of trips to Bravil she had been taking.

Martin had therefore not been told the whole truth of her role in the Isles. As far as he knew, she was the Duchess of Mania and only the Duchess of Mania. But it was becoming harder and harder to come back to Cyrodiil, and with every visit Lauraine felt like she was leaving more of herself behind in the Isles. The protection over Cyrodiil that Martin had granted with his sacrifice was working against her, as she slowly became more daedra than human.

It was time to come clean, she knew, lest time run out for them all.

It began with the disappearance of the heir and only child of Martin Septim, who disappeared in the enclosed garden of the White Tower whilst practicing her archery.

Alessia, though not yet ten years old, was smart enough to know to follow her mother's orders. And so, when both of the guards supervising her had turned their heads at the sudden arrival of a scamp in the garden, Alessia had made her way towards the tree that grew against the far wall. She had squeezed into the gap behind it and found, as promised, the three-faced door in the wall. Alessia had slipped through, and the plan began.

The disorder and uproar that followed from her disappearance provided the perfect distraction. Lauraine gave Martin the Wabbajack and allowed him to wreck the Imperial Chambers with it, to give an impression of both a struggle and a hurried escape. A note on the fireplace suggested they had fled to Wayrest, one on the nightstand suggested Southpoint.

A carriage, booked for Solitude, set off in the early hours of the morning with two disguised Dark Seducers as its passengers.

At the same time, Lauraine and Martin made the descent through the Imperial Prison, traversing the route out of the city that had set Lauraine on her path towards Kvatch a decade earlier. Baurus was waiting by the sewer entrance with their horses and travelling clothes, and from there they travelled to the Great Forest with the aim of reaching it before sunrise. Once they were deep under the cover of the trees, they dismounted their horses and looked for the tree that Lauraine had ordered to appear.

It was not hard to miss, as Lauraine could feel the Isles calling to her with every step towards it that she took. Finally they saw it, a huge three-faced portal carved into a tree and giving off a soft purple glow. Lauraine turned to Baurus with a smile.

"You know how to contact us?"

Baurus nodded, though confusion was evident on his face. "With some yarn and lettuce, at the shrine of Sheogorath. Not that I understand any of it."

Lauraine's smile grew, and she patted him gently on the shoulder.

"Don't forget the soul gems either, or I'll miss the message."

"Of course." Baurus smiled at them both, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "It's been an honour. To serve you both."

"Who would have known we'd end up here, back when you passed through my cell?"

"Certainly not me, that's for sure. Good luck to the three of you."

"And you, Baurus. Make sure you raise the alarm when you get back to the palace, lest they suspect you."

With a bowing of his head in acquiescence, Baurus quickly mounted his horse and left, to give them a last moment in their own world. The portal was large enough to take their horses through, and Lauraine knew that leaving them behind would only arouse suspicion and direct it to Baurus.

Martin only looked around briefly, the truth of the matter not quite having sunk in yet. He was more curious to see what lay through the portal. He knew that he was abandoning the Empire at the time it likely needed him most, but the threat to his life and that of Alessia's was too great for him to ignore. He had sacrificed himself once for the sake of Cyrodiil; he could not do so again.

"Are you ready?" Lauraine asked, her smile uncertain as she looked at him. Martin could only nod: here, next to a portal that connected her to the Shivering Isles, he could see the changes in her. She stood taller, stronger, and a foreign magic seemed to thrum under her skin.

The Mad God herself.

"As ready as I'll ever be, I suspect."

Epilogue: 4E201

The Dragonborn rolls a sweet roll around the palm of her hand, inspecting it, as the two strangers at the table babble on. She does not suspect it to be poisoned, but it looks a little stale, and she expects better from the Daedric Prince of Madness. She is seated across and to the right of Sheogorath, as the Mad God chatters on.

Sheogorath lounges across a chair, one leg over the arm and the other bent up on the cushion, and overall it doesn't look all that comfortable. The Dragonborn watches, her ears pricked, as some of the conversation between the Prince and Pelagius reach her ears.

"You are my favourite Septim! Well, except for that Martin fellow, but he went and disappeared from Cyrodiil and that's hardly sporting. Of course, he ended up the Isles, you can ask him what he's up to these days. You know…" Sheogorath leans forward, lowering his legs to the floor and planting his elbows on the table, and sighs as though he is sharing some dark conspiracy. "I was there for that whole sordid affair, you know. Marvellous, it was! There was a melting statue, a rotting skeleton Ayeleid, and I got a nice shiny crown of my own!"

The Dragonborn doesn't notice that her fingers have crushed the sweet roll in her fingers, so fascinated is she by the conversation before her. Something in the Mad God shifts, and suddenly there is something to him that is altogether quite feminine.

"Of course, I had to go back to Cyrodiil to write that stupid scroll. You can thank me for that by the way else you would just be a head on a chopping block right now." Those yellow eyes suddenly fix onto her, and the Dragonborn straightens in her chair self-consciously.

Flickering like a torch flame, Sheogorath's eyes turn from that transfixing yellow to a haunted deep blue, and for a moment it almost seems as if his grey hair reflects blonde. The Dragonborn cocks her head to the side, as Sheogorath looks at the table with what looks to be a startling sense of clarity.

"Yes…I was there for all of it. With Martin." She almost wants to reach out and console, because the Dragonborn has just realised with a stab of horror that she is not only talking to a Daedric Prince, but also to the Champion of Cyrodiil, that almost mythical legend who disappeared along with the last Septim Emperor. The Champion's brows are furrowed, mouth slightly open, as blue eyes flicker across the items on the table.

She would question him (her, she wonders?), if she did not think it would result in her tongue being cut out.

The Dragonborn jumps in her seat when, like a clap of thunder, Sheogorath jumps upright in his chair and claps his hands together loudly. The eyes are back to that sharp vivid yellow, and there is no hint of the strange moment that has just passed.

"And the cheese! To die for, truly. Though that one wasn't strictly my idea."

The banter continues, and if the Dragonborn sees a fleeting tear on the cheek of Sheogorath that is quickly wiped away, she knows better than to mention it.