Misdirection

By Kaimaler.

Soooo, my other Dragon Age X Oblivion crossover hasn't been going too well. Not enough readers/reviews, y'know the deal. In attempts to rectify this I'm releasing a new version of the same story.

Same main character but with a different plot. For those of you who've read the original script; our Heroine won't be reaching Ferelden first, she'll be thrown straight into Kirkwall (or nearby...) territory. To minimize likeless between the stories.

So, here's Version 2.0. Read, review, enjoy. Do whatever, but make sure you read more! :D

The battle burned most of the district and with the Imperial City invaded; leading Martin to the Dragon Fires would be difficult.

Understatement of the year.

Being freed from her cell, S'aravi was beginning to wonder that, if she was left in the Imperial prison, would everything have made more sense? The Emperor himself had come down those spiraling stairs to personally free her and pardon her crimes.

Whatever she did to get his attention, she was thankful... Or at least, she was, before the whole of Cyrodiil was under the threat of being overrun with daedra.

Not to mention, Mehrunes Dagon, the Daedric Prince of Destruction had climbed out of oblivion just for them. Or to torture and then kill them all.

She wasn't expecting what happened inside the Temple and when it came down to it; she couldn't fight to keep him there.

"I do what I must do. I cannot stay to rebuild Tamriel. That task fall to others." His robes were spotted with blood, both his and of the daedra they fought outside. He spared her a sad smile, "Farewell. You've been a good friend, in the short time that I've known you."

Silent, but aware of Martin's words, S'aravi shook her head slowly. She didn't want this; who would? He was the last of the Septim blood, he had to survive. "But I must go. The Dragon waits."

What? S'aravi gulped, rooted to the spot. "Martin-!" He took off just as the ceiling collapsed inward and revealed Mehrunes Dagon.

He stepped over the rubble of the Temple wall, baring his massive battleaxe as Martin stepped into the center of the Temple. With a roar that shook the growl, Mehrunes readied to drop his axe on Martin.

Sparks appeared on Martin and fire burst from where he stood. The pillars of the Temple blew away like paper compared to its force. Mehrunes reeled back, shielding his face from the white flames.

Mehrunes and S'aravi watched as the pillar of fire rose into the sky, taking the form of a massive dragon.

Akatosh. S'aravi knew it the second she saw its form batting its giant wings above her. He had come to protect them and to stop Mehrunes Dagon.

Clearly, from the ear-splitting battle cry from Mehrunes, he knew it too.

The great dragon pulled back and shot itself through Mehrunes Dagon who stumbled back in pain. Akatosh was easily twice Mehrunes' size and his anger was legendary.

Landing in front of Mehrunes, Akatosh showed no fear of the Daedra even as he struck the fiery dragon with his taloned hand. Distracting Akatosh from the mighty swing of his battleaxe which forced the great dragon back, roaring as Akatosh felt the blow connect.

As if predicting Akatosh's next move, Mehrunes Dagon moved two of his four arms in front of him, defending himself from the burst from Akatosh's snout; Mehrunes was hit with fire that even his resistance couldn't guard him from Akatosh's attack completely.

While Mehrunes tried to move quickly enough to fight back, but Akatosh leapt forward, sinking his teeth deep into Dagon's throat. Mehrunes struggled against the assault and Akatosh merely bit harder before he released the weakened Daedric Prince.

Now, while he was considerably weakened, Akatosh bathed Mehrunes Dagon in a Divine Fire, the same that protected the mortal realm from Oblivion.

Light came forth from Mehrunes Dagon's form as his bloodcurdling cry could be heard from all corners of Cyrodiil. It blinded S'aravi and she covered her sight from the fire.

When Akatosh ceased the flame, Mehrunes was gone; banished back into Oblivion with his daedra.

After the battle, Akatosh appeared exhausted and the great dragon slumped over. The heart wrenching moment that S'aravi thought that Akatosh, defeating Mehrunes Dagon and saving their entire world, could be seriously wounded from the onslaught with the Daedric Prince.

S'aravi stood helpless as she watched the great dragon himself, Akatosh the Dragon God of Time, pant like a mortal would. She reached out, prayed with all her heart, that he was okay; their god still lived.

Then, as S'aravi thought he may be lost to them, Akatosh ducked down and yanked himself upright, letting out a roar that could cause an earthquakes. It was a victory roar; one that assured her Akatosh would not die today, he'd live on, and continue protecting them as he just did.

With a smile, S'aravi barely noticed the stone that began encasing him.

He stopped, the roar was silenced, and his fiery body was stilled. She heard stone cracking and, when she saw the great dragon's feet, she spotted the rock that climbed up his body.

As fast as it started covering him, it ended. Akatosh's flame was diminished and all that was left of his time in the mortal realm was the giant statue that stood in his place.

The sky turned back to its natural shade, clouds reappeared as if it never happened. Fires dissipated and the sounds of metal on metal, swords smacking into armor, stopped completely.

All was silent and in this quiet moment, S'aravi felt her heart break.

Martin had died for them. She heard him then and as only she could.

"The Amulet is shattered; Dagon is defeated.

With the Dragon's Blood and the Amulet of Kings, we have sealed the gates of Oblivion. Forever.

The Last of the Septim's passes now into history. I go gladly, for I know my sacrifice is not in vain.

I take my place with my father and my father's fathers.

The Third Age has ended and a new age begins.

When the next Elder Scroll is written... You shall be its scribe.

The shape of the future, the fate of the Empire.

These things, now, belong to you."

S'aravi felt like retching; travelling all across Cyrodiil, closing gate after gate, slaying daedra, entering Mankar Camoran's paradise, infiltrating the Mythic Dawn, and, finally, returning the crown to Septim blood.

All was gone now that Martin had sacrificed himself for Tamriel. In his death, the end of the Septim bloodline was the answer to defeating Mehrunes.

She loved Martin above all, perhaps even enough to be with him given the chance, but he was to be Emperor (a title he earned more in death rather then life) and she was an escaped Imperial prisoner.

There would've been no future for both of them even if Martin has survived.

Somehow, even though his sacrifice was his choice, she felt like she failed. Her quest from the start was to save Martin, keep him alive long enough to reignite the Dragon Fires. It was never done and she'd focused on it for so long that, even though Tamriel was safe, S'aravi had fallen short of her goal.

She and all of the Empire lost their Emperor, a man who was pure of heart and soul. He proved himself a Septim in his death.

It was a powerful shame that he could not do so in life.

S'aravi waited for Chancellor Ocato; she knew he'd be racing in to congratulate her and Martin; she'd have to deliver the news to all of Tamriel.

The Septim line was no more.

Now, months after the defeat of Mehrunes Dagon, S'aravi found herself back in her adventures.

Day after day she followed the same routine, searching for quests to occupy her time. As the Champion of Cyrodiil and good friend of Martin Septim (the word spread through Ocato she realized) she was now far more famous and people sought her out to give her mundane favors to complete.

With her fame, S'aravi needed only to appear in public for new problems to come her way.

Saving her gold, she had bought many homes across Cyrodiil, each one housing her trophies from her exploits.

Yet, even with her riches, S'aravi hid her broken soul. She had no true desire to move on, only to fulfill in the places she had not with Martin. Her undying need to reach other's expectations led her to sleepless nights spent in the forests, nightmares haunting her sleep when she did have time, and people hunting her every step.

She caught an assassin in her home once. She allowed the man to leave with his life as she had disarmed him; his fellow assassins would make him pay for returning without proof of her death.

Slavers weren't too pleased that she both interrupted their business frequently, and destroyed slave transport routes.

Bounty hunters, assassins, vengeful slavers; she had everything after her.

The only thing she wondered, was how long would it take for them to come to a mutual agreement and hunt her together.

She'd probably loose then, but they weren't too bright and were far too greedy for that suggestion to ever succeed.

Even through all these troubles hunting her, S'aravi had once place in all of Tamriel that she was safe. The neighbors hid her home there, insisting that an Imperial named Ellie lived there and even had an Imperial pretend she did.

They valued her company greatly and kept this secret for her.

Decorating the house with fake, torn tapestries, weak furniture, S'aravi made it look like a beggar did live there.

It was on the Waterfront just outside the walls of the Imperial City. It was creaky, slumped over, and would no doubt collapse one day, but it was more home then the other houses she bought.

With peace and quiet its only qualities, S'aravi was reminded of the old days after escaping the Imperial dungeon.

Dismounting Shadowmare, the black horse gifted to S'aravi from the ex-Speaker Lucian Lachance, she entered her home at the Waterfront. Glad to return home.

Dropping her pack on the floor, she collapsed into her chair, sighing in content.

It had been a long adventure, hunting a Necromancer and earning the title of Archmage. Khajiit weren't very talented at magicka, but S'aravi was born under the birthsign The Mage; which granted her a natural skill with magicka, restoration to conjuration. S'aravi could do it.

She held the staff she made herself in her lap; she hadn't put it in the display case she intended on leaving it. At her home in Skingrad, her manor had much of her prizes from her exploits on display for the nobles that joined her for private dinners.

Right now, though, she was alone and extremely tired.

With the day's events finally catching up on her, she felt a wall of exhaustion hit her full force. She was falling asleep in the rickety chair and didn't mind all too much.

No Counts or Countesses would be caught dead in the Waterfront; her home would be safe from prying eyes.

In her haste to rest, S'aravi didn't notice the dark figures hiding in her home and, by the time she heard the creaking of warped floor boards. It was far too late.

Darkness.

A black bag had been pulled over her head, the string pulled to stop her from ripping it off and killing whoever forced it on her.

Struggling, S'aravi remembered she threw her pack down when she entered her home. She had no weapons on her currently except for her claws.

With a roar that only Khajiit understood, S'aravi flipped in the chair, kicking it forward into the assailant who made a loud thump as he hit the floor.

Reaching for the black bag, S'aravi was stopped when two sets of hands grabbed her, pulling her hands away from the bag and trying to drag her down to the floor.

Blind, S'aravi had no chance, and instead, she used her heightened sense of hearing to fight back.

To my left. S'aravi jerked to her left, freeing her opposite arm from the attacker to her right. She stiffened her hand and drew her claws down the chest of her enemy. Hearing him cry in pain, S'aravi turned away from him, trying to face the other who held her arm before.

Extra footsteps told her the other assailant, the one who pulled the black bag down her face, was back on his feet and heading straight for her.

"You'll pay for that beast!" The enemy she clawed threatened and then S'aravi heard a weapon being drawn. A short sword.

S'aravi growled, her voice bellowing when she felt the short sword slice her back. Throwing her head back in pain, the others grabbed her. She was fighting blind against three attackers.

She wouldn't escape this.

They jerked her to the ground, shoving her down with all their force.

"I'll sell you with broken bones for this, creature." Obviously, this person wasn't fond of the beast races. They must not be from Cyrodiil; they had to be Morrowind slavers.

Slavery. S'aravi almost couldn't feel the sting of their blows anymore. She was defenseless and they knew it. The shock of that word affected her more powerfully then the cold metal of their short sword cutting down her chest, scarring her collar and body. You are to be a slave. After everything.

This is where your legacy ends.

They beat on her until she was unconscious then tied her and left with her on their shoulders.

To the docks of Anvil.

The Tevinter Imperium had a new kind of slave to tame and these beast races were feisty.

"Are you injured?" The leader asked their wounded ally, "I'll be fine. When we reach the ship, I'll have to get stitches."

"These people are dangerous." Another replied with a chuckle, "Look at the fight this one put up."

Their leader shook his head, "Silence fools; this is an animal, not a person. It won't reach much to the Tevinter; they'll probably skin it, stuff it, or turn it into a rug anyways."

"True. Though it is a new kind of slave, perhaps they'll want to find a way to train it." The scarred assailant spoke up, tapping the claw marks up. "Damn animal packs a punch though."

"Then maybe it'll fetch a better price." Their leader mused, "A Tevinter Magister could want to flaunt his achievement to the others. In that case, this cat beast will be worth a fortune."

"Say, keep it until we find the proper Magister. That way, we'll make three times as much as we would selling it to a pet lover."

"We'll look into it." The leader ended the conversation. "This is their Champion remember; it may be too much for even a Magister to control."

One of the men scoffed, "Why go after it then? What could possibly be the value of a slave that a Magister can't control?" He looked at the unconscious furred creature being carried out.

"Magister's would pay a high price for the opportunity to try. Those narcissistic bastards will take one look and see it's wild, that no other Magister has one, and that alone will make it worth that fortune we're looking for." The group leader grinned, "And, after all that, if they still can't tame the beast - it will provide a good base for their experiments. Maybe it has no magical value for a Magister, but damn if they won't pay a lotta' coin to find out."

Yes, this is version 2.0 of my first DA x ES:O crossover. Personally? I prefer this one. I may just delete the other and keep this one on my page. :)

I hope you enjoyed, if so, review! I know crossovers don't get a lot of love, so I'll be patient and wait for the reviews. If you like it, tell me what you want to see more of, if you didn't, correct me!

I love some good constructive critism.