She sat restlessly in the main hall of Frostcrag Spire surrounded by piles of book. She had read all of them at lest twice. Running a hand through her loose black hair, she sighed and looked at the ceiling in thought. She thought back, not too long ago. Many things have changed.
She couldn't take it anymore! She had to tell it! Tell someone, or the words would be lost forever! She grabbed her quill and ink and a blank book and stomped over to the east portal on the floor. As she stepped onto the pad, the room around her evaporated and a new sight appeared. Now she was at the lookout post on the top of the spire. Behind her was the beautiful snow-covered Jerall Mountains; before her was the magnificent view of the Imperial City and the glossy lake around it. She crossed the circular post to a table and chair.
She ran a hand over the red leather cover of the blank book once she sat down. He gave this to her, a long time ago. A puff of laughter shot out of her mouth. In reality that event actually only happened maybe a few months ago, but it felt longer. She flipped the cover open to the first page, and stopped to think on what words to use. Flipping to the next page she began to write.
It is funny, I never would have imagined myself in this position only two years ago, but I am. She paused. It is the second month of the new age. The fourth age. In tradition the historians paint with words the tales of the heroes of the ages and the deeds of the emperors. One emperor in particular will be written and his name will be remember forever by their work. The greatest Septim, so they call him. The last of the Septims. And many other names to tell who he was.
But none knew him. Not like I did. None but a few know his story, and I feel if it is not told correctly and true, he will fade away. But understand this as I tell you, his destiny was not his own. It could not be fulfilled without another. She stared at the page for a moment. Me. It goes both ways. I could not fulfill my own destiny without him. And the only way to tell his story is to tell it through mine.
I am called many things. Arch Mage. Imperial Ariana Grand Champion. Speaker of the Black Hand. Divine Crusader of the Nine. The Gray Fox. Blade Master. Madgod. Hero of Kvatch. Savior of Bruma. And The Champion of Cyrodil. But I was called none of those name two years ago.
You may call me Silvia Whitheroot. That was my name two years ago, and shall be until the lay me in the ground. I am a Breton, I come from the farthest regions of High Rock, but my story does not start there. My story, and Emperor Martin Septim's story, starts in the Third Era, in a cell in the Imperial City...