Martin yelps in pain as she grabs onto his cassock, skin on his chest sore from Sanguine's punishment, burnt from Akatosh' possession. "I've said my name," he speaks, swallowing bile and blood. "I'm Martin Septim."

Whether she believes him or not, he doesn't care. The Rose is destroyed, his task completed. Later, he's sure to regret the horrible memories he's granted her. For now, what he needs is a healer and a good night's rest. "The Rose is gone. I've spared this realm his debauchery and humiliation. I'm sorry I can't say the same for us."