Authors Note: This is a romance woven into the fabric of the Oblivion story and beyond. The actual story had no romance element, so I decided to address that to satisfy my own imagination, adding characters and altering some incidents to continue the narrative after events of the original story were over. Bear in mind this was written before Skyrim came out, so consider this just a tale on its own. I stayed true to much of the lore, but digressed in other places, so be prepared for some freeform storytelling. If you are enjoying the story, I would appreciate feedback. Thanks to Bethesda for creating a great world to roam around and writing a fun story!

Dragonfires Burning

Prologue

Before the rise of humans, at the beginning of the first era, the land known as Cyrodiil was ruled by a race of elves called the Ayleids. While they worshipped the Aedra as well, the cruel and domineering Ayleids called upon the dark Daedric Lords of Oblivion to be their instruments of power in establishing their supremacy over the other races.

For long years the merciless Ayleids held sway over the land, until at last, the human slaves revolted, led by the Slave Queen Alessia. With the help of the Nords of Skyrim, Alessia succeeded in driving the elves from her country into refuge in Valenwood. She established the human kingdom of Cyrodiil, organizing a new pantheon of gods, the Eight Divines. And so it was that Alessia was presented a gift from Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time and ruler of the Aedra, to help preserve peace in Cyrodiil: the Amulet of Kings. Akatosh bound her soul into the red diamond at the center of the pendant, and used the ward to seal off Tamriel from the planes of Oblivion, where the sixteen powerful Daedric princes resided, so that their malicious interference with the mortal realm might evermore be lessened.

The traditional lighting of the Dragonfires was a covenant Queen Alessia made with the Divine Akatosh - a sign of eternal loyalty twixt Gods and men. The sacred flames, extinguished upon the death of a ruler, are re-lit when the new monarch of Cyrodiil is crowned. Inextricably tied to this ritual is the passing of the Amulet of Kings to each successor of the royal bloodline. So has it been for thousands of years. So must it always be. Always must the Dragonfires burn, or chaos will reign in the kingdoms of the living and Daedra will have dominion over the land. Always must the Dragonfires burn…to keep the Gates of Oblivion closed…to keep the daemons at bay.

27th of Last Seed, Year of Akatosh 433, End of the Third Era -

1.

"The Wrong Place at the Right Time"

He wasn't cooling his heels in an Imperial prison because he was a criminal. He was there for a short and embarrassing stay because he had been foolish and reckless. That was a source of great irritation to him. He hadn't meant to hit the Captain of the Imperial Watch, one Henrik Bardur, but it was certainly the city guard's jaw his fist connected with two nights ago. He cursed himself yet again for overindulging and allowing himself to be drawn into a common bar brawl. But when the Argonian insulted his mother so disgracefully…well, a man has limits…even someone as patient and level-headed as Torin Grayrider. And there was little that could upset him more than disparaging remarks about his mother. She was a saintly woman who had struggled to provide him with the basic necessities of life when his father died. She had taken any job she could get to support him, and had always borne her burden cheerfully, sacrificing all for him. When she had finally succumbed to the hardships of their existence, he was sixteen, left to his own devices in the sometimes cruel streets of Imperial City. Determined to improve his lot he had joined the Fighter's Guild, to learn to make his way in the world. He wanted to get out of the city…to see Tamriel's wonders. But to do that, he would have to be able to defend himself. In fact, he wanted to be better than just adequate…he wanted to excel with sword and shield…to master his fate, not just survive. He was clever and resourceful. But he knew that would only get him so far. Torin needed a skill set fit for battle.

So he apprenticed under a wily old Khajit, who took the young man under his wing. Torin learned much and practiced more. And he built up his strength. Before long he was wearing a heavy coat of armor and wielding a sword of no small weight with ease.

After a time, when he felt his combat skills were sufficient, he joined the Mages Guild to develop his magic. His father had commanded the arts to a small extent, but like everything else the well-meaning man had tried, it never amounted to much. Torin, on the other hand, had begun to show signs as an adolescent that he would be able to control the flow of his natural mana much more effectively. His innate abilities far exceeded his father's. He became a reasonably proficient healer and learned to master destructive spells. Fire, ice, and electricity were his friends. He could command them to pour forth from his fingertips...direct them where he willed with devastating results.

By the time he set out on his own at nineteen, he had learned many spells to facilitate his travels and he was a capable young adventurer. Now, nine years later, he was a highly skilled veteran of warfare and a talented mage, just as adept with magic as he was with a sword. He was an experienced traveler, having seen much of Tamriel, and a man of no small wealth. He had accomplished much and, for the most part, had always tried to follow the honorable path. His face darkened. Except…the Razor. His great sin. For the thousandth time since he had procured it, he wished he'd never heard of the damned weapon!

He sighed and put it out of his mind, thinking of the stupidity of his current predicament instead. He put his head in his hands, resigned to serving his time and learning a lesson at the expense of his time and dignity. Next time, he would not lean so heavily on drink. Perhaps he would return to unwinding as he always had…in the company of women. They came so easily to him. He was strikingly handsome – rugged, with a square powerful jaw that always defied his shaving blade. The erratic lifestyle of an adventurer did not lend itself to routine grooming, nor did he care for such things. And so, his appearance matched his devil-may-care approach to life. He kept his unruly shoulder-length black mane pulled back haphazardly when he travelled, with only the occasional meandering strand over his brow to harass him. Piercing blue eyes looked out from beneath his thick locks, caving the defenses of even the most stubborn of females determined not to fall for his charms. But always they fell…into his arms, into his bed. He oozed sensuality and the women flocked to him. Perhaps that was the problem. He had become bored with it all…with the game. It had become too easy, and the women too unexceptional. He wanted something more.

So, this night he had forgone his customary pleasures in favor of hard drink…and, as it turned out, hard fighting. He usually had a way with others…a quiet, easy manner. But this drunken Argonian was having none of his besotted Imperial charm, and Torin had foolishly allowed the disagreement to erupt into a full-fledged brawl. He had meant to hit the Argonian, but the reptilian had ducked, and Torin's fist had been unceremoniously introduced to Bardur's face as he tried to break up the fight. Not one of his finer moments, he thought, rolling his eyes. They had hauled him off to jail for a few days for public drunk and disorderly behavior…and, of course, for assaulting the good Captain. Bardur had been good-natured about it, recognizing the punch had been intended for the other participant. He had clapped a suddenly sobered and apologetic Torin on the back, and told him it would be all over in a few days and everyone would forget all about it.

The sentence was no less than he deserved for his foolishness, but it chafed him nonetheless, for he was not given to such boorish behavior. At 28, he should know better. He could no longer use the hot-headedness of youth as an excuse. Damn it! He swore again.

The sound of a key in the lock of his cell door interrupted his self-loathing. His eyes grew wide when he saw who walked through the doorway. The Emperor?!

The guards were equally surprised to see him occupying the cell. They bickered with one another over whose fault it was the cell was not empty.

The Emperor looked as astonished as he felt when the monarch took notice of him. "YOU! You are the one in my dreams! Then the stars were right, and this is the day. Gods give me strength. I must speak to you…" Before he could continue, one of the men whisked him through a secret passageway in the cell, leaving a stunned Torin rooted to the ground, staring at the opening.

The last man into the cell was the Watch Captain he had struck, Henrik Bardur. Henrik recognized him and stepped up, "Earn your freedom, man! Help us protect the Emperor! These men are Blades, the Emperor's personal bodyguards…" he explained, thrusting a sword into Torin's hand and dragging him through the passageway.

"What…what is happening?" Torin asked, looking dumbfounded.

"There has been an assassination attempt on the Emperor! All three of his sons have been slain in a carefully orchestrated plot! We are trying to get him out of the city!" the Captain shouted in distress.

"What?! Who…who is behind this?!" Torin asked in shock.

"Some group calling themselves the Mythic Dawn has claimed responsibility. Come on, man, no time to waste!" Henrik shouted.

They raced through corridors and tunnels, stopping only to fight their way through an endless stream of the red-robed assassins of the Mythic Dawn that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. With the numbers of the defenders dwindling, they stopped to open another passage. The Emperor pulled Torin aside. "My time grows short. No trophies of my triumphs precede me. And while I have made a great mistake I wish I could have put right, I have otherwise lived well, and my ghost shall rest easy. Men are but flesh and blood…it is their nature to err and their fate to die. They know their doom, but not the hour. In this, I am blessed…to have seen the hour of my death. And I know it is upon me…this I have witnessed in my dreams. But I have also seen you. And in your face, I behold the sun's companion. The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness. With such hope, and with the promise of your aid, my heart must be satisfied. You will play the key part in what is to come. It is you who must save the Empire!" he cried.

Torin recoiled in stunned disbelief. "No…you must have me confused with…" he started.

Uriel Septim VII, Emperor of Cyrodiil, drew himself up and cut the young adventurer off. "It is so…I have seen it…and you. A man with eyes bluer than the waters of Lake Canulus, lines of war drawn on his chin…"

Torin subconsciously fingered the scar on his jaw given to him by a massive bear when he was young. The bear had bested him then and he had retreated. It had been a long time since he had retreated from anything.

Septim continued, "A man seeking freedom, seeking forgiveness…" The Emperor stopped suddenly, unwilling to tell the astonished young man in front of him everything he knew about his future. He did not mention the woman. The details were unclear and he thought that the lad should find this out for himself. Men should not know too much of their own destinies, Uriel had decided. It weighs heavily on the mind…he knew from experience. "But there is no time to argue! My sons have been murdered! They think to end the line! But…they have not won yet! I believe there is another…from a time I spent with a woman I cared for. Her name was Lenore Trueblood. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen and I fell hopelessly in love with her. But I was married to the Empress, a cold-hearted and manipulative woman. It had been my duty to wed her…to continue the royal line. It was an arranged marriage, a loveless union…but still, I was Emperor, a wedded man with three sons. I was not free to be with Lenore as she deserved. She was good and kind and she cared for me. But when I found out she was with child, I treated her disgracefully. I thought it might embarrass me. A mistress was one thing, but the bastard child of an Emperor?" Septim sighed heavily, his guilt weighing on him. "I blamed her as though she had done it on purpose…as though I had no part in it. I have spent my life regretting it. I do not know what became of her or our child. Lenore disappeared in tears and I never saw her again. I know only that she was from Cheydinhal. Whether she returned there or not, I do not know. I have thought of her many times over the years. I let her go, to my endless shame…and because of my shame, never again did I seek her out. In a moment of cruel arrogance I have never forgiven myself for, I spurned her love and sent her away with my unborn child. Now, it seems, that child is the only hope for the Empire, for without an heir, the Dragonfires will be extinguished. Without an heir, the Empire will fall. The ancient covenant will be broken and the Gates to Oblivion unsealed. Anarchy will rule the land! You must find and give my child the Amulet of Kings. The Dragonfires must burn! It is the only way! Jauffre will help you find Lenore. Jauffre will help you find my successor!" he said in agitation, grasping Torin by the shoulders.

He was interrupted by the sounds of men approaching. "Quickly," he said casting his eyes about nervously, "My time is here. Take this to Jauffre at the Weynon Priory in Chorrol. He will know what to do. It is the Amulet of Kings. It must be given to the heir to the throne…You cannot fail! The future of the Empire depends on you! I can go no further. You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants. He must not have the Amulet of Kings! Find my heir, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion!" Uriel cried frantically, thrusting the sacred talisman into Torin's hands.

The urgency in his voice was not lost on Torin, though it was a great deal to digest. But the madness that was taking place around him lent credibility to the Emperor's ramblings, incredible as they were.

"I…will do what I can…" Torin started uncertainly.

Suddenly, an assassin leaped out of the opening passageway and stabbed the Emperor. Torin killed him immediately, but it was too late. Uriel Septim VII lay dying in Torin's arms as he had said he would.

"Promise me…" he struggled. He grabbed Torin's tunic, pulling him close. "The fate of the Empire is in your hands…it is…your…destiny…" he whispered as the air escaped his lungs. The Emperor was gone.

Torin was pulled to his feet roughly by Baurus, the sole remaining Blade. "You must go now before more of them arrive," he urged.

"But..." Torin stuttered, craving answers to his thousand questions. He understood none of this. It seemed one riddle wrapped in another clouded by a third.

"Not now!" Baurus insisted, "If the Amulet of Kings has been entrusted to you, your mission must be very important indeed. He saw something in you. Trusted you. I do not pretend to understand it. But they say it's the Dragon Blood that flows through the veins of every Septim. They see more than lesser men. Jauffre is the leader of the Order of Talos and Grandmaster of the Blades. He resides at Weynon Priory. He will explain whatever you need to know. The Emperor is dead, but if his assassins find out you hold the sacred Amulet, your life will not be worth a septim. Go quickly! Henrik and I will cover your escape."

Henrik spoke up then, "He's right, son, you must be off!" the older man encouraged.

Torin took off rapidly through the winding passage, equal parts bewildered and concerned. He was not afraid. He was not a man given to fear. He had taken on many a daunting task lesser men had cowered before. No, he knew not fear now, but apprehension. Grave events were unfolding before him, drawing him in, a participant by necessity in a terrible crisis. He would honor the Emperor's wish, not only out of loyalty, but out of a genuine desire to uncover the truth behind this conspiracy….and to learn the role he would play in stopping it.

"So you are the Grandmaster of the Blades? Baurus did not mention…" Torin began, unable to hide his skepticism when he was led into the presence of the master Blade. He did not look like much, this mild-mannered prior in monks' robes. But Jauffre was the Grandmaster of the Blades, an order of knights sworn to protect the Emperor. He seemed much more the unimposing head of Weynon Priory than an expert swordsman who had devoted his life to guarding the head of an Empire. It was, Torin had to admit, the perfect disguise for him…the perfect headquarters for their organization.

Jauffre knew his unassuming appearance fooled many. "Baurus? So Baurus told you about me, eh? Yes, he did not lie…though what could possess him to divulge my nature to you I cannot guess, for discretion is our watchword," Jauffre responded, his mind racing at the possibilities. Baurus was among the bravest and most faithful of his Blades, which is why he was assigned to guard the Emperor. He would never betray the Order. If Baurus had entrusted this man with the information, perhaps… The Grandmaster continued cautiously…casually. "But you wonder to find the Blade Grandmaster here? Only a few of us, like Baurus, have the honor to serve publicly in the Imperial Guard. It isn't widely known, but many members of the Order of Talos are also Blades. Indeed, many who are too old for active service often join the Order as lay brothers. Talos is our patron, and we serve the Emperor and the Septim bloodline."

Torin nodded slightly. "I bow to the master of deception," he said, giving Jauffre and his Priory brothers their due in maintaining their cover.

Jauffre studied the adventurer for a moment, gauging the man for signs of his own deception. "But it must be an important reason, indeed, for you to stand before me now…and without Baurus," Jauffre said, a hint of suspicion in his voice. "Tell me then, why are you here? And how is it that the loyal and steadfast Baurus has revealed me to you, and sent you here?" he inquired through narrowed eyes.

"I have need of your help. But…there is much to tell you…" Torin replied, sighing heavily.

Jauffre did not believe him at first, that he had been sent by the Emperor. It wasn't until he produced the Amulet that Jauffre accepted he had indeed come from Uriel Septim. But with belief came doubt…only the Emperor was permitted to handle the sacred artifact and the old Blade became alarmed that Torin had perhaps obtained it by being involved somehow with the murder.

Torin explained how he had come by the Amulet and that the Emperor had sought his help, sending him to Jauffre for assistance in finding the heir.

The warrior monk sat back to consider what he had been told, finally coming to terms with the grave news and the young man who stood before him. It would explain Baurus' exposure of the Grandmaster to this stranger, and the fact of the Amulet he held now in his hands. He nodded sadly.

It was Torin's turn to ask questions. He needed to make sense of all this. "But what does it all mean? Prince of Destruction? Close shut the jaws of Oblivion? How does the Amulet fit into all of this?" he entreated.

"I…am not certain," Jauffre said thoughtfully. "The divine Daedra and Aedra walked the surface of the mortal plane at one time, and they would often interfere directly with mortal affairs, especially the Daedra. They created the Daedric Realms in Oblivion, with all its inhabitants. But while the Daedric Princes were pleased with what they had done, it is said they looked with envy over the Mortal Realm. They found that the ambitions and the passions of mortals were sometimes entertaining beyond their expectation…the actions and thoughts of mortals different than the minions they created. Thus, have the Daedra ever courted and seduced the Mortal Races, especially the passionate and powerful. The Daedra were also known to enjoy stealing or corrupting anything that the Aedra had created, for the Daedra are not of creation, but of change and destruction. It was the Aedra who created the mortal plane...and the Daedra who wreaked the most havoc in it. The Prince of Destruction, Mehrunes Dagon, is
one of the lords of Oblivion. His sphere is Destruction, Change, Revolution, Energy, and Ambition. He seeks chaos in the world of men, frequently venting his anger in the form of natural disasters. Men fear the Daedra with good reason. But the mortal world has long been protected from the beasts and gods of Oblivion by magical barriers. It is a part of the covenant between St. Alessia and Akatosh, the dragon God of Time and ruler of the noble Aedra, thousands of years ago," he said pulling out a book called The Trials of St. Alessia.

Torin knew the legend of the phenomenal woman Alessia, a slave of the cruel and capricious Ayleids, the Heartland High Elves that ruled over Tamriel thousands of years ago in the First Era. She had rallied her people, enlisted the aid of the Nords of Skyrim, and drew the Gods to her side to lead a slave revolt, overthrowing her tyrannical masters and beginning the Empire of Cyrodiil.

The Ayleids of long ago relied on their patrons, the treacherous Daedric Princes, to provide armies of Daedric minions. With these fearless magical hordes, the Ayleids preyed without mercy upon the young races of men, slaughtering or enslaving them at their whim. Alessia began to pray to those Divines sympathetic to the race of men for assistance in freeing her people…to Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time, and Kynareth, goddess of Nature. Akatosh, looking with pity upon the plight of men, drew precious blood from his own heart, and blessed St. Alessia with this blood of Dragons. Kynareth, in turn, sent her son, the Nordic demi-god hero Morihaus, to advise and aid Alessia. Morihaus became Alessia's lover, and with the aid of Pelinal Whitestrake, a fabled warrior who became the leader of her army, helped her rally the other slaves to her cause. From that time, she was known as the Slave Queen.

Whitestrake became legendary for his ruthless decimation of the Ayleid army. Alessia herself often had to intercede with the Divines on his behalf after "the Madness" took him and he committed particularly brutal acts. When the Nordic king joined Alessia's revolt, the human armies quickly began to drive the Ayleid out of Cyrod and into Valenwood. Even Pelinal's death at the hands of followers of the dread Elf-King Umaril The Unfeathered could not stem the tide of the rebellion.

When, at last, it was all over, Alessia was declared the first Empress of Cyrodiil for her courage, strength, and wisdom in saving Tamriel. The worship of the Eight Divines became the standard for Tamriel. Akatosh came to her, and they made their fateful pact. Binding Alessia's soul to the Amulet of Kings, Akatosh took her up into the Divine realms, naming her St. Alessia, the first saint of the humans, the patron saint of kindness and freedom. The blood red diamond at the center of the Amulet of Kings is where her soul was said to be housed. And thus did the symbol of Imperial Cyrodiil become the red diamond. The eight stones surrounding it represented the Eight Divines. The Ninth Divine was, of course, Talos, Alessia's descendant, Tiber Septim, who was raised to a Divine after his great deeds defending Tamriel.

Finding a passage, Jauffre read to Torin of the Amulet:

Akatosh made a covenant with Alessia in those days so long ago. He gathered the tangled skeins of Oblivion, and knit them fast with the bloody sinews of his Heart, and gave them to Alessia saying, 'This shall be my token to you, that so long as your blood and oath hold true, yet so shall my blood and oath be true to you. This token shall be the Amulet of Kings, and the Covenant shall be made between us, for I am the King of Spirits, and you are the Queen of Mortals. As you shall stand witness for all Mortal Flesh, so shall I stand witness for all Immortal Spirits.'

And Akatosh drew from his breast a burning handful of his Heart's blood, and he gave it into Alessia's hand, saying, 'This shall also be a token to you of our joined blood and pledged faith. So long as you and your descendants shall wear the Amulet of Kings, then shall this dragonfire burn - an eternal flame - as a sign to all men and gods of our faithfulness. So long as the dragonfires shall burn, to you, and to all generations, I swear that my Heart's blood shall hold fast the Gates of Oblivion.

So long as the Blood of the Dragon runs strong in her rulers, the glory of the Empire shall extend in unbroken years. But should the dragonfires fail, and should no heir of our joined blood wear the Amulet of Kings, then shall the Empire descend into darkness, and the Demon Lords of Misrule shall govern the land.'

Jauffre closed the book, a worried look on his face. "Only the Emperors truly understand the meaning behind the rituals of coronation. The Amulet of Kings is ancient. It is a holy relic of great power. When an Emperor is crowned, he uses it to light the Dragonfires at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. With the Emperor dead and no new heir crowned, the Dragonfires in the Temple will be dark for the first time in centuries. This does not bode well."

"What about the heir?" Torin asked.

"I am one of the few who know of the existence of one. Many years ago, I served as Captain of the Emperor's Blades. One night, he called me into his private chambers. He told me of his affair with Lenore Trueblood and that she had been with child when she left. He was filled with guilt, but swore me to secrecy. He wanted only to unburden his soul to someone of his abandonment of his child and the woman he had loved. My liege forbade me to harass her in any way, or even to track her down. He wanted her to find peace. But he wanted me to know. I do not know if he was looking for absolution. I know only that he needed to purge himself of his great secret," Jauffre revealed.

"The Emperor told me to find this child, and I will honor his wish," Torin said, choosing to withhold the Emperor's prophecies about himself until he had a clearer idea what was happening. He was not yet convinced he was this "savior" Uriel Septim raved about in his waning moments on this mortal plane. It still seemed too fantastical for him to accept. "He said to begin my search in Cheydinhal. You will look after the Amulet until I can return?" Torin asked.

"It will be safest here. Good luck to you then, young man. The Emperor has chosen you for this task. I can only hope his faith in you is rewarded," Jauffre said.

Torin nodded. "I will do what I can," he replied resolutely.

Jauffre returned the nod. "Gods' speed, young Grayrider," he said as he watched Torin leave.