#oblivion au

[doodledraw]

Today is the day! Finally posting the first chapter of my icemav oblivion au :D I'm really happy with how this cover art came out actually, there's a lot of fun significance and metaphorical choices made.

I hope you guys will consider checking out the fic!

[lostdemonchild]

I'm a bit too lazy to finish this, but here's my Oblivion AU :3

[llitchilitchi]

oblivion au dnf warmup because I really wanted to draw some horses

[doodledrawreblogs]

writing wip wednesday :))

tagged by @urmomsonfire , thanks kale!! :D

since I finished the draft of the icemav oblivion au last night, here's a snippet!!

no pressure tagging: @adiduck @perishablealex @film-in-my-soul @andmakeithome @boasamishipper @woodsywingman :D

Pete pulled back immediately, pressing a hand down on Tom’s chest to keep him down. “Stop moving, you’ll hurt yourself worse. This is why you’ve gotta stay here.”

“Stay here, are you out of your mind–”

“It’s safer, Tom.”

“Safer–”

“I don’t want to lose you again, not after I just got you back! And you’re hurt already,” Pete cried, biting his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “I don’t want you to get hurt worse.”

Tom softened, eyebrows furrowing. “Yeah, well, I don’t want anything to happen to you either. How do I know that you’re gonna be fine if I’m not on your wing? Last time I wasn’t on your wing we ended up in this mess!”

“There’s millions of me, though! There’s only one you!”

“There’s only one you that knows me. And there’s only one you with me right now. That’s enough. Now let me up, give me one of those granola bars I saw you holding earlier, and let’s go save the world, yeah?”

Pete sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“Hey,” Tom said, grunting as he sat up, and then resting a hand on Pete’s shoulder. When Pete looked over through his fingers, Tom was smirking. The same smirk he’d leveled at Pete in the locker room what felt like eons ago.

“You’re dangerous.”

“We’ve done it before,” he said, eyes sparkling. “How hard can it be to do it again?”

Against his will, Pete snorted. Tom’s grin widened, and he waited a second then leaned forward and chomped at the air in front of Pete’s nose, before pressing a kiss right under Pete’s eye. Pete laughed even more, pushing Tom away with an eye roll.

“You’re a cheeseball. How did you ever get a callsign like Iceman, huh?”

Tom shrugged, nonchalant. “I’m only a cheeseball for you. Now come on, what do you say, wingman. Shall we?”

Pete grinned, taking the proffered hand and levering them both to their feet. “We shall.”

[late-nite-scholar]

Aug 16 (Day 5)-Crown/Gentle

Being Emperor isn’t easy. In fact, in some ways, it kind of sucks. Part of a Martin Lives AU. Prompts by @tes-summer-fest  

Nord HoK x Martin Septim 

Warnings- pregnancy

Wordcount- ~1300

***

It was much later than he’d hoped when Martin climbed the stairs up to the Emperor’s Suite, grumbling a little at how many damned stairs were in this tower. It was too late to read Gemille her bedtime story; she’d have been put to bed a good two hours ago now. There were few things he hated more than the way this damned crown took him away from little things like reading to his daughter and tucking her in. 

Once inside the doors of the royal suite and having shut out the rest of the world, he dropped the tall, square-shouldered walk of the Emperor. Ironically, this grand and overly-sumptuous apartment was one of the few places he could just be Martin for a little while. He closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. 

Gentle arms encircled him, a kiss planted on his cheek as a soft voice asked, “How did it go, love?”

“Longer than it should have. But we’ve got the dispute sorted out. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come see the new Blades taking their oaths. I really wanted to be there.”

“I know. Baurus and I handled things, don’t worry. I’m still technically a Blade myself, among all the other titles. I’m a good substitute for the Emperor when needed.”

He turned, reaching up to take her face in his hands. “Aethelfrid! Don’t say that about yourself! You are, among your other titles, Empress of Tamriel. You’re not a substitute, you’re just as important as I am. Considering how we got here, I’d say you’re more important than I am!”

She grinned. “Yeah, but you’re the Septim. Either way, it went very well. Gemille tried to stay up and wait for you, but she had a long day. She barely made it half an hour past bedtime. Come see what she got today.”

They crept over to the door leading into the nursery. Their daughter lay curled up around something wooden, her orange hair a riot around her. As she shifted, Martin got a look at what she held. 

“Is that a wooden sword?” he whispered in disbelief. 

“It is!”

“She’s three!”

“That’s probably when I got my first training sword,” Aethelfrid shrugged. “She won’t do proper lessons just yet, but she can have it and maybe we can do a few small techniques like proper grip. She’s very excited to show you.”

His face softened into a smile again, “She’s so much like you.”

“She’s more like you than you think.”

***

Once they’d come away from the nursery door, Aethelfrid took Martin’s hand and led him to another door, behind which the large bath waited. It was all prepared, enchantments keeping the water warm and inviting. As Aethelfrid pushed the robe off of his shoulders, he took off his crown, frowning at it. 

“I hate this thing,” he muttered. 

“I know, love. But we don’t need it right now.” 

He put it down on a small table, feeling the weight of it fall away. For a little while, it could. It was these few, precious moments that got him through the day, that made the weight of the crown bearable. He sighed again. 

“I didn’t even ask you how you’re feeling. I’m sorry, my heart.” He rubbed his face with the heel of his hand. 

She was still undoing and pulling off his clothes, and he reached out to the hem of her long tunic, beneath which her stomach had begun to get round again. She giggled. 

“I’m doing just fine. Feeling good. This feels as though it’ll be another strong, Septim child.” She pulled the tunic over her head. “It’s good it’s starting to show. Some of the nobles have been very pissy that we didn’t just have babies back to back to back. I think they just want to keep me busy and out of Council meetings.”

As they settled into the tub together, Aethelfrid’s strong, deft fingers began to message water and soap through Martin’s hair. He leaned back, savoring the feeling. 

“Can I tell you something, my dear?” he asked. 

“Of course.” She planted a kiss on his forehead. 

“I… I wish we could disappear somewhere. Live quiet lives, just you and me and the children. Maybe somewhere near the mountains.” He’d fallen in love with the mountains during their time at Cloud Ruler Temple. “But there’s still so much to be done, even with all the progress we’ve made.” 

Her fingers stopped scrubbing for the briefest second. “I wish we could, too. My family is from Morthal, and it's not too far from there that you could find a little spot in the mountains. Or east closer to Dawnstar. It’s about as far away from everything as you can get.”     

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Let’s retire there. Once the rebuilding’s done and we get everything back on its feet, let’s retire to Skyrim.” 

“Deal.” 

Martin helped Aethelfrid unbraid and wash her hair next. He ran a gentle comb through the flame-orange waves, wondering if their second child would also inherit this color. They made many grand plans as he worked; discussing the house they’d build and where. 

“I’d love a garden,” Martin admitted. “I had one at the chantry in Kvatch. I miss it.” Kvatch was being rebuilt, but even if a new garden was planted, he wouldn’t have the chance to do more than maybe see it. 

“I need a training yard. We also need a library.”

“Of course. And enough room for our family. You said you wanted a big one.”

“I do. It’s a Nord thing. We always have big families.”

Well, I will build the house myself to your exact measurements.”

***

Once they’d bathed, they settled down for a late-night supper. More pressing realities took over the conversation; an envoy from Mournhold arriving in two days’ time, a gala planned for the day after that. The trading guild had a petition about a contract to Hammerfell, and builders in the city wanted to meet about their progress. There was also a feast day coming up quickly, and they’d have to find the ceremonial robes to wear to the temple that day.  

It seemed never-ending, but Aethelfrid was as firm in her commitment as he, and it was less daunting with both of them facing it together. After all, they’d faced down the forces of The Dead Lands and its ruler together. Once you’ve done something like that, the mundane jobs of contracts and noble posturing seemed much less intimidating.

After dinner, they retired to their bed with a book each. Snuggling up, they did a little reading, before returning their attention to the other. 

“I’m sorry for being so grouchy,” Martin kissed his wife’s cheek softly. 

“You have a lot on your plate, love. We both do. It’s not easy. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“I really wish we could retire to the mountains.”

“We will. We’ll get things back on track and retire to Bruma. Or Morthal, or wherever you want. Falkreath is very pretty and has less snow.” 

“They’re not going to let us just leave like that.”

“When the time comes, we’ll leave before they realize. You have no idea the hidden places and trails and things I found running around doing Hero of Kvatch stuff. I mean it.”

“I would never doubt you on that. And, I hope we can take you up on it.”

“We will. I promise you that.”

***

It took Martin a long time to fall asleep that night. It seemed so impossible! That he could truly leave behind this crown and the weight it carried. But Aethelfrid had done the impossible before. Many times, in fact. He had no doubt she could do so again. One day, he told himself, once we’ve got things back in order. 

When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of a little farm with a garden and a gaggle of flame-haired children. 

[streetsweepershenanigans]

"" Slowly, Maverick looked up, his eyes trailing over Tom’s hands first, then up his arms, the fabric of his flight suit tugged up to the middle of his forearm almost sinful. Finally looking up fully he locked eyes with Tom’s own. Tom was wearing that unreadable expression on his face again that tugged so desperately as Maverick’s heart. I love you. The words were on Maverick’s tongue, just there on the edge ready to escape. They were drawn from somewhere deep inside him, somewhere deeper than Maverick himself had ever known to exist within him. It called for a deep introspection, deeper than they had time for.  ""

Anyway, I'm super proud of this bit I wrote for the third chapter of my Oblivion AU. If you haven't checked it out yet, I recommend giving it a try, I'm honestly really happy with it. Even if it's only for me and like five others 😅

[purble-turble]

Here’s an ask for the battle nexus.

How would Prisoner MK react to/interact with Oblivion Red Son?

Probably first finding out about him through one of the other MK’s, or even as a warning from Victim Red(through his Mei of course).

Or, for dramatic purposes, finds him by accident, sitting patiently at a bench on his own in the middle of the nexus.

He goes to leave at first, until he hears “hey there hot stuff~” and sees Yandere MK trying to drag him along to who knows where, and goes “okay, this is happening” and intervenes. He tells Oblivion Red to look ahead and not say anything until his own MK comes, or until the battle nexus closes. To which Oblivion Red, of course, complies to his wishes. He feels a bit unsettled by how… compliant this Red Son is? Empty? He tries to ignore it and go about his business. Though he informs Victim Red of this event.

It happens three more times. Three more times he tries to follow the disturbed Monkie Kid, and Prisoner MK has to intervene. At this point he starts looking for Oblivion Red’s MK. Only to find out from Yin and Jin that there isn’t anyone else from his dimension registered in the battle nexus. He talks to the other MK’s and Red’s about him and they all say they try avoiding him because of how off he seems. He comes to an agreement to step in if need be, but will leave it to the Red’s to take care of him.

I did get some asks about Oblivion Red in the Battle Nexus previously, and @vegalocity responded with a freakin great response about it, which you should definitely check out!

As for Prisoner MK interacting with Oblivion Red, I don’t see him doing much when it comes to helping or interfering with any of the Reds, even to help save them from Yandere MK. He would tell someone if he saw something he knew needed to be stopped, but he’s got a lot of trauma about Red Son in particular, so he’s not going to interact with them at all if he can help it, with few exceptions.

[shivering-isles-cryptid]

Daedra of Kvatch minor details

Been a while since I’ve written anything for this AU, so here’s some random details that don’t have too much of an impact on the main story. The AU has changed quite a bit since my last posts about it, so I thought I’d just throw in some minor stuff, like secondary character backstories and small quirks about HoK, who still doesn’t have an actual name. I’m thinking Samael or Weylin.

HoK has a Breton woman named Alice who keeps just showing up in his palace and not even the guards knows how she gets in. She keeps saying that a cat, rabbit, and mouse let her in through a secret door, but no one has been able to find any of the mentioned creatures. She is currently the acting Duchess of Mania.

HoK does actually know the cat Alice is talking about, but he refuses to say anything because he finds the whole thing absolutely hilarious.

HoK has made an extra artifact since he became MadGod and became more familiar with his powers. It’s a necklace that he gave to Martin. It has a powerful shield enchantment, as well as resistances to all types of magic, disease and poison.

HoK sometimes forgets he’s Sheogorath and will be surprised anytime he does something daedric-y.

The first, and only, time HoK was there for a christening of a baby (would it be a divining? An akatoshening?) the baby gained an unbreakable tie to the Isles. Her hair yearned stark white, and her magical pools grew to unwarranted amounts. She later grew up to be the worlds strongest conjured, mystic, alteration mage, destruction mage, and illusionist. She later became HoK’s apprentice.

After the Oblivion Crisis ended, the hero who went into Mankato Camorans Paradise and later became the Champion of Cyrodiil, later remade the Knights of the Nine and vowed to wipe the Daedra from Tamriel. This makes things awkward between them and HoK.

Martin and HoK actually had 2 wedding ceremonies. One in the Shivering Isles and one in Cyrodiil.

HoK founded a museum in the Imperial City, where he stores multiple artifacts he comes across in his journey, and where CoC stores the ones they come across as well.

HoK regularly travels to Skingrad to have tea with Count Janus, as well as a few other guests of varying afflictions. The regulars are a werewolf, a lich, and a Dunmer woman who says she was cured of Corprus. HoK calls these meetings Outcast Anonymous. Janus calls them Sundas brunch, even though they almost always start at 11:25 p.m.

The other Daedric Princes have different emotions about HoK. Some (Dagon, Molag, Namira, and Nocturnal) despise him for his ability to walk on Mundas, others (Malacath, Hircine, Sanguine, the True Tribunal occasionally, and Clavicus Vile) actually like him and hang out with him quite often, the others don’t really pay him any mind.

HoK works part time as a teacher for the Arcane University about proper etiquette when working with Daedra and how to safely traverse the planes of Oblivion.

He has a pet. It’s a ferret named Hircine. Hircine pretends to hate it, but he is in love with the Baby Hircine™️ as he calls it when he thinks HoK isn’t looking

Martin does his very best to accept HoKs station and nature, but it is hard when he can feel the presence of his old master, Sanguine, on his husband.

There are no mirrors in the entire Imperial Palace except for one, which is inside HoK’s private library, which not even Martin is allowed inside.

It’s not very rare for insane people to show up at the Palace. Martin doesn’t know how to feel about them, as HoK finds their antics either amusing or annoying depending on the day, instead of sad and pitiful as Martin does

[unseelie-robynx]

I know the answers here probably won’t be as deep as they where with the ask about the little brothers au but how would our Stepford Oblivion wives react to their clothing if they could theoretically be completely snapped out of it at some point?

So funnily enough, this is a question that had a canonical answer to it, at least for some of these wives. Because both Red Son and Huntsman did wake up, at different points. (And Shuyin went into this wide awake so she is happy to be dressed up however will make her ‘Lady’ happiest)

So when Red Son woke up, if we’re focusing solely on physical changes and not the whole, ‘oh shit I’ve been brainwashed and was forced to brainwashes someone else to keep my brainwashing intact’, then Red Son was actually mostly freaked out about his hair more than his clothes at first. Red’s hair in these AU’s is long. At first because Xiaotian didn’t think to cut it, and then because he liked being able to drag Red around by it, and then as a Wife because it was soft and pretty and both Red and Xiaotian enjoy it when Xiaotian brushes it out. But it was a big change and an indicator of how much time had passed, which got to Red.

Outfit-wise, Red is kept in slightly more traditional things, so that freak-out took a back seat to other things (freaking out about brainwashing, confronting Porty2.0 about said brainwashing)  but honestly wasn’t that bad. Red lived through the ear when ‘trousers’ were exclusively for those who rode horses, and, well...

Xiaotian liked him looking like this. Looking soft and lovely.

And by that point, even if there was brainwashing involved, Red did love Xiaotian.

(Which is what, coupled with his addiction and painful withdrawal symptoms, ultimately led to him asking to be put back down and turned back into ‘Wife’)

Now Huntsman? Huntsman BURNS the stuff he was put into. He hates it. It’s impractical and constricting and hard to move in, it’s overly cutesy and ridiculous looking, and it wasn’t even something Sandy liked. When he gets ‘rescued’ but is still technically brainwashed, he refuses to put on any of his old clothes, but ripping the dress off is one of the first things he does when he finally goes lucid (Right after he finishes flipping out about SQ re-dosing Syntax with more venom and wiping his memories)

For him the outfit is nothing but a sign of oppression, of how the psychotic child with the god complex reached into his head and tried to smother everything that was him and put a painted doll in its place.

Although interestingly, while he was able to fix his clothes, he still has panic attacks over trying to cut his hair, which ‘Shifu’ Red was forcing him to grow out to ‘fit the mold’ of what a Good Wife should look like.

Syntax waking up I think could be interesting. If it’s the Bad End where he’s constantly being hurt, the first thing he would be doing is scrambling to get the corset undone so he could breathe and not be in pain from his implants, but after that it would probably be a systematic shredding of the victorian gown he was in (possibly with said implants/mech-limbs if the pain isn’t to much or maybe in spite of it. He does end up with a terrifying pain tolerance in this ending just for the satisfaction of destroying the thing used to hide him with what they were trying to hide)

If it’s the Red Awakens ending, and things are softer for him, he’s still going to want to get out of that thing, but he’ll probably wait until he has something else to put on first, instead of wandering around in bloomers and nothing else like in the Bad End.

In the Bad End the outfit is designed as a constant punishment so getting out and destroying it is symbolic of breaking free and never deserving it a little bit, but in the Red Awakens end it’s more about keeping him sedentary and then matching with Huntsman. It’s still a symbol of oppression and having his identity stripped away, but there’s less of a visceral violent reaction.

Spindrax, if we’re counting her, could be interesting as well. In the Bad End she gets CyberPunked, which she would probably wake up with mixed feelings to. It’s not that much different than the things she normally wears (if more floofy and with lots of neon green) but it’s not... not bad. But also the being brainwashed ruins it, but since it’s similar to her actual stuff, she probably has a hard time with her normal clothes for a while, and either has to change her actual wardrobe up, or deal with a lot of triggers to try and fight through to claim her own style back.

(In any sort of potential Red Awakens Spindrax, if her outfit gets changed to that sort of gauzy dancer gear when she becomes a decorative pet, it’s only because she’s so broken that breaking her more isn’t possible and so Xiaojiao got bored of trying, and at that point, I’m not sure Spindrax could ‘wake up'. I’m not sure there’d be anything left to wake up)

[deltamb3r]

If Lamb has a picture of Narinder dressed as a maid, Narinder must have in retaliation a picture of Lamb dressed as a maid

That's it. That's the headcanon

[ciryze]

Behind the Mirror

Versions should never interact. Until they do. (Little meta-story for Call of the Betrayed where the Pandora and Odin have a little chat)

Drip

Drip

Drip

One.

Two.

Three.

Only darkness and the sound of dripping water.

Three lurking thrones in the middle breaking the ever smooth obsidian floor.

While stretching seemingly endless into one direction, a soft shimmer gave away the barrier that shut them out from the rest of the world, a mirror that showed no reflection of the figures waiting patiently on their thrones.

“I would be angry if I wasn’t so impressed”, one of them said, dressed in all grey and black, white lines on her skin glowing against the dark fabric. “But aren’t you running at risk of them ending up exactly the same as with me?”

Pandora for her part liked watching others doing their work. She’d always been a fan of planting the seed of doubt and see it unfold on their own. Sadly, it hadn’t worked out for her. Not this time at least.

“It’s necessary to let them get this far.” The figure right in front of the almost invisible barrier tapped softly against their upper arm. “You’ve been too harsh, Pandora. Your break was one sided and not final enough.” “And yours is?” The little red light flashed almost violently in response and Pandora knew she angered the ever calculated version maybe a little too much.

“It will be.”

Pandora watched them turn and head towards their respective place right in the middle. She hated the waiting game, but it couldn’t be helped. They only had one chance in their respective storylines to make this work, to break out and claim everything, but since she already failed due to the stupid version of the redheaded Chosen a few floors up this labyrinth of mirrors, all she could do was wait.

Her head snapped up when noticing the other right in front of her, a cheeky comment on her tongue, however her mouth seemed snapped shut.

Odin was terrifying. Calm, calculated, even while lacking the physical capabilities compared to the other two. Pandora tried her best not to show how much she felt like melting into her throne of fire and water.

“How I wish I had your powers.” Every single word rolled off Odin’s tongue like a song, gently putting their hand under Pandora’s chin. “It would make things so much easier.” “I exist in your version, too, you know?”, Pandora tried to defend herself, but they weren’t having it. “I know.” “Bet I would’ve drowned you, too, tin can.”

Seeing the attack coming, Pandora tried flickering out the grip immediately, just to find herself grabbed by the throat and pulled off her throne. Odin’s eyes glimmered painfully, piercing her through.

“You are forgetting one thing, little viper.” They squeezed harder, making Pandora gasp for air and her form breaking momentarily. “I am very much capable to control you. Watch your mouth.” “Okay! Okay! Lemme go!”

Odin released her and Pandora stumbled backwards until she heard the sound of chains rustling. A growl – very much one to rival her own – and when she turned, she stared right into the face of their third, their newest and last addition to the roster: Hydra.

Still chained with heavy metal that lost itself somewhere in the endless darkness, she still didn’t know her place. Instead, she tended to leash out at everything that moved, which happened to be either Pandora or Odin respectively. There was nothing else.

Pandora took a small step away from the upset creature.

“Why’s that one here, by the way? We don’t know anything about her yet?” “It is never wrong to have a backup plan.” Odin turned back to the mirror. “Although we will not need it if I am successful.”

Pandora stared at Odins back for a bit, yet held back further comments. She was very aware that things were going according to their plan, however Odin couldn’t comprehend the full trainwreck that could be their version of the same story.

She glanced back at Hydra, who already retreated back, hiding behind their throne of dead wood.

Of course, she wouldn’t say it out loud, but Pandora really believed that out of the three of them, Hydra had the best chance of succeeding, even if Odin was by far the purest version of the original with just one thing strapped from her.

But could the personification of the mind achieve what the personification of power couldn’t?

“I hope you fail”, Pandora finally growled under her breath, but of course that didn’t go past the ever looming silence. “Are you threatening me, Pandora?” “Did it sound like a compliment?” She huffed, nodding her head over to Hydra. “I just really wanna know what this one can do. Would just be fair.” “I am not thrilled being overflooded with emotions. I was already annoyed with your little stunt with the intertwining emotions.” They raised their hands, pictures of their version flickering back up. “If you already consider me a monster, let us hope that I am successful.”

Pandora gave Hydra another quick glance, watched her retreat even more behind the only thing that gave a little bit of protection. She groaned.

“Whatever it takes to get out of here. Even if I have to root for your stupid ass.”

[doodledraw]

chapter six!! a goose for the occasion ;))

[lostdemonchild]

Here are some more oblivion au doodles ☺️

[llitchilitchi]

setting off for a long journey

[doodledrawreblogs]

nine lines, nine people

tagged by @adiduck <3

@starrybouquet @lookforanewangle @boasamishipper @enthyrea @k9effect @thebahwrites @tommyjop @radical-sky @nade2308

here's 9 lines from the icemav oblivion au!!

“That’s nice, Pete. Must have been a sight to see. How’s our drone?” “It was,” Mav answered, and froze. How did he know that? How did he…but he could see it in his mind’s eye, what it felt like to leap to his feet and turn to the younger person next to him– The drone came online with its customary deafening blast, and Mav was pulled from his thoughts. “Pete Mitchell, Tech-49,” he announced himself. The drone scanned him and after another few seconds, blasted off. “You’re welcome,” he said, sending a sardonic salute the drone’s way as it sped off into the atmosphere. He turned back to the bubble ship, thoughts of a phantom baseball game still niggling at him.  “Where did you say that other drone was down, Charls?” “Somewhere in zone 3, but I’m not getting a good location on it. Sending you what I’ve got now.” “Received, I’ll reroute. When was the last we heard from it?” “Looks like yesterday before the Tet went offline. It was working fine until then.” “Copy. I’ve got the last coordinates now, but they’re pretty sporadic, Charlie. I might have to set her down to get closer to the source.”

[late-nite-scholar]

Aug 11th (Day 8)- Free Day! 

Day 8: A series of short snippets chronicling a very different Oblivion Crisis. As a Nord, Aethelfrid immediately has a plan upon hearing that Martin is Dragonborn. She smuggles him to High Hrothgar where he quickly masters a handful of Shouts. They now fight together against the Daedric invasion and the battle with Mehrunes Dagon in the Temple of the One goes very differently. 

Prompts by @tes-summer-fest This was super fun! Thanks for having us all out for this!

Nord HoK x Martin Septim

Warnings- Canon typical violence, otherwise tossing canon to the wind, long-ass read, wishful thinking   

Wordcount- Almost 4K. I know it's long, but this was the shortest it could be and still be somewhat coherent.  

(Pictures at the bottom this time for spoiler purposes!)

***

Oblivion AU- The Hero and the Dragonborn: 

“Hail Dragonborn! Hail Martin Septim!” The Blades’ words rang out around them. Martin spoke, but Aethelfrid was hardly listening. The same word echoed over and over in her mind, and all she could do was stare. Could it be…? 

“Was I really that bad?” Martin joked, pulling her back to reality. 

“It was a good first try. Are you really Dragonborn?” The question fell from her lips before she could stop it. 

“I guess so? That’s what they say about the Septim blood, isn’t it? That Tiber was one? Is… is that bad?”

���No. I just… we’ll talk later.” She put on a big smile. “Your Blades all want to meet you, after all, Your Highness. And we’ve had a long trip. Let’s relax for at least a few moments.”

“Of course. That’s a splendid idea.”

As Martin was folded into the gathered Blades, shaking hands and asking names, Aethelfrid’s mind worked. And it continued to do so as she studied the layout of the Temple as they moved inside. Yes, she could figure this out. 

+++

Martin tensed as the door to his quarters opened and closed almost silently, but relaxed just as quickly as he caught a flash of bright orange hair. Aethelfrid wasted no time crossing the room to where he stood. He had to admit the look of intensity on her face put him on edge. There was something going on, and he worried what that could be.

“Aethelfrid? What’s on your mind? You’ve been acting strange since you heard them call me Dragonborn. Let’s sit, and tell me what bothers you.”

As they sat, her intense expression melted into a smile that took his breath for an instant. Then she laughed a little. “Oh, no, it’s quite the opposite! My father told me stories of dragonborn warriors when I was a little girl. Of the things they could do, the incredible power they wielded. Of the power of the Voice.”

“The Voice?”

“An ability given to my people by Kyne herself. By speaking the right words you could shatter mountains, bring forth fire and storm, move and be like the wind. There is no equal to a dragonborn warrior’s abilities. Martin, if you are Dragonborn, you can do that, too! We could turn this invasion around in no time with that power!”

“Aethelfrid… I have no idea how to use such abilities. I’ve never even heard of this! How would I even start?”

“You can’t learn it here. But I know where you can. Every Nord, even one born here like me, knows of the monks of High Hrothgar. They teach the Way of the Voice. If we get you to them, then they can do the rest.”

“Where are they?” He sat forward, intrigued but feeling an odd, nervous prickle in the back of his neck. 

“At the top of the Throat of the World. I know the way. The last time my family visited Skyrim my father pointed out the path.”

“The Blades aren’t going to let me jaunt off to Skyrim.”

The door opened and closed again. They both froze as Baurus slipped in. But he sat down beside them. “I’m going to go to the Imperial City on a lead. I’ll get you both out of here. We’ll split off once we’re out of sight. You two head for the Pale Pass, I’ll go to the city. Meet me there as soon as you get back. I’ll start setting the groundwork and see what I can dig up while you’re gone.”

+++

Martin and Aethelfrid stared up at the trail before them. Seven thousand steps, the people in the village had said. The mere idea sounded exhausting. They’d traveled nonstop since Baurus had snuck Martin out of a secret entrance and they’d split off in their opposite directions. Martin thanked the Divines for Baurus. His knowledge of Cloud Ruler Temple had made it so much easier for them to get out without being noticed. He also thanked them for Aethelfrid. She was just as tireless and driven as she had been on their trip from Kvatch. And now that they were in Skyrim, she fell easily into the culture, chatting with locals in their Nordic language without even a hint of a Cyrod accent. He certainly wouldn’t have gotten here without her. 

“You’re going to be warm enough?” She asked as they climbed. “It’s going to get cold as we go up.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m ready to do this.” 

+++

By the time they reached the top, and stood before the massive temple, he was exhausted. Even Aethelfrid was breathing heavily. It had been a long trip up the mountain, occasionally beset by wolves lurking the trail. 

“We made it.” he said softly, looking up at the somber, stone building. 

“Yes. High Hrothgar. I never thought to see it for myself,” she whispered. “Can you feel the power?”

“Yes. Do we… do we just go in?”

“I suppose so. We shall see if the Greybeards will grant us an audience. Maybe they’ll already know of our coming, of your coming.”

They trudged up the stairs and, with trepidation, entered through the ancient, intricately-carved door. A small group of men in grey robes waited for them, all silent. Aethefrid’s heart thundered in her chest. Now that they were here, what would the Greybeards think of them just wandering in? Maybe they should have knocked?

One of them took a step forward, and the fear redoubled. Any of these men could obliterate them both with no more than a word. But he was looking at Martin now, and spoke in a quiet voice. 

“Welcome, Dragonborn. What do you seek from us?” 

Martin took a deep breath before replying. “If I am Dragonborn, then I am here to learn the Way of the Voice.”

“Your destiny does not lie among our number.” 

“I know. I cannot leave the world and its people, my people, helpless to the threat of Oblivion. I need to learn from you so that I can protect them, fight for them the way my ancestors did.” He silently thanked Aethelfrid for the steady stream of explanations she’d given him during their journey. Otherwise he’d have been lost at what to say.

“We do not use the Thu'um for war, for fighting.” the Greybeard said pointedly. Martin’s heart sank until he continued. “But the way of the Dragonborn is guided by a different fate. We will teach you. We will begin immediately.”

“Thank you.” He could’ve fallen to his knees before the man, but instead followed him further in, only turning once to see Aethelfrid smiling encouragingly.    

+++

Ten days later, Martin and Aethelfrid prepared to make their way back down the mountain. The Greybeards were as good as their word, and Martin had ravenously taken their knowledge. He’d barely slept the whole time, pouring himself into learning everything he could. In return, the Greybeards had gifted him the words to five Shouts. Martin doubted they’d planned to give him so much, but he’d pushed them for more and learned them fast. 

“You’ve done amazing!” Aethefrid laughed as they made their way down the mountain. “I don’t know if those monks have ever seen someone learn as fast as you. I’m… I’m so proud of you.”

He flushed. “You’re too kind. This is for the people. We have to help them, so I knew I needed to gain as much from my time here as I could. I hope it will be enough.”

“If it’s not, I’m not sure anything would be.”

+++

Three dremora popped out of a side door. Two of them charged as the third lifted its bow. She ran towards them, sword and shield at the ready. 

"Aethelfrid!" he cried. 

"Get the sigil stone! I've got this!" she shouted over her shoulder. Then she was swinging at the dremora, teeth bared in a snarl. 

He ran up to the platform, grabbing the stone floating in the air. Immediately, everything began to shake. 

"WULD… NAH KEST!" The Shout propelled him back down the ramp as fast as the wind. He threw his arms around Aethelfrid's waist just as he felt himself pulled from this dimension and back to Nirn. It only made him hold on tighter. 

Even though he felt the magicka dissipate and knew they were back in Cyrodiil, he didn’t let go. "By Akatosh! I felt it pulling me away and I thought it was going to leave you behind and… Aethelfrid, I thought I was going to lose you…" 

“Martin?”

He reached up, taking gentle hold of her face and guiding her down until they were nose-to-nose. “I’d be lost without you, my Aethelfrid.”

As he closed the last little bit of distance between them, all he could think about was the softness of her lips. When they pulled away, her freckled face had washed over with pink. She kissed him again, very softly. 

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

“Thank the gods for that.”

+++

She materialized back onto the battlefield, finding herself looking up at the massive siege engine. It was too late! It was coming through! She leapt out of its way, and none too soon, either. The Gate winked out abruptly, leaving half the siege engine in the Deadlands. The part that had made it through the Gate collapsed into useless wreckage, but that didn’t stop the Daedra that had accompanied it from attacking her. These included five large, armored dremora who circled her warily. She steeled herself for a hard battle; everyone else was still fighting their own enemies. She’d have to do this on her own.

“KRII… LUN AUS!” The dremora stumbled in unison, cracks appearing in their armor. Aethelfrid wasted no time, swinging her sword and smashing her shield into the first of the weakened creatures. Then a second Shout rang out, “FO… KRAH DIIN!” 

She lifted her shield as an icy gale howled, freezing the Dremora solid. Wasting no time, she smashed their frozen forms as a final Shout sounded, and then Martin was at her side in a rush of wind. They fell into each other’s arms. 

“I got it.” she whispered. “The Great Stone we need.”

“Thank Akatosh!” Smiling at her, he added, “And thank Kyne, too.” 

Aethelfrid’s eyes softened with tears, but people were gathering now. Martin stepped back, addressing the crowd. “We have been victorious! All hail Aethelfrid, the Savior of Bruma!”

“All hail the Savior of Bruma!” The crowd shouted back, over and over, cheering and whooping. 

Aethelfrid glared over at Martin, hissing, “This is your victory, not mine!”

“Nonsense, you’re the hero here, Champion to the would-be Emperor! This is your day.”

Aethelfrid didn’t get a chance to respond before they were swept into the crowd, and soon back into the city for a proper party. Martin grinned ear-to-ear as he watched the people celebrate his beloved. And so they should, for none were as brave and strong as her. 

+++

“What am I waiting for? After all this is my destiny. No man can deny his destiny.” He took the amulet from Aethelfrid’s hand and lifted it over his head. Aethelfrid clenched her fists, waiting to see if something would happen. 

Nothing. 

She let out a laugh that was almost a sob. “Oh, thank Kyne! I knew you could wear it, but… I’m so glad nothing happened.” 

“That makes two of us,” he joked gently. Turning serious, he added, “I’ve sent a message to High Chancellor Ocato, we’re going to meet him in the Imperial City and end this once and for all. The Blades are preparing things already.”

“We’ll be ready to go by morning,” Jauffre confirmed. 

Martin clapped him on the shoulder. “Excellent. Now if you’ll all excuse me, I must speak to the Champion alone about a very important matter.” 

He led her out of the chamber and through the halls until they reached the back doors, Baurus in tow. They stepped out into the crisp mountain air, the setting sun painting the sky in stunning reds and purples. 

Martin turned, taking Aethelfrid’s hands. His voice remained steady, though his hands shook. “Aethelfrid, we’re leaving tomorrow. I don’t know what will happen when we get to the Imperial City. But I cannot leave without asking you this. I’ve thought about it for a long time and… I cannot go into whatever destiny awaits me without knowing the answer.” 

He pulled a thin, braided cord from his pocket. It was red, run through with gold. The braiding was an intricate, Nordic style and Aethelfrid gasped. 

“This is a handfasting cord! Where did you get this?”

“A woman in Bruma made it for me. If you know what this is, then you know what I wish to ask you. Will you come to the Imperial City with me, fight this last battle with me, as my wife?”

“Yes! Of course I will!” 

Baurus took the cord and bound their hands as they faced one another, smiles brightening both their faces. It was almost too beautiful to be true, too perfect.  

“Will you bear witness to our words?” Aethelfrid asked, looking over at Baurus. “If you will, say your name before the gods, that they might know you.” 

Gamely, he stepped forward. “I am Baurus of Port Hunding, and I will bear witness.”

“Thank you. In the names of the Hearth Gods, I make this vow,” Aethelfrid intoned, tears threatening in her eyes. “Mother Kyne, hear our words as we join ourselves together. In the name of your handmaiden Mara, I name myself wife to Martin Septim. May Dibella prepare the way for our future together, and may you guide us ever onward, Great Mother.” 

Martin’s voice cracked with emotion, all of his practiced, priestly ways gone as he replied, “In the name of the Hearth Gods, and of Akatosh, I make this vow. Mother Kyne, hear our words as we join ourselves together. In the name of Mother Mara, I name myself husband to Aethelfrid Bright-Spear. May Dibella prepare the way for our future together, and may we be ever guided by the Great Mother, as I am also guided by Akatosh.”

Baurus looked between them both, and nodded with all solemnity. "I have heard and witnessed these vows. May they stand for all of your lives, and may you live well together in them." 

The tears overflowed over Aethelfrid's cheeks. "Thank you, Baurus." 

"Of course, my lady Champion. Why don't we go in, and you two retire for the night? I'll make sure you have a meal and that no one bothers you." 

The night passed most beautifully, and filled with love. 

+++

“It’s too late…” Martin whispered as they watched the giant, four-armed Prince swing his axe. 

“What do we do?” Aethelfrid wound her fingers into his, gripping them tightly. 

“There is one thing I could try. I found… I found an apocryphal account of a Shout, barely legible… I never tested it, but… I need to get to the Temple of the One. It’s the only chance.”

“I’ve got your back.” 

They wound through the streets, Aethelfrid and Baurus fighting off whatever daedra came their way until they stood in the temple. Martin turned and put his hands on Aethelfrid’s shoulders. 

“I don’t know if this will work, or if I’ll survive. But if it banishes the daedra for good, it’ll be worth it.”

“Martin…”

“I love you, Aethelfrid. No matter what happens, I will always love you.” 

“And I love you, Martin.” 

They kissed once; quickly, violently, and with a desperate need. Then Martin turned away, and walked to where the Dragonfires would have been lit. Instead, he took the Amulet of Kings from around his neck and held it up. 

“Great Akatosh, let my dragon’s blood be strong and true! Mother Kyne, let my Voice be as the storm itself! Give me your power, so that Mehrunes Dagon cannot stand before me! MUL… QAH DIIV!” 

As he Shouted, he threw the Amulet to the ground. It smashed, and gold light raced around him, becoming ethereal horns, spikes, and claws. Martin grew taller within this power until he dwarfed Aethelfrid, and then continued to grow as he made his way out of the temple until he was nearly as tall as the Daedric Prince. Fire streamed from his eyes like he was Akatosh himself. 

Mehrunes Dagon turned, hefting his axe and grinning. But Martin grinned back, and his teeth were sharp. His Shouts were like the roars of a dragon. “ZUN... HAAL VIIK!” 

The axe flew out of Dagon’s hand, and Martin caught it as it sailed past. The Prince stared, surprised, and Martin knew that this was his chance, and he had to take it. If not, he might not get another.

“KRII… LUN AUS!” Dagon staggered as the Shout hit him, weakening him.  

“FO… KRAH DIIN!” Crystals of ice appeared on his skin, and he began to stumble sluggishly as the cold assailed him.   

“FUS… RO DAH!” The force of the Shout shattered bones as it threw Dagon backwards. His flight was brought up short as he crashed into the steps of the palace, causing an earthquake to ripple outwards and rattle the city around them.

“WULD… NAH KEST!” Dagon had not even recovered his feet before Martin appeared before him, moving with preternatural speed. And before he could react, Martin swung the axe into his neck, separating head from body. An angry light seared through the city, and then Mehrunes Dagon was gone, sent back to Oblivion. 

+++ 

Aethelfrid raced through the streets toward the palace, cutting down any daedra in her path. She had to get to Martin! She had to make sure he was… that he was okay. If not… if not then she would have to fight on, and hope for some miracle. That was her only thought, even as the ground rocked, nearly knocking her from her feet. She had to get to Martin!

She raced across the bridge just as searing red light washed over everything. When it was gone, so was Dagon. Only a gold light remained, shrinking and growing fainter. 

“No! Mother Kyne, please! Please don’t let it be…” the fervent whispers tore from her lips as she raced to the stairs. Martin, once again himself, lay at the bottom, unmoving. With a cry, she threw herself to the ground. Gathering him into her arms, she began to sob. He was so still… so… empty. She clung to him, painful cries bursting from her chest.  

Time slowed to a crawl, the world lost all meaning. What meaning could there be, if he was gone? Would she be a widow, just as her goddess was? Would Kyne escort Martin to her husband's table? He had certainly proved himself worthy of Sovngarde, and he had the blood of the dragon and the Thu’um within him.  If Cyrods were allowed to enter Sovngarde. If not…

 Martin’s body shuddered and he let out a ragged gasp. As he opened his eyes, he murmured, “Aethelfrid?” 

“Martin? Oh, thank the gods!” She kissed him over and over. “I thought you were…”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me,” he joked. He held up his left hand where half of the red cord was tied. “I made a promise.”

“Thank the gods for that.” 

+++

A week later they came again to the Temple of the One. There were no Dragonfires, no Amulet of Kings, as there had been before. This was instead a new beginning, a new Age, where such things were no longer needed. 

And Martin and Aethelfrid were not the same as a week ago, either. Martin wore an elegant, but simple, fur-trimmed robe, his crimson shirt bearing the Imperial dragon embroidered in gold. The dragon that now felt much closer to him, much more real. Aethelfrid wore a gown of blue brocade, her flame orange curls artfully arranged in an elaborate style. The only constant was the red cords they wore around their wrists, and the way they smiled at one another. 

But at that moment they knelt before a priest of Akatosh, his voice celebratory. "I will ask you both to take the vows of office.”

He looked to Martin first. “Will you swear today that, in taking the mantle of Emperor, that you will accept the duties and responsibilities that it represents? Will you govern the peoples of your territories fairly according to the laws and customs, and that you render judgements in accordance with said laws?”

“I do so swear.” Martin’s voice was as calm and even as ever, betraying no hint of any nervousness he might be feeling. 

“Do you swear to uphold the will and the laws of the Nine Divines? That they may be given proper veneration in all things?”

“I will.”

“Then, in the sight of your people and in this Temple of the Great Akatosh, I confer upon you the Crown of Emperor, and all the duties and privileges that extend from that. May your reign be long and prosperous.” The priest held out a large crown, and with reverence, placed it on Martin’s head.

He then turned to Aethelfrid. “Will you swear today that, in taking the mantle of Empress, that you will accept the duties and responsibilities that it represents? Will you govern the peoples of your territories fairly and according to the laws and customs and that you render judgements in accordance with said laws?”

“I do swear.” Her voice came out strongly, more so than she’d expected. But now was the time to be strong, after all. The people needed that right now. 

“Do you swear to uphold the will and the laws of the Nine Divines? That they may be given proper veneration in all things?”

“I will.” It was an odd question for Aethelfrid, as she didn’t exactly follow the Divines, but rather the Nordic gods. But she decided not to make an issue of it. As long as she could do her job according to the proper laws, did it really matter? She didn’t think so. 

“Then, in the sight of your people and in this Temple of the Great Akatosh, I confer upon you the Crown of Empress, and all the duties and privileges that extend from that. May your reign be long and prosperous.”

Aethelfrid’s crown was smaller and more delicate than Martin’s, but still carried weight as it settled on her head. This was it. There was no going back now. But any nervousness was gone. Now that it was done, all she felt was a sense of purpose. There was so much to do, there was no time to be afraid. It was time to get things done. And they would. Their people would be safe and would thrive. They would make sure of that.   

The priest held up his hands, now addressing both them and the crowd. “Rise now, and stand before your people. Rise, Emperor Martin Septim and Empress Aethelfrid Bright-Spear, both first of their names.”

Martin and Aethelfrid stood together, grasping each other’s hand. Sharing a smile, they turned, facing their people for the first time as rulers. 

The crowd cheered with deafening joy, ushering in the Fourth Era. 

The official portraits of Emperor Martin Septim and Empress Aethelfrid Bright-Spear. Descriptions in alt text. Made with Meiker character games.

-------------------------------

Shouts Martin uses:

Unrelenting Force

Whirlwind Sprint

Disarm

Frost Breath 

Marked for Death 

Dragon Aspect 

Note: I have no idea what the Imperial vow of office would be. I based these off of the vow of office made by Queen Elizabeth II and altered them as needed.