"Champion of Cyrodiil!"

The words rang in his head over and over again as he staggered towards the looming shadow of Cloud Ruler Temple. It had taken him nearly a week to meander from the ruined Imperial City to west of Bruma.

He had fought so hard for a country not his own. Given up so much. He was from Valenwood, a Wood Elf, not an Imperial. He had come to Cyrodiil about a year ago, searching for something his homeland could not offer. Somehow or another he had ended up in prison, where a chance encounter had landed him in a situation he had never even dreamed of.

Now, after adventures into dangerous dungeons and fights with deadly deadra, it was over. Nearly half a year of danger, excitement, anxiety, joy and much sadness and it was over. He felt drained; emotionally, physically and psychologically. After the final battle in the Imperial City, fighting against overwhelming odds as deadra poured in from numerous gates and as Mehrunes Dagon himself appeared, he had stayed long enough after the end to hear Chancellor Ocato talk to him and then departed.

Badly injured from powerful deadra and dremora, he had no idea where to go. He briefly toyed with the idea of going to Chorrol, where Moderyn Oryen of the Fighter's Guild might help, but it had been embarrassing enough waking up from a hist sap stupor in his house. He might be a brother there, but he had brothers and sisters elsewhere that he could turn to. So he went to Cloud Ruler Temple.

It got colder and colder the farther north he went. His wounds festered quickly and he burned with fever despite the chill. His delirious mind played the events of the final battle over and over in his mind, especially the part when he realized that Martin was never coming back, that Cyrodiil was still without an emperor. To him the words in his new title, "Champion of Cyrodiil" were a mockery. If he hadn't restored Martin to the throne then he didn't deserve it.

The steep path to the temple proved too much for his weakened body and he fell into the snow, giving in to the overwhelming urge to sleep.

Up on the battlements of Cloud Ruler Temple, Caroline saw something fall into the snow and lie still. She could tell it a person but she couldn't see specifically who it was. Turning she called out to her fellow Blades to go rescue the person, if he still lived. Unable to leave her post but able to see all that went on, she watched as 2 sturdy males ran down the path to the still form. She heard voices but was unable to pick out individual words. She felt a slight breath of relief when she saw them gently pick up the person's body and carefully made their way back up the path. As they got closer, she recognized the prone form; the tall strong Wood Elf that had destroyed the Great Gate, saved Bruma and other Cryodillic cities, retrieved the Amulet of Kings and destroyed Mankar Camoran and his evil paradise. It was the Champion, and he was covered in blood.

Author's note; I had just beaten the game and the plot bunny bit me pretty hard as I watched the end (and checked my health meter…) so I sat down at the computer (so conveniently close to the TV) and wrote. I meant for this to be a one-shot but I think it's about to become a full-blown story. Enjoy! REVIEWS WELCOMED!!!!!

-Vanillathunder215