Memories (closed with VictorianBooty)

[Interstellar Bun]

They were fools, the lot of them, not the humans (though they were foolish in their own rights as well) but the other Daedric Princes. Not able to step foot in Tamriel? Bah! As if Sheogorath had ever been held by limitations before. His fingers had touched so many minds, had given him power, and this wouldn't be the first time he had stepped into the realm of Mundas. However, it would be the first time he so readily made himself known simply because he had heard something rather interesting.


He had a plan, of course he had a plan. He was mad, but he was no fool.


Solitude. THe place was so familiar, well, it was familiar in the way that a painting was familiar to someone who had seen it covered in dust and rotted in the mind of a man who had never been exactly there. Then again, neither was Sheogorath. Still, he drew the cloak tighter about him as he strolled through the streets. Somewhere here somewhere here. But where?


Ah.


The crowds were thinning out with the late hour and, without a single eye noticing him, Sheogorath shifted. His face, the one of a young debonair man with deep red hair (an image he rather liked these days after a trip to High Rock) was replaced with the gentle slope of a heart-shaped bone structure, his pale skin darkening to a warm, dark shade. Bright amber eyes darkened until they were almost black, that same warmth settling in them as the Redguard rolled her lips, feeling the familiar pull of the plump flesh. The hood on her head hid her hair, the black curly mess that had gotten in her way so much, that she always tied back and tucked under her helmet, but she could feel it, the way it felt brushing against her cheeks, the way it felt so wild.


Sheogorath, or, rather Lettie, pushed the door to the temple open and stepped in.


"Excuse me," her voice sounded like home, like Choral and laughter, late nights spent training and talking, "I was told I could find a Brother Martin here?"

 

[sumurset]

He had been reading peacefully, studying the ten commandments of the Divines as he always did before sleep. Martin had been comfortable. Confident, even, in the safety of his temple. The temple. Solitude's temple.


A candle's flame gently danced beside his tome. It was melted into the wooden writing desk he sat at.


His typical priestly robes were replaced by far more comfortable bedclothes.


Before he could completely finish, Martin realized he could hardly keep his eyes open. Sleep was beginning to over take him rather quickly. Before he could potentially end up with a face full of wax, he blew out the candle and closed his tome. A yawn escaped his agape mouth as he walked towards his bed. It was a makeshift bedroom. In the large quarters, where many beds could be found, he had retrieved a wooden partition wall. With that, he had managed to separate his own little space from the rest.


Books were piled around his bed, in neat little stacks. A lone candle stood sentry on his bedside table. His covers were neatly placed and the bed was nicely made. It was a little home. A place he felt most comfortable.


A place he didn't reach when he heard her.





His blood ran icy cold. He stopped walking, his posture tense. The priest was completely static. There was a cold sweat beginning to form on his brow, and he was absolutely terrified. He thought these nightmares, these terrors had left him. He thought they had stopped after leaving Cyrodiil. He thought Skyrim was safe.





Shaking, Martin took an unsteady breath. They must simply sound like her. That's it. Lettie was gone. There was no way she'd lived so long.


Tucking the tome under his arm, Martin offered a short prayer to the Divines before padding over to the quarter's door.


He swung it open, telling himself it was simply a woman who sounded like her. Nothing more.


What he saw stopped his heart, his lungs, his mind.

 

[Interstellar Bun]

It was always funny to Sheogorath now that people worshiped in places like this with the vaulted ceilings and stained glass. They thought the Gods were there. They weren't. The air was empty, fleeting, the gods no more there than they were anywhere else. Of course, New Sheoth had its own temple of worship. But that was to him, and he was most definitely there, or, there often though. He took vacations sometimes.


Eh, Haskill could handle himself.


Sheogorath thought he liked being alone, after all he always sighed a lot more when Sheogorath was there, but, Haskill tended to sigh anyway, as though he were a greedy bastard and the air belonged to him and him alone.


The thoughts were cut short when Martin finally came into view.


He looked older and Sheogorath could feel his shock, his surprise, his fear that he'd gone insane, finally insane, no she's dead, she couldn't have lived this long, Skyrim was supposed to be safe. Safe. But why was she there?


It took all of his effort not to grin wickedly at the tired Brother.


Instead, Lettie lifted a hand and pulled her hood down, showing her face almost without care, wanting to assure Martin that it really was her-


Only, it wasn't. Not really. Maybe once, but Lettie, well, she was gone, or, maybe she had never been.


She smiled, her dimples showing as she walked towards him, steps echoing off of the floor and around the chamber.


Real. Real. Real.


A reminder.


"And here I was almost afraid I wouldn't find you. At least this time the Daedra aren't swarming us and the city isn't on fire."


Sheogorath played the part well, acting, puppeteering Martin's reactions with ease. Perfectly out of control.

 

[sumurset]

Martin watched with mouth open and eyes wide as Lettie began walking towards him. She with dimples and bright eyes. A grin that could stop anyone's heart.


It was definitely stopping his.


As she came closer, her features more clear, he felt more and more dread fill his bones. Sweet, sweet nostalgia. Unfortunately, it was so sweet, it made him feel ill. She could not have lived so long. It was not in her nature. Her people couldn't...


He blanched.


When she was merely feet away, he began reminiscing.


The day they met, when she slaughtered the Daedra that had killed his people. She said those same words. "I was told I could find a Brother Martin here?"


Tears began to well up in his eyes and memories flashed behind them.


Those nights they spent travelling, doing odd jobs as they made their way towards Friar's keep.


Laying by the fire as he read to her.


Martin remembered the first time he had. Lettie had tentatively asked him what he was reading. When he told her Spirit of the Aedra she'd then asked if he could read it to her. Admitting, quietly, that she couldn't read well. He hadn't minded, of course. He enjoyed reading aloud. It reminded him of the times children had come to the temple, requesting stories and the like.


He stared at that very woman. Now, 200 years later. She looked the same. As though none of that horrible Crisis had happened.


It felt like he'd swallowed his tongue. Martin didn't trust himself to speak, but managed a weak "Lettie?" as tears welled in the corners of his eyes.

 

[Interstellar Bun]

His memories felt like clouds made of string surrounding him, twisting thoughts of experience and thought, mutated by time but never truly lost. Sheogorath wanted to reach out and pluck at the memories, to feel them pulse under his finger, but he couldn't. Not yet, not now. Being in Mundas was hard enough, the physical effort taking a toll on him. The world was sealed off after Martin's spectacular display of turning into a statue, impossible to reach unless one happened to know the loopholes and Sheogoath had played the part of Prince long enough to know loopholes as well as he knew how to make a rather tasty brain pie.


Once they were in the Isles, once he was home, that was it, that was when he'd have control, when he could warp reality with a simple thought.


He just needed control, needed to talk Martin into stepping into the Isles, to grasp his mind and feel the way it twitched and pulsed.


Insomnia was there, but what else? Paranoia? Delusions? The ideas were delectable.


It was Lettie who saw the tears in the low-light and she reached out, towards him, gently touching the pads of her fingers on his arm. Sheogorath couldn't just grab him, not yet, no, no he had to wait had to bide his time. But time, that was something he didn't have too much more of.


Not these days.


"There's no reason to get all teary-eyed for little ol' Lettie. It was me who saw you die, after all." A weak laugh escaped her and she shook her head a little. "Or, I thought you died...we all did. Martin why- why didn't you come tell me you were alive?"


If that was a question to buy Martin's trust or one born of genuine curiosity, Sheogorath couldn't very well say.

 

[sumurset]

He stared at their place of contact with watery eyes. All of his fears were coming back to him, but it was almost.. nice. It felt nice. To have her back.


It wasn't her fault he'd feared a return of the Crisis wasn't returning. She didn't bring him back, after all.


Maybe she was safety. Home. Like she had been all those years ago.


Martin was ready to break down at any minute.


The priest attempted to speak, but a quiet, choked sob came out instead. He couldn't take this.


He couldn't take all this joy and dread. There were so many emotions filling up his mind all at once.


One man could not possibly handle them.


"I--I--" I, what, he wondered. What could he possibly say to her that would make this make more sense.


He was almost afraid to ask her how she'd lived so long. If he did, would she leave? Disappear again?


It was sick to think, but he almost wanted those terrors to return. If only to be reminded of her smile.


"Lettie." His words came out rushed, emphasized with a broken gasp for air. He was drowning.


His heart felt like it was about to explode, but his mind felt like it was collapsing in on itself.


"I didn't--I did... you..." There was no way in Oblivion he'd be able to form sentences properly.


He needed more strength than that.


His eyes closed against the tears. They spilt over, but he didn't care. He focused his heart and soul on Akatosh, praying for enough strength to speak to her. Enough control to voice his thoughts.


When he'd had them closed long enough, afraid he'd open them and she'd be gone, his baby blues showed themselves once more.


He lifted the hand opposite of her grasp and placed it over hers.


It was warm.


"I didn't know you were alive, I--I thought you would have..."