To let you know, I have attempted this story before, and though it wasn't a complete failure, it had way too many flaws for me to continue. It was completely inconsistent with the mythology and only focusing on the present, and not to mention the political process was left too simple. I'll try to make some changes but at the same time, I know I can't keep up with everything. The story's origins and antics are going to be modified from the games canon to an extent where it doesn't break the lore, but perfectly shapes to my views. This story also centers itself around mostly Imperials, with a civil war win for the Empire, considering this is a story structuring the events of the Emperors assassination and the Imperial Dragonborn's call to power.
Titus Mede sat at his desk, waiting for the moment to come. He was listening, and he could hear the crew aboard the ship being taken out one at a time. But he sat there, waiting. When he saw the door creek open, he decided now was a good time to be known.
"Once more, I prove Commander Maro the fool," Mede said, as he watched the assassin approach him. "I told him he can't stop the Dark Brotherhood, nobody could." The assassin remained silent, only looking at him under his hood.
"Come now, don't be shy," Mede said, almost like he was a friend, "You haven't come this far just to stand there gawking." The assassin continued to be silent, and Mede took that as his right to continue speaking. "You and I have…a date with destiny, it would seem. But, so it is with assassins and emperors, hmm?" He stood out of his chair. "Yes, I must die; and you must deliver the blow. It is simply the way it is." He turned away from him, his arms behind his back. "But I wonder…would you suffer an old man a few more words before the deed is done?" A moment of silence, and Mede was sure it was going to stay that way.
"I'm listening," the assassin spoke out. Mede grew a sad smirk on his face.
"I thank you for your courtesy," he said, "You will kill me, I have accepted the fate. I know who it is that sent you after me, and I know of his real plan. Though he must be punished, his plan must be carried on. Everything I have done has only dragged down the Empire, the one Tiber Septim built. After I die today, the events to unfold will serve the Empire a higher purpose." Mede turned to the assassin. "Remind him to see to it that his plan does not fail." Mede turned back and stepped up to the window, looking out at the horizon.
"Onto the business at hand," he said, "believe me, it's for the best." were his last words. The assassin slowly approached him, and plunged the knife into his back. As his vision was going to black, the last thing he saw was the sunrise peeking up over the horizon.
Even in their world, news traveled fast. It wasn't long before the news had rocketed across Skyrim; only a week later for it to reach Cyrodiil and other places on Tamriel. It was a truly unsettling event, as businesses in Cyrodiil had increased in sales from people willing to put all their coin down for safety. Skyrim remained the same however; Mede's death really only stirred into everyday conversation, and who would be the next Emperor. This issue was discussed at the Imperial city only that same week by the Elder Council.
The large groups of councilors were frantically in conversation, throwing words at each other in argument before the High Chancellor slammed his hammer down.
"Order in the council!" the middle aged man shouted, "if we are to find a worthy individual eligible to take the throne, we must discuss it in discipline." The room quieted down to hear him speak. "It has been several days since Titus Mede II had passed; he has no heirs, and no other family to assume command. To ensure that we are not invaded for the power, we must find a quick but effective solution." One man stood; he was a Breton with brown hair and a small figure.
"If I may, High Chancellor Malvolan," he formally asked.
"Speak, Councilor Motierre," Malvolan said.
"Perhaps we should take a reactionary approach to solving this issue," he said, which raised some questioning gazes.
"Whatever do you mean, Amaund?" a female Imperial councilor questioned.
"I know of a man who would be considered more than eligible to assume the position," he stepped out from his representative desk and walked to where the rest of the council can see him. "His name is Arminius Constantine; he's an Imperial, and he was a Legate of the fourth legion, the one that ended the civil war in Skyrim about 4 years ago. He is a natural, gifted leader that his soldiers look up to."
"I see no reason for this soldier to assume the throne," spoke a male high elf councilor.
"What would you say if I told you this," he paused to let the dramatic effect take in, "he is a Dragonborn!" Several gasps were heard, and the room erupted in quiet argument with each other.
"Aye," a male Nord councilor stood up, "It is true that he is Dragonborn. Despite being an Imperial, he is very well respected among the citizens of Skyrim for his services to stop the dragons from returning. He is a true hero." The other Imperial councilor also chimed in.
"If he is Dragonborn, and he did save Nirn from the return of the dragons, then maybe we should consider what Councilor Motierre is offering us. The return of the Dragon blood lineage to the throne could be the inspiration that this weak Empire needs."
"This is absurd," the male High Elf councilor interrupted, "High Chancellor, the last of the Dragonborn died with Martin Septim two hundred years ago. Is Councilor Motierre insisting that a man comes out of the blue and happens to have a Dragons soul?"
"Calm yourselves councilors," Malvolan said, the room piping down. "What Councilor Motierre says can be very convincing, especially in a desperate time like this where the throne could be seized through war on Cyrodiil; this Council should be willing to take the risk. Whether he is Dragonborn or not, we cannot decide that for ourselves; but Arminius Constantine can prove it to us if he is." The High Chancellor looked down to Councilor Motierre. "It was you that brought his name up and backed it with the rumor of him being Dragonborn, so it is you who must see to it that he comes to Cyrodiil to face judgement."
"Yes, High Chancellor," Motierre acknowledged as he nodded his head.
"In the case that Councilor Motierre may be wrong, this session will continue," Malvolan looked back down to Motierre. "I will arrange for a Legionary convoy to escort you to Skyrim, you are dismissed."
The mountainous ridge above the forested areas of Falkreath held a thick fog that circled around the mountains, and coated the sky in a light gray. A man with a tall posture, as well as a bow in his left hand, stood on the pointy rock edge of one of the cliffs, taking in the beautiful surroundings of the Falkreath region. He wore mostly leather, with a hood covering his shiny mid-length black hair. His face had stubble, and his chin was lengthy and prominent. His peaceful thoughts were interrupted with twigs snapping at footsteps behind him.
"Arminius," came a low and rasp voice. Arminius was ignoring him, only paying attention to the calm. "The meat and skins are all packed, shall we head back?"
"I'll be with you, Hadvar," he replied, still staring out at the fog beauty. The two had been out on a hunting trip for tonight's and the next couple of days' dinner.
Arminius and Hadvar had been friends since they met during the Civil War six years ago, and their friendship stayed even after it. When he bought the property for his manor, Hadvar helped build it with him, and Arminius decided to let him stay with him and his wife.
"So what is it going to be, huh Hadvar?" Arminius said as he and Hadvar walked through the woods, "Venison soup again?" Hadvar chuckled.
"You're damn right it is," Hadvar replied.
"Dammit Hadvar," Arminius complained jokingly, "Haven't you ever heard of variety?"
"Do you prefer me to make salad?"
"Heh; Gods no."
They approached the large manor house that was located next to a lake which provided an excellent view. The stables came in their sights, where they saw a certain Dunmer in a white hood shirt, and a brown pair of pants and boots tending to the horses. The Dunmer woman turned to see Arminius and Hadvar with large sacks over their shoulders.
"I have Venison," Arminius said, making her give a light smile as she approached him. Her name was Jenassa; she used to be a mercenary, and if she had never met Arminius, then she probably wouldn't have ever smiled.
"Hadvar and I will get right on it, love," she replied, giving him a peck on the lips. She grabbed hold of the sack over his shoulder, and pulled it to herself, turning away to go with Hadvar back inside the house.
Arminius had changed out into something more comfortable for home, and he was now downstairs in his basement. He had a small stash of mead in one of his drawers, and as he got a bottle out, he noticed his one room that he barely touches. He thought to himself about the room, and then decided that he would take a look in it.
Opening the door, a bottle of relatively cheap but well brewed mead in his left hand, he took a gaze into the room that was being lit up by the light from the previous room. In it was a real sight; the place was stored with mannequins of previous armors he's worn, different display cases of weapons, artifacts and treasures that he has recovered in his previous adventures. He kept this room to remind him of all the countless journeys he went on before, and after fulfilling his goals as the Dragonborn. Each little piece of treasure told a story, dating back from him growing up on a farm in Cyrodiil, to training in the legion at 15 years of age, and coming to Skyrim by the time he was 18. It even marked his times when he spent six months in the Cidhna mine prison, fought in the war, and stopped the Dragons with his team.
The one thing that stood out to him was the sets of armors on the mannequins. The first was his Legionnaire armors, dating when he was just a simple Auxiliary, to a well-respected Legate when he fought in the three year Skyrim civil war. The next was his Blades armor, one that was a danger to him if he wore out in the open; he wore that armor while he was fighting the dragons and ended the crisis with the defeat of Alduin.
Arminius took a swig of his mead while he continued to bask in his former glory. The moments had turned to an hour, as he then heard the dinner bell ring. He turned toward the door, but took one last look at his armor sets before leaving.
Arminius, Hadvar, and Jenassa all sat down at the dinner table, with the venison soup in front of them. As they began to eat, there was a brief moment of silence before Jenassa broke it.
"When I was in town today, I heard of the Emperor Titus Mede being assassinated," she said plainly.
"What a shame," Arminius replied, rather not surprised, while still taking spoon-fulls of his soup.
"Who do you think will replace him?" Hadvar piped in. Arminius shrugged.
"Not sure; he doesn't have any heirs," he said, stirring his soup with his spoon. "Maybe another Civil War will break out over control of the throne."
"Where do you think we'll be if it does happen?" Hadvar asked.
"Right here, where we were assigned," Arminius said, "as we watch Cyrodiil get torn to pieces."
The three continued eating in silence, and when they were finished, Hadvar went to the kitchen to clean up the dishes. Eventually, Jenassa went to the back room to continue her Alchemy work, while Arminius and Hadvar conversed in the main living room together.
"…and I escaped, and never returned to Markarth again," Arminius was recollecting his time when he spent six months in Cidhna mine for being framed for conspiracy. Hadvar chuckled, despite hearing the story dozens of times.
"And the prisoner went on to save Nirn," Hadvar said. Arminius chuckled as well and took a swig of the mead in his hand. He gulped it down, and paused for a moment in silence.
"Hey Hadvar," he spoke up; Hadvar raising his brows to him.
"What is it?" he replied.
"About Mede's assassination, if it's really true," Arminius adjusted himself in his seat, "who do you think they are really looking for; to replace the throne, I mean?"
"Hmm," Hadvar nodded his head and pondered the question, "Have you ever thought about your true roots? Where you really came from?"
"That seems a little out of context, Hadvar," Arminius said, taking another sip of his drink.
"No, hear me out on this one, Arminius," Hadvar positioned himself forward. "You were in an orphanage for the first six years of your life with no clue on whom your real parents were, and you were adopted by a family and was raised on a farm. Flash forward fifteen years later, and you find out about your voice ability and the fact that you are the new and only known Dragonborn in Tamriel at the time. Have you ever thought about who your real parents were? Maybe they were royalty that they didn't accept."
"So," Arminius swallowed down a gulp, "you're suggesting that there may have been a Dragonblood sibling or cousin of the Septims that nobody knew about, and one of the sons or daughters of this unknown family of dragonborn had a child that they casted off into an orphanage, and it is me?"
"It's a possibility, just think about it," Hadvar said, beginning to use hand gestures to explain it to him. "The last of the Dragonborn was said to have died with Martin Septim at the end of the Oblivion crisis just over two hundred years ago; that is until you show up. Assuming that what I said is true, it could explain why you are a Dragonborn and why you were an orphan."
"You know, Hadvar," Arminius slouched back in his chair, "that actually makes a lot of sense, but what does that have to do with a new Emperor?"
"Maybe they are considering a reform that they can bring back the old ways," Hadvar explained, "You are very well known and respected as the Dragonborn amongst the people here in Skyrim, and even more in the Legion. Perhaps the imperial government recognizes you, and is looking for you at this moment, to return the Dragonblood lineage to the throne?"
"I doubt it," he said. "Even if they did, what could I do? I grew up on a farm for the Divines' sake."
They spent the next few moments in silence, Arminius occasionally sipping from his mead bottle.
"So where do you think the Blades are right now?" Hadvar spoke up. This bought an uneasy feeling to Arminius.
"Probably still in their little Temple, doing nothing but study Dragons," Arminius replied, rather coldly.
"Arminius, I know you had a falling out with them a while back…" Hadvar started.
"It's nothing for you to worry about, Hadvar," Arminius said, "They're in the past now."
"Which explains why you still have that set of Armor downstairs," Hadvar said. Arminius looked down; it was hard for him to explain. "Look, I didn't mean to remind you, I just…" Hadvar sighed.
"It's okay," Arminius said, "I just need to learn to let go of it."
R&R