Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned, nor the world(s) they inhabit. Though I often wish I did...
Author's Note:
Hello! This is my first post on FanFiction, (I've been sitting on submitting stuff for a while because I'm an idiot), so be nice, please! ^_^
I originally wrote this for a contest on deviantART back in October, a contest I some how won! (I'm still not sure how!) The topic was "Evil NPC's", and I milled around with a few ideas before this just happened! I decided to put it up here as an attempt to start writing here properly, as it's one of the few ""decent"" things I've got completed at present, so I figured 'Hey, it's worth a shot! Let's see if anyone likes this!'
But yes, feedback would be lovely! ^_^
Nirn. Tamriel. Skyrim. The far north. If one travels to what was once the land's greatest city, to Winterhold, you will find a place devastated by what is now known as the Great Collapse. Though it is disputed what caused this disaster a half century ago, whether it was the mages of the College or some horrendous geological phenomena, what is known is that little remains of the city, with vast chunks of it being completely swallowed by the sea. The folks there shun the once revered College, as does much of Skyrim, suspicious and afraid of what they may or may not have done, and what they may or may not do in the future.
Despite their isolation from the rest of the world, those in the College are a contented, happy lot, fond of those in their little clique, and willingly aid each other in the pursuit of knowledge and learning. Even the irritable librarian of the Arcanaeum is secretly satisfied with his lot. Most that join the College go on to do great things, serving in courts across the lands, or furthering their knowledge into and of the arcane arts.
But some disappear. One such scholar did not go far in the physical sense, but travelled far in others. There are those at the College who believed him insane, touched by the hand of the Madgod, or his mind warped by the Elder Scrolls he has devoted his life to understanding. His fellow College associates noticed a great decrease in his sanity over the years. His lectures went unread, and those he did teach were not what they had been before, mostly rambled theorems on nothing in particular. What was most worrying was how much time he spent locked away from them, alone in his chamber, talking to himself. No one was certain what he talked about, only that they became deeply afraid for, and of, their former colleague, tutor and friend. In his delirium, he had also begun to spend more and more time away from the College, until one day, he just never returned, following a fleeting remark about a discovery he had made. Years passed, and his name vanished from the lips of all but a few, and even then it was only mentioned to a visitor to the College searching for an Elder Scroll…
If one were to go beyond the College, crossing the frozen Sea of Ghosts, past the crumbling ruins of the Skytemple, one would find a lonely, snow-drowned island. In fact it is more an iceberg than an island, a single jutting peak barely above the water. Inside it is hollow, an ice cave, unremarkable save for a fantastic construct of metals and crystal, largely entombed in the ice; a large lockbox of Dwemer design. It is here he now resides, wizened by time and the cold, and the thoughts in his head.
When the trapdoor to his frozen outpost opened the first time, Septimus Signus had been sceptical, even agitated, by the intrusion. Several others had come before; some had left him to his ramblings, though others had offered to help him. To each who offered their services, he gave them all the same two items. The first was a cube, and the second an orb. Both were fascinating in design, beautifully crafted from bronze-coloured metal, and inlaid with numerous ridges and crevices, expertly made by their long-vanished creators, and very similar to the great structure in the cave. All who left with his items had died in the pursuit of what he had sent them for, and the retrieval of the items had become rather tedious. But he had to persevere. He had to wait. All would be worth it in the end.
What he had not expected was his most recent visitor to return with the Elder Scroll.
If he had been elated when the visitor had returned with the orb, Septimus hid it well. The orb was in fact an ancient Dwemer lexicon, and when it was handed back to him, it had been magically engraved with the even more ancient knowledge of the Elder Scroll hidden away in Blackreach.
After fathoming that the lockbox needed Dwemer blood to open it, he tasked his visitor to gather blood samples of the five Elven races in Skyrim; as to create a composite version of the substance required to open the vault, he left the way he had come, up the frozen ramp toward the exit.
Signus barely looked up as he heard the trapdoor to his outpost closed shut, leaving him once again to his solitude. As it creaked home, a change came over the old mage. His body straightened considerably, and the manic glint in his eye was replaced by a more sombre one. He ran a pale hand through his greyed beard, and thought. He had counted the time between when he had finished speaking to his guest, and the time when the trapdoor creaked closed. His visitor was far younger and stronger than he was, and wouldn't take nearly as long to climb the icy ramp to the exit, and as he reached his conclusions, he realised he was no longer alone.
Behind him, he felt a great, resonating presence. He did not need to look to know that it was there. Without turning, Septimus said aloud.
"Was he the one, my lord?"
"Indeed," replied a voice from behind him. Its tone was pleasant to the ears, and had a rhythmic murmur to it. As it spoke, the voice seemed to echo around the chamber, but which also seemed to be within him, as well.
Signus sighed and turned. Above him, filling the entryway to his outpost,was a bubbling black void. At its centre, a great eye looked down at him, its twinned pupil watched the wizard with interest. Around it, many smaller eyes dotted the visage, and around them, several black, shiny tentacles protruded from the nothingness the façade came from. Hermaeus Mora, the Daedric Prince of Knowledge, Fate, Memory and Secrets. His master.
"Then it is nearly time, then," the aged wizard said, running a hand through his beard, "And my purpose is nearly served."
"Yes," the Daedra Lord replied, "And it is time I explained all to you more fully."
Signus sighed once more, closed his eyes briefly, and then looked up again at his master. A great eye blinking out from a plane beyond their own would terrify most mortals, but Septimus was not most mortals. Granted, when he had first encountered the Daedric Prince some twenty years ago, there was some initial shock, but this had been more marvel than fear. Over time, he had become well acquainted with the Lord of the Limitless Library, conversing with Him to great lengths about the mysteries of this world and those beyond. Sometimes, Lord Mora was just a voice in his head, whispering His knowledge and teachings. At others, He formed himself as He did now. Septimus would lock himself away in his room at the College, and talk through nights and days at a time with the Daedra, and because a Daedra has the power to speak solely to a single person if they wish, Lord Mora had done this for Septimus at the College, so no other would hear His voice. They would hear Septimus though, and his voice talking aloud to the unheard Daedra made them take him for insane.
Madness has its uses, and is a good tool to use to get others to leave you alone. This was partially the reason Septimus lived in solitude in this remote part of the world, as it allowed him to think, meditate and talk with his Lord in peace. A thin smile formed on his aged lips as he looked upwards at the great, otherworldly presence above him. The Prince took this as a signal, and continued, His voice coming from an unseen mouth.
"The world is changing about you," He said, the tentacles surrounding the eye moving lazily from the ethereal emptiness they extended from. "You have seen them. For they have returned, and the World-Eater with them. And the only hope for this world has just left your home."
Signus was taken aback. He had indeed heard, and seen, a few of the dragons on clear days, as they soared over the mainland, belching fire and frost at some unlucky targets below. He had marvelled silently at their ancient and terrible beauty, secretly longing to see them closer up. But this was something he couldn't do, for that would risk everything. Regardless, Septimus thought dragons were fine, but the confirmed return of Alduin the World-Eater filled him with a sense of dread. The very idea of the presence of the God of Destruction, chief deity of the Ancient Nordic Pantheon, very much alive and highly vengeful, chilled the elderly mage to his bones. Hermaeus Mora felt this change in his disciple, and spoke, His voice soothing to the old man.
"Fear not, dear Septimus. Even if the Dragon succeeds in destroying the world, you will already be at My side. Of this I can assure you." Signus smiled softly at this, and the Daedra continued. "You will have earned your freedom from mortality. I have foreseen this. As I foresaw the Dragonborn requiring assistance, and you fulfilling this role. And as I have foreseen him serving Me."
Dragonborn. He had first heard that title when his mother sung him to sleep as a baby, many, many years ago. A silent tear ran down his cheek as he heard the beauty of her long-gone voice in his head, singing an old bard's song as a lullaby. Wiping his face so his lord would not see, Septimus looked up at the Daedric Prince again, his eyes a little harder than normal. "What makes you so certain he will serve you?"
"It is destiny, Septimus. Fate. Even if he does not serve me by his word, he will inevitably serve Fate, which is mine. In turn, this is what I will dictate to be written as the next great chronicle of Nirn."
Signus paused, as he often did during his conversations with Mora, to ponder his thoughts on the matter, or to consider what the Daedra had said. As he did, he looked into the Prince's great eye, and it looked back, with what could probably be described as fondness. Eventually, Signus spoke again, the next branch of the conversation clear in his head.
"The Dragon. Alduin. What if he does manage to destroy the world?"
"He did not before, so why would he now?" Lord Mora replied.
"Is that not his purpose? His return is prophesised to signal the beginning of the Endtimes. That is the myth that surrounds him and his servants." Signus laughed softly, and added "Although I suppose it is less of a myth now, lord."
"Indeed," Mora answered. "Although the Dragon's true purpose is somewhat lost on mortals. He exists as a balancing power, because where there is life and creation, there must be death and destruction. As the Universe developed, and the primordial deities split and changed, new ones took their places. Alduin was one of these, tasked with the destruction of the world when the time came. However, for Alduin, this was not enough. His dark nature longed for more. He went to Atmora, where mortals were the most prevalent. The Men there were terrified and awed by the power he and his servants commanded, and so worshipped them as living gods, which suited the World-Eater perfectly. Eventually, Men came to settle in lands to the south, across the sea, in what is now known as Skyrim. The chief that led them, Ysgramor, called the land Mereth, for the many Elves that lived there."
"The Falmer…" muttered Signus.
"You are correct, my friend," replied the Prince of Knowledge. "Although they were little like the twisted subterranean dwellers mortals know now. They were a fine, beautiful people, as advanced as the Aldmer of Alinor or the Ayleid's of old Cyrodiil."
"At least until the Atmoran's wiped them out," retorted Signus with a half sneer.
"Not quite, Septimus…" Lord Mora's voice bubbled, with a hint of greater knowing Signus had learned to recognise but not question. "...but I understand your meaning. While history usually records that the ancient Falmer sought to wipe out the Atmoran settlers because of how quickly they multiplied, there too is another reason for this attempted genocide. Something the settlers brought with them…"
"The dragons" said Septimus, finishing the sentence. "The Nords like to forget their own history. They served and worshipped the dragons above all others. It taints their songs and tales knowing that their greatest heroes who founded their lands were all lackeys to the Dragon and his brood. Even Ysgramor, the Great King, answered to the Priests. So they forget and ignore it." He paused a moment and looked deeply at the great eye above him. "Lord, you have already explained this to me. Why is this important? I may be old and apparently mad, but I'm not senile. Perhaps you have forgotten that yourself?"
Lord Mora's tentacles paused in their lazy throes. The visage's eyes blinked as one, as if the Daedra had been taken aback by the comment. Then Signus heard a sound that was not frequent from the Prince's invisible lips.
Laughter.
Softly, it echoed about the chamber, and Septimus could not help but smile.
"You do amuse me, Signus," the Daedra of Fate chuckled. "That maybe why I have such little contact with mortals. I find few who amuse me. It truly is a gift to make a Daedric Prince laugh in a way that is not spite or mirth or pity. A great talent, if ever there was one." The Daedra laughed a little longer, and continued from where he had left off. "While you are right, you must understand the fear the dragons invoked. The Falmer told of terrible winged beasts in legends themselves. But then these legends crossed the sea with their subjects…"
"And the Falmer thought if they wiped out the Atmorans, the Dragons would leave with them" concluded Signus. "But they didn't, as what's happening now proves. Alduin has returned, and the world is on the brink of destruction." He then laughed with a hint of spite. "And all mortals seem to care about is who sits on a meaningless throne."
Though there was not a head to speak of in the swirling gloom, Septimus swore that he felt the Daedra nod before He continued.
"Remember you are still one of them yourself, Septimus," Lord Mora said with another small chuckle. "Regardless, Alduin may be called the World-Eater, but that is only part of his purpose. His deed is a necessary one. He must destroy the world so it can be made afresh. This was the task given to him by his father, Akatosh. Alduin, however, believes that he can choose when the world can be destroyed. That is his downfall. Unless it is written by Fate, it cannot be so."
"But he is a God, though, lord. Can he not change the rules?" Signus inquired.
"He could, I suppose. Maybe enough of his father's power rubbed off on him to allow him to do so. Perhaps. The Dragons ruled this world once. They could do so again, with relative ease, I'm sure. Mortals are not as downtrodden as they were in times long ago, but they are too caught up in their own petty feuds to be much danger to the rising darkness."
To this Septimus nodded, and then asked "Where did the dragons go, sire?"
"They never left," replied Lord Mora "All but a few wriggled beneath the earth or were put there by their worshippers until their master returned. And now that he is back, it is only a matter of time." The Daedra seemed to snort, as if amused by something he had said.
Seeing the puzzled look on Signus' old face, the Daedra went on.
"Time, my friend. Time is the cause of all this in one way or another. But why?" He seemed to be throwing the question open. There was no change in His voice, but Signus knew his Lord's signals well enough by now.
"Alduin is the son of Akatosh," the old man answered. "Akatosh is the God of Time and known as the Father of All, while Alduin is supposed to destroy the world. Both are dragons, one of creation, and one of destruction?"
"Yes and no. Alduin is as much a part of this world as Akatosh is, and his destiny is as entwined with this world as his father's is." Lord Mora paused, and then spoke again, addressing Signus properly, "What do you know of what happened when Alduin was first defeated?"
"The legend goes that three heroes slew him at the Throat of the World." Signus answered, reciting the tale all good Nords know. "Two were warriors, brother and sister. Hakon and Gormlaith. The third was a wizard, Felldir. Allegedly, they turned the Dragon's power against him. A gift from the gods, it is said. They Shouted him from the sky and destroyed him. Then Hakon carried his sisters' body down the mountain, proclaiming their victory over Alduin. The dragons and their mortal servants fell into disarray, and victory was eventually won over them."
"True, but also not. Legends can be very far from the truth. In actuality, these Heroes did learn to Shout as the dragons did, but they were taught in secret by a traitor to the World Eater's cause. But this alone would not defeat Alduin, a true immortal of great power. No, they did not conquer him then. Instead, after the female fell, Felldir used an Elder Scroll, and created a rift in time, and cast the Dragon into it."
Signus' interest sparked a little more here.
"A very familiar Elder Scroll." Mora continued. "Felldir knew the cause of Mortals was hopeless as long as Alduin ruled over them. So, he went to FalZhardum Din, to Blackreach. There he met with the Dwemer, wisest of all creatures. He had heard they had great power, and he wanted to see if he could use it against the Dragon. They granted him an Elder Scroll rather willingly, which they told him, would set the Dragon adrift on the currents of Time, never to return. But they were wrong, of course."
"That is not like the Dwemer I understand, lord. They selfishly guard their secrets, even now." Septimus shuddered as he recalled a time when a hulking Centurion beared down on him at the heart of a ruin he had delved into after one of his past "assistants" had failed.
"Ah, but you did not know them as they were. True, they closed themselves off from the rest of the world as they strived to progress. They understood that religious practices slowed them down, as it did to their fellow Elves. Thus, the Dwemer cut off all ties with the Divines and the Daedra." The Demon of Knowledge paused slightly, and then said "All save one..."
Septimus looked hard into his lord's great eye, and it blinked back knowingly. Mora continued.
"I enjoyed the Dwemer. They preferred the garnering of knowledge and reason over the superstitions of their fellow Mer. True, they were not without their strife, but what race isn't? They were leaps and bounds ahead of all other races. They did not worship me, but worship is something I have always done without. I was somewhat of a compatriot to them. The Allseer, they called me. Their penchant for all forms of knowledge was fantastic, and we learnt from each other for a long time."
"Truly then, I know nothing of the Dwemer, lord…"
"Not as such, dear Septimus. I did not interfere with their machinations, and they never wrote of Me. If I had, I doubt they would have had anything to do with Me. They cast off the yoke of Aedra and Daedra alike when they split from the Aldmer. It held back their desire for progress and knowledge. No, I simply collected new knowledge as they did. I enjoyed the Dwemer wholly, and have not found similar enjoyment from other mortals since their passing." His eye seemed to twinkle. "Except from a select few, that is."
"I am grateful to be among that number, lord." Septimus said, bowing his head almost sarcastically. As he did so, the Daedra softly chuckled. Raising his head from the half-bow, Septimus spoke. "But what I don't understand, lord, is why you're telling me this. The Dwemer. The Elder Scroll. The Three Heroes and the Dragon. Why is this important to now, to me?"
"You are a clever man Septimus. Surely it is obvious?"
Signus paused, and thought. His lord was mysterious, that was part of who He was. Often the riddles and questions He posed to him had simple answers, which were strikingly obvious once they had been solved. So what linked the Dragon, the Scroll, the Three and the Dwemer together? Septimus wasn't sure how long he stood in thought for, pondering this most recent mystery, but eventually he came to a conclusion, and as he did so, his eyes widened in shock, and his mind raced uncontrollably.
"You! It was you! You knew it would send him into the future! You brought him here!"
If there was a mouth amidst that mass of tentacles, it was no doubt smiling.
"But... why?!" Septimus was virtually beside himself with confusion. His lord had revealed other such mysteries that had perplexed him greatly before, but none had bewildered him as much as this one.
"Part of me wishes to say simply for the sake of it, but most of me had other purposes." Mora said. "I enjoy mortals, as much as any Daedra, though I saw no need in spreading my influence as directly as they did. I had no lust for power or conquest or destruction, but as with all of my kin, there was at least a fragment of selfishness involved. I did not want this world to end, because how then would I continue to learn from it? So I looked ahead, Signus, as I always do. Fate is my dealing. Alduin had grown strong. I watched Men rise up to fight him, and a traitor aided them. This was all fascinating chronicle, but what chance did they stand? Alduin was a god. A rogue, dangerous god. Yes, they slew many of his minions, but he had many more still. They could not truly defeat them as long as he was there to bring his kin back to life. In time, they would have all been slain by the Dragon and his underlings, their rebellion crushed into the ashes of their burned land and charred bones. The traitor would be slain, absorbed, replaced, and the World-Eater's rage and repercussions would know no bounds. True, they had power, but not power enough. They needed one with the soul of a dragon and the body of a mortal. The only one who could save them was, and is, a Dragonborn. This is why the Dragon is here."
"But there have been many others, surely? Why this one?" Septimus was still virtually beside himself with confusion.
"There have indeed. However, few were suitable. The rulers of the Septim Empire all had the blood, but few had the strength to stand up to the Dragon's power. Some had the fire, though, but were either too cruel or too stupid to be trusted with saving the world. Besides, what Emperor fights his own battles? There was one, though. The last Septim. Martin. He had the fire, but his untimely death put an end to that idea."
Signus' confusion halted for a moment. He knew that name well. He had been brought up on the tales of Martin Septim, who had led the Empire against the great evil of Mehrunes Dagon and his wicked servants, both Daedric and mortal. He had attempted to halt the invasion from the Deadlands of Oblivion but failed, and thus broke the Amulet of Kings, and risen up as an Avatar of Akatosh, fought Lord Dagon head on, and perished sealing the way between Oblivion and Nirn forevermore. There had even been talk of elevating him to Godhood for his heroics, a Tenth Divine, but the Thalmor had gotten involved and prevented this, at one point even claiming they had conquered Dagon. Looking up at Lord Mora, Septimus, still in the throes of bafflement, asked again.
"I still don't understand! Why this one? Why do it in the first place? You tell me that you don't get involved with mortals, but then you tell me this! So why?"
"I think part of it may have been guilt, if I can feel guilt, that is. I had denied them another Dragonborn. A Priest of the Dragon Cult. He was different. He was powerful. My selfish Daedric nature wanted him for my own, so I enticed him with one of my relics on Solsthiem. He rebelled against the Dragons, began to fell them and take their power. The Three knew of him, and begged him to help them against Alduin. But I kept him and fed his hunger for power until Alduin sent an army to destroy him. They nearly did, though I brought him to my realm. Although in truth I did them a favour. His soul was a dark one, and remains so…"
There was a hint of bitterness in the Prince's unchanging tone, but this was twinned with something that sounded like relief.
"I could have allowed him to perish, but I was selfish and I kept him. Thus, I thought it was my duty to help Men in their fight against the Dragon. I spoke to Felldir in a dream, told him the power he needed to stop Alduin lay in Blackreach. In turn, I scryed the tides of Fate, found a suitable Dragonborn, instructed the Dwemer to manipulate the Elder Scroll accordingly, and then I waited. After its use, it was returned to the Dwemer, who sealed it away on My instruction. Then, in time, I regaled a cryptic prophesy to the Dragonguard of Akavir, referencing events that would come to pass as parts of it. Events I had foreseen as playing huge parts in Tamriel's history. This they recorded on a great wall carving in an ancient temple here in Skyrim."
"If all, or any, of this is true, sire, why are you never mentioned, even once? Felldir of the Three never mentioned you, and neither does any portion of Imperial history, or any history besides! If you aided them, and still seek to, why hasn't anyone said so?"
The great eye blinked in a way Septimus felt to be amusement. "I am a Prince of Oblivion. Surely that is reason enough?" After a pause, Lord Mora chuckled.
With his master's laugher, Septimus managed to steady himself. It was true, very few mortals would admit to conferring with Daedra, especially those of higher caste. Fear surrounded what the Daedra did, and the atrocities many of them had visited upon the world was reason enough, he supposed. He reached for the goblet on which stood on his cabinet, and poured himself some wine, sipping it. The warm tingling of the alcohol gave him strength, and he spoke again.
"You still haven't told me why you chose this one." After a brief pause to gather his thoughts again, he virtually shouted at the Prince. "And why in Oblivion have I sent him to gather blood Elven samples when he should be saving the world?!"
He felt the presence of a smile on Lord Mora's unseen mouth once more, before the Daedra spoke again. "Quite simply, he was the best possible candidate, if that is truly the word. There have been good Dragonborn's and there have been bad Dragonborn's. There are those who knew they had the blood, and those that did not, and lived their lives none the wiser. One even led a Daedric cult determined to remake the world. Ha! That still amuses me to this moment, that Dagon could be deluded enough to believe that a place of such wonder and beauty could be His plane of Oblivion! Oh, to see His face afraid again, like when He and the Others petitioned Me to help Them get rid of the Prince of Order!"
Lord Mora paused, and looked at Signus, whose look of confusion had returned, possibly stronger than ever. Then came the smiling sensation again, and the tentacles waved softly.
"Forgive me, Septimus. I regale an old tale of little relevance. Although perhaps in time I will tell you the tale of Jyggalag and the end of the First Ordering. Then we can marvel together when the Others receive a terrible, wonderful shock at some point in the future…"
Signus simply nodded, a bemused smile forming on his lips.
"There have been many Dragonborn's, it is true. But this one? Quite simply, he caught My eye. He was a prisoner in bonds on his way to meet the headsman, surrounded by a civil war he had no part in. I've found that some of the convicted in your world have a certain way about them…"
Once more, Septimus looked into the great eye, which once more blinked knowingly, but said no more. "And then, as awaited the axe, he was saved, ironically, by the one he was destined to fell. It has an almost poetic flavour to it, I believe. True, he may yet have aspirations to conquer or to do other darker deeds for his own profit, but as of now he is a blank canvas, whose willingness to save this world comes far above any loyalty he has to any faction or sect. His time and place were determined, but who he would be or what he would do besides his selfless deeds I have not seen, and do not plan to. He could yet be a conqueror-king who once again reunites a broken world, or he could slip away from it, set up a homestead and raise a family. Regardless, his name will echo through the ages, his deeds sung in across the lands for the rest of time. As for the blood, you already know the answer to that…"
If Septimus knew the answer, he had forgotten it. Perhaps he was going senile, after all! He decided it best to ignore the final statement, and question something that the Prince had said earlier.
"And would you let him simply slip away, my lord?"
Again came the soft laughter. Signus took that as his answer, and took another sip from his goblet. When he looked up, however, the tentacled abyss of his master was gone, and the doorway empty. In the distance, along the ice passage, he heard a trapdoor creaking open. Had they truly spoken for that long? It didn't feel it. He sighed for the last time on this world, drained and then replaced the goblet back on the shelf. He blinked softly, and allowed that perfected glint of feigned insanity return. He took a last look around the ice cave, his eyes coming to rest, finally, on the lockbox, where, years ago, he had placed the Oghma Infinium to await its next reader…
The Oghma Infinium. Now he remembered. "It has a way of finding its way into the hands of heroes," Lord Mora had said as Signus had read from it. He had told him that the next mortal to read it would do great wonders, and that they would both play a part in it. How had he forgotten about that? Indeed, he had partially forgotten what the vault contained; possibly due to the story he had created to surround it. As the lockbox had sealed itself all those years ago, and he prepared himself for a life of waiting, Septimus hadn't understood his master's remark. But he did now. Oh how he did now! And soon he would finally be with his master proper, in Apocrypha, to learn and chronicle for Him for all eternity.
As the trapdoor creaked shut, and footsteps left the ladder, he swore he could hear a distanced roar. But then, he heard something he was certain he heard. A final, familiar whisper. His master. Hermaeus Mora, Daedric Prince of Knowledge, Fate, Memory and Secrets. The Lord of the Limitless Library spoke softly; His bubbling voice was soothing, placing Septimus Signus in a calmer, happier state than he had ever known. The words were familiar, but different. A single, silver tear slid down his face as he heard the words. The irony was not lost on him, and he could not help but smile as his latest, final visitor, the hero for whom legends would be sung, came into view.
"I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes…"
Author's Note: And there we have it! Done and done! Damn, it was a pain in the ass to re-format this from the document I'd done for the DA submission! Why can't the literature process on there be easier? D: Still, I guess that's the price one pays for using so much italics!
ANYHOW, I really enjoyed writing this, even if the research process was pretty taxing, making sure everything fit lore-wise and what not. But no promises for complete loyalty! I'm a pretty big purist for Elder Scrolls lore myself, but there needs to be a line, right? Right? XD I'm still pretty proud of the subtle-ish references to the other games I put in there, and I think I got Septimus and ol' Mora in the right light!
But yes. I hope this was a somewhat enjoyable read! I'm off to brood and read Teen Titans stuff and plot. Ta-ra!