Part One: The Man in Black and Red
There are many in Tamriel who say the swamps and marshland of Argonia, known to many as the land of Black Marsh, are the most beautiful regions of the continent. The cool hues of the waters and trees, it all blends together perfectly like a beautiful watercolour. In the centre of the province lies its capital city of Helstrom. In days past, the city of Stormhold served as Argonia's capital city, the seat of its government and monarchy, but after the ruin left in the wake of Umbriel, Helstrom became the seat of power in the homeland of the Saxhleel. Due to the old walls surrounding it, Helstrom was exceptionally defendable, to say nothing of the treacherous marsh spreading for acres on end that any attackers would need to trudge through.
Atop the natural hill where the city was built, a palace lay, built in the traditional Argonian style making use of natural caves coupled with brickwork of the people's more civilised manner. The result reminded one of a huge, beige stone tree, towers and spires growing up like branches, rooted into the hillside itself. On the steps of the palace, leading to a gate in the walls, three young children strolled up happily, basking in the late morning sun, approaching the guardsmen keeping watch.
The oldest of the three, a mere slip of an Argonian hatchling boy, confidently bounded up to the guard.
"Can we come in?" He asked in his most grown-up voice, which came out of his adolescent throat as nothing more than a squeak.
The Breton guard looked down upon the group, two hatchlings and an Imperial child, and frowned slightly. "His Grace and the royal family are indisposed, young ones. I'm afraid the young prince will not be out today."
"Oh" was the only word the Argonian boy could let out.
"And on whose authority is this on?"
The voice, flowing and regal like silk, came from a woman, standing behind the guard, flanked by her handmaiden and a personal bodyguard. She, an Argonian like two of the children, glared at the guard like a crocodile sizing up its meal, with almost camouflage-like green scales and piercing eyes of blue. The guard, all colour drained from his sun-bronzed skin, stepped back, bowing low to the Queen of Argonia.
"Uh...the general, your Highness," the guard murmured. "Direct orders from your husband."
"Well, I order otherwise," the Queen retorted, turning to the children. "Come, children. Let us go release my son from his father's droning."
The hatchling boy bowed to the Queen, as the two girls curtsied, pinching the tails of their skirts. "Thank you, your Grace."
Her Royal Highness led the children through the palace grounds, into the centralmost spire at the base of the palace. Behind the hulking metal doors, the throne room opened up, resplendently decorated with thick rugs and banners featuring the golden crown over the Hist tree insignia of Argonia's kingdom. In the centre of the room, His Eminence was lecturing regarding the history of the nation. King Siskeeth III sat on the throne, cut from the wood of an ancient Hist tree, inlaid with gold and a seat made of silk, and his first and only child was cross-legged in front of him.
"Now, son," he said, his voice deep and calm, as a King's voice should be, "who freed several of our kind from slavery across Morrowind at the end of the Third Era?"
I pondered for a second, trying to think of the correct answer as I gazed at my father's dark turquoise scales. Many of our servants had commented that I looked so much like my mother; I had her scales, green like leaves, and her long tail. However, my father and I definitely shared our curved horns and eyes, slitted pupils and yellow-gold like the sun.
"It was the Nerevarine," my mother called from the doorway. "Anything that happened in the Third Era in Morrowind was probably her."
"Daran!" My father called, slightly annoyed by her answering a question meant for me. Since I was to be king sometime in the future, he expected me to be familiar with the history of our land and people. Which meant I was always reading and learning from history scholars.
"Husband, you two have been in here for hours now." Mother's voice was stern and disapproving; it was her wish for me to have some semblance of a childhood before the responsibility of the throne was passed to me. "I think our prince has earned some time with his friends."
I could hear my father fuming, so much so that you could hook meat to his horns to cook, but he gave in. "Back inside by sunset."
"Wanna drink?" Nika asked, as we made our way towards the palace's south wall. A small creek ran from a natural spring within the hill, out of the palace grounds through a rusted metal grate. Nearly every day for years, my friends and I would sneak out into the marshes behind Helstrom to play together ('play' being a loose term; as we neared adulthood, mostly we sat on the banks of the marshland and sipped liquor we'd pinched from our parents. I may have been a prince, but I was still an adolescent.) Dislodging the grate, we crept down the mountainside and disappeared into the trees.
"What do you got today, Anna?" Tan asked the tan-skinned, brunette Imperial girl, Annalise. Her father ran an inn in Helstrom's upper ring, the district closest to the palace, and she often 'borrowed' some liquors from her father's cellar.
"Thee-lool, I think," she told him, prompting the three of us to laugh at her butchery of the Argonian language of Jel.
"It's pronounced 'thay-lul'," Nika's voice was breathless with laughter. "Don't feel bad; I've yet to meet a human that can talk Jel at all."
Anna blushed slightly at our jokes, as we continued through the woodlands until we reached the banks. Above a reed-covered lake, the midday sky blazed through the clearing in the forest. Sunlight bounced off the waters like arrows on steel, shining wondrously.
"How's the education going, your Highness?" Tan, the other boy with us, turned to me and said, jokingly bowing. Tan-Rei and I had known each other nearly all of our lives; his father, a Deelith in the Temple of the Hist, served as a confidant and religious advisor to my own.
I turned to him and smiled. "Let's just say I'd rather listen to your father preaching for six hours straight."
Tan chuckled, his purplish scales glistening in the sunlight. A handsome lad, but there was little of him; skinny and tall, with a long tuft of feathers atop his long skull and beady grey eyes. Our foursome sat by the lakeside, on the soft grassy knoll that slipped down to the lip of the waters. I made sure to sit on a blanket I'd brought from the palace, since my mother would have strung me up by my tail if I came home to the palace with grass stains on my breeches.
Nika opened the bottle of theilul, releasing the sweet aroma into the air around us, a light scent like roses. She lifted the bottle to her burnt-scaled lips and took a mouthful of the syrupy liquor, before wincing to force it down. The poor girl wasn't too accustomed to drinking like this; living in an orphanage didn't afford many opportunities to sip and savour delicate liquor.
My mind turned back to the first time I'd met the girl, when both of us were around eight years from hatching. The bitterly cold winds of Sun's Dusk had arrived in Helstrom, as well as the frequent rains from the south. A servant of ours had been sent to the palace's cellar to procure some Surilie Brothers' wine, and instead of the bottles, they'd found a young hatchling girl who'd found her way in, shivering and feverish from the cold. My mother took her and cared for her until she regained her strength, but my father refused to allow her to stay afterwards, despite my mother and I both pleading on her behalf. Instead, she returned to the orphanage, but with a promise that she would have a home in the palace as one of my mother's handmaidens when she came of age.
Nika passed the bottle to Anna, her face giving away that she was struggling to keep the stuff down. The Imperial took a very quick mouthful and swallowed it down hard, a style of drinking more fitted to an aged alcoholic than a teenage human girl. She told me often of her serving and cleaning work for her father, tales that made me glad of my privileged life, and it was plain to see where she'd learned to drink.
The bottle made its way to Tan, who took a mouthful, savouring the thick drink before taking it down with a powerful swallow. Impressive as it would have been, the charm was somewhat lost when he began to retch, struggling to keep the theilul in his stomach. Luckily for his ego, he managed to avoid making a mess of the grass and thus, avoided the relentless mocking that would have ensued.
And Tan passed the bottle to me, finally. The brown glass of the funnel was cool on the skin of my hand, as I lifted it to my mouth. The syrup flowed onto my tongue, the sugary liquor dancing on my tastebuds. Theilul, made by distilling sugarcane juice and molasses together, had a significantly different taste to rum: rum's sweetness is overwhelming, as well as the burn of the liquor, whereas theilul is distinctly softer on the palate. As the syrup flowed into my belly, the warmth of the liquor spread through me. Unlike my friends, a lifetime of sipping wine with foreign dignitaries, politicians and monarchs had accustomed my stomach to the poison of spirits, so drinking it did nothing to make me wince or retch.
The four of us lay back on the grass, gazing up into the blue skies over the marshland, and happily talked together.
The sun had begun to fall before we made our way back to the city. Going back was always much more difficult than leaving; not for any other reason than that the trek uphill was death on my legs. As I broke open the rusted grate once again, I turned towards the pathway through the woods, where Tan, Anna and Nika were casually strolling back to the upper district of the city. There had been times when I wished to go with them, even for a time, however I was at too much risk; I could end up locked in a cellar somewhere, being held for ransom. Creeping off to the marshes would have to suffice for now.
"So you're the prince?"
The man's voice was a sly whisper, a grating, rough voice that seemed to cut through me like a dull blade. He himself, an older Argonian with scales of a dirty green colour, like swamp mud, that were beginning to fade and turn translucent with age, stared at me with eyes like orange daggers. Two thin fins jutted out from the side of his skull, torn and scarred from what looked like battle battery.
"Do I look like a serving boy?" I snapped at him, gesturing to the cotton buckled tunic that was probably worth more than the soldier's commission for the year.
His eyes widened slightly in shock and bemusement. "A sharp tongue."
"Observant." I narrowed my eyes at the old man. "Who are you?"
He...chuckled. The only way to describe the deep half-laughing sound was 'chuckle'. "Nobody you need to concern yourself with, child. I doubt we will meet again."
"I will concern myself with this if I see fit to. I am your future king, and I demand to know who you are."
The man turned away, the sword strapped to his hunched back glinting in the setting sun's rays. "I don't have a king." Before the man disappeared behind the steps down towards the higher district, I heard his rasping voice call to me one more time. "Goodbye, Prince Demerinei." Normally, such a phrase I'd have brushed off, but just looking at this man made every scale on my body crawl. And in his voice, the words became...foreboding. Cryptic. As if there were a meaning behind them that was obscured to me.
These thoughts melted away, as I was pulled back to Nirn by my father calling for me. But the strange Argonian man's face lingered in the back of my mind. His was a face I'd never forget as long as I lived.
I remember that night as vividly as if it were unfolding before me. Weeks had passed since I'd seen the peculiar Argonian man in the palace gardens, and my slumber was disturbed by the dense odour of smoke billowing from behind my door. I stayed in bed, half-praying that it was simply a nightmare, but my fears were founded when the wood of the door splintered, ominous black smoke flowing into the room.
"My lord!" The man behind the door bellowed to me. "Come, you're in grave danger!"
"Who are you? What's happened?" I asked him, my voice still rough from sleep.
"This is no time, young prince, you must forgive me," he told me, grabbing clothing and what supplies he could find in my bedroom. "Dress, please, we have to leave."
"Why?"
"You'll know everything you need to when we've reached safety. Quickly!"
I heaved my heavy body from the bed, keeping low to avoid breathing the dense smoke in the room. From the armoire, I took out one of my tunics, belting it up around my waist. The man was still piling my things in a knapsack, his scales glowing burgundy in the torchlight. Panic was evident on his face, his maw was dropping and his small blue eyes wide in fear. His fear infected me, as the gnawing in the pit of my stomach grew with each passing moment.
With all my education in the royal affairs, there were certain things I still knew little of. Whether my father did not wish me to know these things, I was unsure, but I knew enough to figure out the identity of this man. Not a simple guard or servant, his armour was not the steel plate that most of the royal guard wore; his was red and black dyed leather, enchanted to be silent in movement but sturdy in battle. His boots made no noise as he walked, regardless of the heft of his footfalls, and his face was covered by a black cloth cowl. The man was part of an organisation the royal family only used in dire circumstances, for protection, preemptive attacks and assassinations: the Shadowscales.
The assassin and I moved quickly through the upper floor, where smoke from the fire had formed an almost opaque barrier. Servants screamed in horror, guards panicked, bellowing orders at each other as they frantically tried to douse the flames. Those with magical prowess attempted to tackle the fires with frost magic, while others battled with buckets of water. In the confusion, I caught sight of the source of the smoke.
Gods, no.
The Shadowscale half-dragged me through the stone hallways, frantically searching for an escape from the palace. We remained hidden from sight, for some reason only the Shadowscale knew. Luckily, the guards were all occupied attempting to extinguish the flames, and we escaped the palace through the tall doors.
"I have a horse waiting," the Shadowscale explained. "We must flee the city. You're no longer safe, child."
"I'll go nowhere with you," I growled, "until you tell me what's happening."
The tall Argonian man worked on saddling up the horse, until he eventually sighed. "There's been a fire."
My eyes looked up at him, a sorrowful expression on his face. "I guess it wasn't an accident?"
The Shadowscale shook his head. "I apologise, my prince, but time is of the essence. You must trust me."
My foot moved, almost without me noticing, as I took a step back from the shadowed killer. "Why should I? You're a Shadowscale, a murderer."
Anger flashed in the Shadowscale's small, blue eyes, as he bared his teeth slightly. "I may be a murderer, but I'm a murderer who has sworn fealty to your family. I am bound to protect you with my life."
Before I could protest, the assassin had me on the horse, and the horse galloped off through the streets of Helstrom. For a second, I turned back to the palace, gazing up into the regal spires growing out from the hill. Flames burst through the windows of the royal bedrooms, smoke drifting up from them like ghosts rising up to the heavens, and I felt the wetness of tears between the scales of my face, as the Shadowscale and I fled to the roads out of the city.
The sun began to rise over the tops of the cedar trees, growing in the midst of the marshlands, as I awoke from my state of semi-consciousness. The Shadowscale and I were still atop his stallion, trotting slowly along the dirt pathway. Somehow, we had managed to escape the city and had moved into the wilderness of Black Marsh itself. The horse had grown exhausted, having ridden from the small hours of the morning until dawn with no rest, and eventually stopped with no energy to press on. I dragged my tired body down from the saddle, struggling to avoid collapsing from my own tiredness, but I kept a tall stance, mustering as much of my royal authority as I could.
"You owe me answers, Shadowscale," I barked to him, despite knowing most of them in my heart already. "I want to know what happened last night, and I want to know now."
From a storm that occurred Sithis-knew-how-long ago, a dead tree had fallen onto the banks of the marshwater, where the Shadowscale perched. "My prince," he sighed, "I think you should sit."
Had I not been so exhausted, I would have ignored his suggestion, but I sat next to the man on the fallen tree, making the branches dip into the water.
Before speaking, the Shadowscale took a deep, ragged breath, gazing up towards the receding darkness of the dawning sky. "Sithis knows you're a strong lad, my prince, but this will be as difficult for you to hear as it is for me to say.
"The flames you saw as we fled the palace, they were no accident, as you said. Our Sanctuary's leader received an anonymous tip that the Morag Tong had reformed in Morrowind, for one more great assassination." Strange... The Shadowscale's voice had a hint of longing in it. "It didn't take us long to conclude their targets. The Dark Brotherhood and the Tong had always been able to outmaneuver each other. As soon as my leader had the information, he ordered me to Helstrom to try and prevent it, but I didn't make it. The same instant I arrived in the city, the flames had grown too large to fight. I only had time to get to your bedchamber, but your parents-"
"Don't say it," I whispered, tears coming forth in my eyes and sorrow choking my lungs. "This is fallacy. A cruel joke."
"Demerinei," the Shadowscale whispered, his own sorrow forcing an edge to my name, "your parents are dead."
My heart stopped dead in my chest. Breathing seemed the most arduous task I'd ever had to do in that instant, as the air flowing into my lungs felt sharp and ragged, as if it were tearing the flesh of my throat. The hackles on my arms and the back of my neck rise, rage boiling in my stomach.
"Who..." My voice was little more than a guttural growl. "...ordered it?"
The Shadowscale spat on the ground, more for show of rage than any real need. "Wan-Xeera, the damned traitor. Leader of the An-Xileel, the anti-monarchist organisation behind the Umbriel crisis a century ago. He came to see your father a few weeks ago to discuss more power for them, but he was turned away."
That must have been him. The finned Argonian man I met in the palace gardens.
"Damn," I whispered in sheer, blinding rage. "I should have killed that rat bastard when I had the chance. He was skulking around the palace gardens as I was coming in."
"You may be strong," the Shadowscale said, "but you're no killer, young prince."
"That can change."
Despite the crippling sorrow and blinding rage the two of us were suffering through, we shared an awkward chuckle at my budding murderous tendencies. For countless moments, silence fell over the two of us as I reined in my emotions. For now, we needed to get to safety. Grief could wait.
"Where are we going?" I asked, trying to make some sense of these events.
The Shadowscale sucked through his teeth, clearly trying to control his own anger as well. "Black Marsh isn't safe, I don't think. I have a friend in Leyawiin, through the Blackwood into Cyrodiil. She runs an inn, so we'll have work and a place to stay."
I nodded slowly. For now, safety for myself and the Shadowscale was priority. For perhaps an hour or two, he and I simply rested, partaking in some of the water and food he'd brought with him. Once the mare had rested and grazed some, it came time for us to continue on our way.
From the knapsacks on his horse, the Shadowscale drew several weapons; an oakwood bow and quiver of arrows, a longsword and one-handed axe made of tempered steel. Gesturing to them, he asked which I was most proficient with.
My eyes scanned the weapons, trying to reclaim the knowledge of weaponry through the haze of my mind. "The bow, I think. My father always said my aim was better than his. Whether that meant it was good or his lacked, I don't know."
"Good enough," he said, passing me the bow and quiver. I fixed them around my shoulder, as he took the longsword, fixing its sheath to his hip.
"We must move," he ordered gruffly, as he readied the stallion once again. "We'll go north past Gideon, then through the Blackwood. The ride will be about a week long."
Minutes later, the two of us were on the road again, making our way through the marshlands of my home, that I was unlikely to gaze upon for a long time.
"Shadowscale," I asked. "What do I call you?"
"I go by Teeka-Tei, these days," he told me. "You call yourself Pajux-Tai. Safer this way."
