I never did tell you my name.

But you never asked, did you, Martin?

When I questioned as to why you didn't, you said that you simply didn't want to pry. Then you went back to that wretched book. The Mysterium Xarxies.

I miss you still. Even two hundred years after you became an avatar of Akatosh. Oh, did I mention I found the me that's not me? He made me a Prince not that long after you were gone. Sheogorath made me his Champion. But that's just one more title to me.

Champion of Cyrodiil, Hero of Kvatch, Master of the Fighters Guild, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Arch—Mage of the Mages Guild. The list went on, really.

The pain helps sometimes; helps me to tune out the Madness that seeps in. It helps, though Haskill has chided me many times for it in his deadpan way. I like to watch as the crimson droplets trickle down my fingertips. The pain mingles with the pleasure and I sigh. At least I can actually feel something when I do this. Laughter bubbles up as I think of Cutter, I believe she does cut her wrists more than the materials that I bring her to make my armour. Tears quickly replace the small happiness though, I miss you still.

You used to chide me as well when I would put my own life at risk to care for yours. When I put my life at risk for you and the Amulet of Kings. But back to the other subject before: Sheogorath. I found him. After he made me a Daedra and then made me fight and destroy him.

But he's a Daedric Prince, and they never really die. So now we share the governing of the Shivering Isles.

I'm sorry. I couldn't save them. I couldn't save what was left of the Blades. I break down crying sometimes, for no real reason I've concluded. I'm broken, but that too, I've concluded, is from going into Dagon's Oblivion. I can still hear the screams of the innocent, smell the blood and darkness that tinged the red landscape.

But now that I think about it, the dreams of the dead weren't as bad when I was next to you. They rarely ever bother me when I sleep next to him now too. But I think it has more to do with him being a Daedra than my feelings for him. He keeps the nightmares away now. Sheogorath cares for me, I know. He would suffer too, if only a little, if I were to die. So we are like Vivec and Molag Bal in that way.

I miss you still.

I wonder if I could kill myself? I do not think that I could. I would never do as such anyway. The Shivering Isles needs me and I need it if I am to keep being. Sheogorath knows. He knows that I am unhappy, and tries his best. I met another Dragon Born a few years ago, or it could have been an age, but I met him nonetheless. His eyes were sort of like yours… Is it possible to hate and love someone at the same time? I've asked Haskill but he doesn't know, of course he wouldn't. He's just another creation of Sheogorath, he cannot feel such things.

Longing and regret. Yes these are the things that make me hate myself.

It seems that being chosen by the Gods truly wasn't a good thing, was it? I told you that I didn't believe in them and that if they did exist, they'd have helped us. But they didn't, did they, Martin?

We saved the world ourselves.