Coronation
Did he need that day to gain the eyes of a king?
To most people, he did. Not to me. He was no different when he spread newborn wings, when light showered on him from the skies. There was a gem shining on his chest, yes, outside of space and time — but the man I saw there, rising to the heavens, was still my modest friend.
The world is both unforgiving and blind. People cast quick judgement upon what they do not know. What matters most to them is the sight of blood and gold — they had to see him shine, clad in silk and rich garments, before praising his name.
They keep asking to hear how he vanished. They want me to tell of how he burst into light, of the fire that raged in his divine form. None of them bothers to imagine the man he was before all that.
All I care about is insignificant today, buried for good in the cold tomb of history. Yet, when he left our world, the details I cherish on my own were fiercely alive. There was the curve of his hands, the one I had so many times found on his books, and his last prayer rolled from his tongue like the long texts he studied in the evenings.
There was all of him in his sacrifice. It just made his passing more painful to watch.
I no longer have words to describe. The memories are leaving me, worn by the touch of the years, as I wait for my short time on Nirn to come to an end. But I do remember how his soul burned from the start — I remember looking at him, with his humble gestures and the rough fabric of his garb, and thinking that none of it would ever be enough to overshadow that brilliance.
Yes, I watched him become eternal, in the act of dedication that cost him his life. I was there when his eyes turned into precious jade, when his skin of gold became stone.
We were all there to see, that day. We had to learn how terribly beautiful Martin Septim was.
Even so, I did not need him crowned Emperor to know.