Rating: Rated T for violence, dark themes, and language.
Disclaimer: The Elder Scrolls series is the property of Bethesda Game Studios.
This is the seventh and final installment in The Dragonblood Saga. Please read Honor Bound, Madness Rising, Into Ashes, Bitter Faith, Night's Bane, and Once Forgotten before beginning this story, as much of what happens here is original content and relies on events that occurred in the previous books.
The letter sat, crumpled, in my pocket, and the implications of it weighed heavy on me. They had ever since it first arrived for me in Whiterun a few weeks before. Ma had immediately warned me against going.
"It's too dangerous," she'd said when she saw just what the letter was, when she saw the seal upon it. "Mara, what if it's a trap?"
It almost certainly was a trap of some kind. But I had no choice but to accept the… invitation, if you could call it that. I'd known I had no choice when I first read those words, the parchment crushing between my tense fingers. Titus Mede II, Emperor of Tamriel, had requested an audience with me. A false Emperor, descendent of a usurper of the same name who stole the throne that should have belonged to the man I loved. A usurper that I hadn't been around to stop. And the "request" he wrote in the letter was an order, of that I was absolutely sure. Why he wanted me, however, that was another matter entirely. Any number of things was a possibility, and I had no idea what his true motives were.
There was really only one way to find out.
Despite it being late in the summer, the evening wind was cool and damp on my skin as I made my way down the docks outside of Solitude. Gusts tugged at the loose strands of hair that framed my face and whipped the hem of my cloak around my ankles. Gulls cried out in the distance and the sound echoed eerily over the water. Through the natural stone arch that supported the city I could see the moons beginning to appear over the horizon. Out in the bay was the Katariah, Titus Mede's ship. I frowned as I gazed out at the monstrous thing. It seemed extravagant, even from that distance, but I'd expected no less from him.
At the end of the dock several of the Penitus Oculatus agents waited by a rowboat. They were the Emperor's personal guards, created after the White-Gold Concordat effectively destroyed the Blades. False guardians for a false leader. All of their eyes were on me as I approached them. Reaching into my pocket, I retrieved the letter. I smoothed it out as best as I could and handed it to one of them. He looked it over carefully and nodded to the others before gesturing to the boat.
"The Emperor is expecting you, Dovahkiin," he said. "This way."
I climbed into the boat and they cast off. Once I was actually on the water, the briny smell of the bay became stronger. I took a deep breath of it, trying to calm my nerves.
As we got closer to the Katariah, the details of the ship became clearer. A carved wooden dragon decorated the stern. The sight of it made my fists clench. Flags displaying the Imperial sigil hung over the sides. They caught in the wind and the fabric snapping loudly as they waved.
Cold, salty spray blew into my face as we pulled up alongside the ship. A rope ladder swung down, and I climbed it up to the deck. Several more of the Penitus Oculatus waited for me there. They led me across the lantern-lit deck, up a flight of stairs, and inside. We stopped at a heavy door at the very back of the ship. One of them knocked and called out, "The Dovahkiin is here, sire, as you requested."
"Very good," a man's voice answered from the other side. "Send her in."
The Penitus Oculatus agent opened the door and nodded for me to enter. When I did, he shut it behind me.
An aged, balding man stood alone on the other side of the small room. My fists clenched tightly as I caught sight of him.
He faced the large stained-glass windows that lined the far wall, his back to me, and he clasped his hands behind him as he stared out at the darkening water. His robes, dark purple and trimmed with white fur, were almost exactly like the ones I remembered the Septims wearing so long ago. Except his were not burned, torn, or caked with blood. Fury simmered in my veins. How did that man dare to wear the garments of those so much greater than him? He had no right.
"You wished to see me, sire?" I asked in as even a voice as I could manage. Despite my best efforts, a harsh edge still managed to creep in.
"Yes. I have heard a great deal about you lately, and it has come to my attention just how much of a threat to me you truly are."
I was completely taken aback. "If you mean about the dragons, I don't really–"
"I was not talking about the dragons." He sighed. "You are a symbol, a herald, of things that were better left dead."
"What do you mean?"
"I think you know exactly what I mean."
I took a few wary steps forward. As I did, my eyes caught on the books piled on the desk between him and me. It was funny how familiar it looked, an Emperor having stacks of books lying around. One of them was the black-covered Book of the Dragonborn, a title I'd seen often enough lately. The other was old, with a faded orange cover. I caught a glimpse of the title, so worn it was barely legible, and was immediately paralyzed. With a trembling hand I lifted the cover to look at the title page.
The Oblivion Crisis.
I sucked in a sharp breath. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible.
There was a small slip of parchment sitting on the page just below the words. Gingerly, I picked it up and turned it over. On it was a sketch of a statue's face. Her frozen jaw was set in a proud look, her cold eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the distance. There was no doubt in my mind as to who it was.
Me.
"You may have the rest of the world fooled, but I know who you really are, Champion of Cyrodiil," Titus Mede said, snapping me out of my daze. The drawing fluttered out of my slackened grip and landed on the floor. "I must say, you do look a great deal like your statue."
"So I've been told." Everything in me was tense, waiting, but for what I still wasn't entirely certain. "How did you know?"
He turned to face me then, brown eyes stony. He wasn't a Septim, not by a long shot, but I could still sense that he was dangerous. Very dangerous.
"You've been the talk of Skyrim for the past five years. A mysterious, fiery-haired heroine who seemed to appear out of nowhere at their precise moment of need. A woman who displayed some very old-fashioned views of the Empire. A woman who shared the name of another, very similar figure from an age past. It was suspicious at best, so I looked into it. Now here we are."
"Here we are," I repeated slowly, cautiously. His eyes never left mine.
"I suppose you want to know why I summoned you here."
"That would be nice."
"I want you to swear loyalty to me, Mara Fides."
I let out a harsh laugh at that. "Loyalty? To you? You and all your family are usurpers to the Ruby Throne."
His cold gaze somehow turned even colder as he glared at me and said, "The Septim Empire is dead, even you must understand that. However, I still need you."
"Why?" I asked, crossing my arms.
"The people trust you. Despite your attempts to keep yourself hidden, stories of your deeds are spreading all over Tamriel. And we want the same thing, you and I. We want stability for the Empire, something there has been little enough of for a very long time. Stand with me, and that may finally be a possibility."
"And if I refuse?"
"I am fully prepared to do anything it takes to remove the threat that you pose," he said, his voice firm. "I don't know how you've managed to survive this long, but I will keep you locked away for a very long time if that's what is necessary."
There was the threat I'd been expecting.
"So my choices are either to stand with you or be imprisoned? Is that it?" When he didn't answer I shook my head slowly. "If my loyalty belongs to a dead Empire, Mede, then so be it. It will never belong to you."
"I had hoped you might reconsider."
"You don't know me as well as you seemed to think, then," I told him through gritted teeth.
"Very well." The usurper again clasped his hands behind his back and lifted his chin to stare imperiously at me. "The story goes that Emperor Uriel Septim the seventh freed you from the Imperial Prison. How would you like to return there?"
I glared at him.
"You will return on this ship to the Imperial City. There I will arrange for you to–"
That was when I heard it: a faint scraping, clicking sound coming from the door near the windows, perhaps leading out onto a balcony at the back of the ship. Then there was the much sharper click of the lock. The doorknob slowly turned and I inhaled sharply.
"Get out of here," I hissed.
"I am your Emperor," he snapped back. "I will not be ordered about!"
"I can't just–"
The door swung open. In the threshold stood a tall figure garbed entirely in black. There was a pair of wicked looking knives clutched in his hands. Mede turned at the sound before I could warn him. I barely had time to draw my sword before the assassin plunged one of the daggers into the Emperor's chest. Titus Mede fell to the floor with a choked sound and lay still, his eyes fixed on the ceiling of his chambers. Heart pounding, I looked up from the Emperor lying dead at my feet to the advancing assassin.
It seemed all too familiar to me.
The attacker was at least a head taller than me, if not more. I shifted into a defensive stance as I backed up and watched him closely, waiting for him to make his move.
From outside of the Emperor's private quarters I heard the sounds of shouting and hurried footsteps. The door burst open a moment later and several of the Penitus Oculatus agents rushed inside. For a split second their gaze shifted between me, Mede's body lying on the floor, and the assassin. The dead Emperor's blood still dripped from one of his knives.
The assassin struck with his other blade, slashing through my sleeve and cutting into my right arm. I hissed and instinctively stepped back, clutching the wound to stem the blood. Using my preoccupation, he made a dash for the door he'd entered through. The one leading to the balcony… and to his escape.
"Oh, no you don't," I snarled.
The Penitus Oculatus made to go after him as well, but I was much faster. I shoved the door open and wrenched the assassin back from the balcony's railing, tearing off his head covering as I did. The assassin was an Altmer; his golden skin was turned a sickly color by the faint moonlight.
I barely had time to register that when his arm shot out, grabbing me by the shoulder and wrenching me forward. Searing, blinding pain erupted through me as he plunged his dagger into my side. I gasped.
"Long live the Aldmeri Dominion," he hissed in my ear.
"Stop!"
The agents faced the assassin, their blades drawn, and he ripped the knife from me. I staggered and watched through blurry eyes as he made for the railing again.
"No…"
I grabbed him around the waist, trying to pull him back, but he was too heavy. I toppled over the edge of the balcony with him and plunged into the water below. The force of the impact knocked all of the air from my lungs. I tried to get to the surface, tried to breathe, but the Thalmor assassin held me under.
Everything was… fuzzy. Hazy. I couldn't think. My side and chest both felt like they were on fire. My hands, which struggled against him, did nothing. Finally he kicked me away and vanished in the dark water.
Air. I needed air. But I couldn't… Couldn't find the surface. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't see.
Darkness enveloped me and I was gone.
Fresh pain ripped through the wound in my side and my eyes snapped open. My sharp gasp quickly changed to a hard cough as I fought to breathe. Over my head I saw not the sky as I'd expected, but a dark stone ceiling. Candlelight cast eerie shadows on the surface. I felt flat, cold stone beneath my fingertips.
At the sound of a sharp clatter nearby, I turned my head. Styrr, Solitude's priest of Arkay, stood there watching me with wide eyes. His face had gone very pale and he almost seemed to be shaking. On the floor at his feet was a small knife I recognized as an embalming tool.
"Divines have mercy," he whispered.
That's when I finally realized where I was. The Hall of the Dead.
He'd thought I was…
"Get a healer," I managed before I went under again.
"… But how? They said she was dead when they found her! Did someone bring her back, or–"
"No one brought her back. There's no sign of necromancy on her."
"How do you explain it, then? She was stabbed and fell into the bay. She should be dead right now."
"I can hear you, you know," I grumbled.
Opening my eyes, I saw Lydia, Serana, and Hadvar all hovering over me. The former two I'd asked to stay nearby the city before I went to meet Titus Mede just in case things went poorly… which they definitely had. I had no idea where the legionnaire came from.
Glancing around I saw we were in a small, windowless room. The other three sat around my bed.
"Thank the gods you're finally awake," Lydia said.
"How long was I out?" I asked.
"Two days."
"That's a vast improvement over last time," I said with a hoarse chuckle. Hadvar and Lydia both stared at me, but Serana gave me a knowing look. She'd been stuck in a box for a couple thousand years. She understood. "Where are we?"
"Still in Solitude. Castle Dour, to be specific. You were transferred here after the… incident in the Hall of the Dead and seen to by healers," Serana explained.
"I was sent here on assignment by the Legion and came to see you were all right as soon as I could." Hadvar hesitated and added in a slower, more careful voice, "I overheard what happened. They found you in the bay below Solitude, drowned and with a stab wound in your side from your fight with the assassin. You weren't breathing when they pulled you out. Mara, you should be dead right now."
"I definitely should be."
"So what you said about the Daedric curse, about what happened two hundred years ago, this is what it does?" Serana asked. "It keeps you alive no matter what?"
"It's not quite that simple, but… yes."
Lydia looked between us, frowning. "What are you talking about?"
"Two hundred years ago? But that would mean…" Hadvar's words died off abruptly. I looked over to see him staring at me.
"That would mean what?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You… You're…"
There was a sudden knock on the door. The four of us looked up to see General Tullius step into the room. Instantly, Hadvar got to his feet and saluted the General.
"At ease, soldier," Tullius said to him before turning to me. I recognized the exasperated look on his face as one I'd seen many times in the past. "Now, Dragonborn, you've been caught up in a lot of mad things before, but this takes precedence. After meeting with the Emperor and witnessing his assassination, you were stabbed by the same assassin, fell into the bay, and woke up alive in the Hall of the Dead. That's not exactly normal, even for you. I suppose you have some kind of explanation for just how you managed that little trick?"
He stared at me with a frown and crossed arms. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hadvar's dumbstruck expression was still on his face. I took a deep breath.
"I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you general," I said slowly.
"Oh? How so?"
"My real name is Mara Fides. I was the Champion of Cyrodiil."
