Another Oblivion fanfic, this one focusing on Martin after his death, and a conversation with the Daedric Prince of Depravity. The Hero of Kvatch in this story is also considerably less...damaged than my last oneshot. She's coping quite well with the aftermath, actually.

Also, there's a tiny, tiny amout of slash. As in, you'd need a microscope to see it.

Disclaimer: Oblivion: The Elder Scrolls IV is owned by Bethesda, or at least someone who isn't me.

Conversing With Sin

It was quite a strange thing, being dead, Martin thought. Warm and faintly ticklish, with a gentle stream of kind voices in the background. He assumed that meant he was in some form of heaven, despite the belief that he would return to the Oblivion he once so greedily worshipped.

He could, on occasion, visit the mortal plane once more, but only as an impassive spectator. Nor could he drift too far from the dragon statue – the place of his death – but the top of the monument afforded him a generous view anyway. He could watch the Imperial City rebuild and progress, observe the countless people who came to visit him...or rather, the great dragon that had saved them, but the sentiment was the same.

The Hero of Kvatch did visit him though – and he knew it was him she came to see. She never said much, just climbed to the very top of the statue – to the shock and sometimes horror of those below – and took out the book she had brought along. She spent a few hours there, until sunset if the story was enthralling enough. One of her favourite pastimes, she'd told him back in Cloud Ruler Temple, although she'd complained that she didn't have nearly enough free time as she would've liked. But now she had all the time in the world, and so did he, so he knelt and read over her shoulder.

"Mm-mm. Delicious, isn't she?"

With a sharp gasp, Martin found himself back in his afterlife.

"You!" He gasped at the smirking, satyr-like figure lounging opposite him, "What are you doing here? Daedric Princes can't enter these realms!"

"Oh, but I'm an exception," Sanguine's smirk grew wider, "After all, you did promise your soul to me once upon a time, Which means even though – what do you call him, Akatosh? - claimed you, I still have access to you. A nifty loophole, don't you agree?"

Martin's voice was firm and cold, "Leave. This is no place for an evil god."

"Evil? Hardly. And I have every right to be here," Sanguine stretched, and gave a long, lusty yawn, "Unlike the other Princes. I'd gloat, but if Dagon finds out, he'll try and use me to hurt you. He's still very sore about the whole being-cast-back-to-Oblivion thing, you know," he paused to smile, although there was little pleasant about it, "And of course, I don't want to hurt my very favourite worshipper."

"I'm not your worshipper."

"Pshaw. You still used the knowledge I gave you to decipher the Mysterious Xerses, or whatever it was called," came the careless reply, "I don't know why you stopped serving me. You asked me to teach you everything I knew, and I did. Why did you have to spoil the party?"

Martin folded his arms; "Maybe I got fed up of it all; it was a life of wickedness and mindless hedonism, nothing more. People died, innocent people."

"You're so dull," Sanguine complained, pouting – if a satyr could pout, "I remember when you used to be fun. You did anything and everything I told you to, and you looked so pretty while you were doing it. Plus you made those delightful little sounds-"

"Stop!" Martin snapped before Sanguine could finish, "Those days are long behind me. I only worship the Nine, as a priest of Akatosh. If you've come to convince me otherwise, it won't work."

"Boring," the Daedra Prince muttered, and with a wave of his hand, conjured an image of Kvatch's saviour, "I wonder if she could be persuaded...I could have a few of my follower's approach her, give her a taste of indulgence. Wouldn't that be ironic?"

The taunt was fully intended to enrage him, but Martin was past throwing tantrums, "Go ahead, that won't work either," he answered with a note of disdain, "She has far more common sense than I did at her age."

Sanguine paused, and just looked at him, but he couldn't quite determine the facial expression – fondness, or perhaps sadness, if he thought the god was capable of it.

"I did miss you after you left, you know," he admitted, shockingly serious for a change, "You were my very favourite toy."

And he disappeared as suddenly as he had arrived, with no trace of him ever visiting.

Martin let out the shaky sigh he'd been holding in since he first hear the god's voice. Although he had no heart to speak of, he could almost feel the wild, erratic pulse in his chest. After all, seeing Sanguine again still brought forth a mix of fear, hatred and, underneath it all, excitement. Just barely, but enough to leave the bitter taste of self-loathing in his mouth.

Not wanting to be alone, he willed himself back into the Temple of The One, resuming his spot beside the Hero of Kvatch. She'd advanced a chapter during his talk with Sanguine, but he tried to catch up with the story. She was ahead of him, however, and turned the page before he could finish.

"Hey, turn back," he uttered without really thinking, "I was still reading that."

To his surprise, she paused, and turned the page back.

His eyes fell back to the book, but he wasn't really paying attention to the story – more to the fact that he wasn't as separated from the world of the living as he'd first thought; at least, not to her. Was it because they had been friends, that she could still hear him? Did she simply have the ability?

"Sanguine's followers may try to tempt you," he warned her, even as his eyes travelled over the words of the book, "I think it was just an idle threat, but he could follow through."

"I'm celibate," she murmured in reply, turning the page so she could continue reading.

He smiled, and read with her.