Don't forget to check out the Aesir Basics to get up to speed on the lore used below.I recommend keeping it open in another tab. Just in case. :D
CHAPTER I
-Skjoldur-
The king paced the stone halls of his palace, as his wife's anguished screams of pain echoed loudly off the old walls.
He twirled a long twist of hair around his ringed finger, his nerves rattling him. Nursemaids ran in and out of his bed chamber, carrying blood stained sheets and crimson tinged water.
"Gods protect my wife. And my child." he murmured, wincing as the screaming continued.
Suddenly, the night was silent. The air was still, and Skjoldur feared the worst. A nursemaid stumbled out of the dimly lit room, her breathing ragged, and her hands shaking.
"What happened?" The king demanded, grabbing the nurse by the shoulders.
The girl gasped, fearful of the enraged king.
He pushed her aside, and threw open the wooden door.
Skjoldur's wild eyes grazed the room before finding peace on the sight of his beaming wife, laying among the twisted and bloodied sheets. In her arms was a bundle swathed with the Aesir gold and purple.
The kings held breath came out in a satisfied stream, and he drifted to his queen's side.
"The gods smiled on us today." He whispered, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.
Artanis sighed in content, stroking a finger down her newborns soft cheek.
Skjoldur looked upon the baby's innocent face, his heart soaring with the joy that came with fatherhood. "Hello, little one." He whispered, offering a strong finger to the infant.
It took a hold, and the king laughed with excitement. "Ah! What hands! You'll wield a blade well with a grip like that!"
"Now, Skjouldur. Perhaps he will prefer a bow. Or an axe."
"No matter what he wields, I can assure you he will wield it well."
"Would you like to hold him?"
Skjoldur nodded, reaching for his son.
The boy nestled in his arms, and the king felt a tear drip down his cheek. "He's perfect."
The boy squirmed a bit, before letting out a long cry.
Skjoldur winced at the sound, as it pierced the silent night.
"Well his lungs certainly work." He murmured, handing the child back to his mother. "He could kill with that voice."
Artanis chuckled, shushing the baby softly. "What shall we call you?" She cooed to him.
Skjoldur ran his thumb across the babies brow. "Sicarius." He whispered. "Sicarius Aesir."
"Yes." Artanis agreed, kissing her husbands cheek. "Sicarius."
The proud new parents smiled, admiring their new son.
The next of the mighty Aesir line.
Sicarius Aesir...Assassin of The Gods.
5 Years Later
-Skjoldur-
Skjoldur sighed with exhaustion, running his hand across his fevered brow as he once more analyzed the map indicating the armies who threatened his kingdom. Camped on his doorstep...He could hardly bear it. He could almost hear his father's scolding. 'You are weak, Skjoldur. You rule limply, when you should be bringing a stone fist down on your kingdom!'
Ignis Aesir was never known to have been exceedingly kind. Even to his own son. The kingdom lived in horror when he ruled. High taxes they could not dispute, constant aggression from his militarized guards, and strict laws forbidding any type of outside contact.
But...The kingdom knew peace. No harm came to his people, and the kingdom was safe. But unhappy.
When Skjoldur ascended, he brought light back to his people. They lived a carefree existence, trusting in their good king, and remaining oblivious to the dangers which lurked in the shadows. Dangers Skjoldur feared he could not defeat.
"Brother." Dommer boomed, bursting in to the kings study.
"Whatever news you bring let it be good."
"Afraid not. Scouts report a massive Orc army being formed near Windhelm. Led by Urshbar."
"Urshbar?" Skjoldur whispered in disbelief. "After all I've done for him, he betrays me."
"Theres more." Dommer said quietly.
Skjoldur glanced at his brother, and he could feel the load of worry worsen.
"I sent some men to Falkreath. When I did not recieve word I sent a second party. I recieved a letter bearing the symbol of the dark brotherhood. And Captain Valion's head."
Skjoldur ran a hand over his heavy eyes. "Damn assassins."
"Skully." Dommer whispered. "I fear for this kingdom."
"No. We are Aesirs. We do not fear anything!" Skjoldur screamed.
Dommer took a step back.
"We will win this. Even if I have to kill every goddamn soldier in Tamriel on my own!"
"Father?"
The brothers whipped around to see little Sicarius standing in the doorway. He held a cloth wrapped parcel against his chest,
"Not now, Sicarius. I have things to discuss with your uncle."
The boy's face dropped, and Skjoldur's heart shattered as he recalled his own father saying the same words to him when he was young.
"I'm sorry. We will talk later, Dommer." The king patted his brothers shoulder, and beckoned for Sicarius. "Come here, my son."
Sicarius grinned widely, and ran to his father. He dropped the large object on the table with a grunt, and scrambled in to his fathers lap.
"What is this?"
The boy removed the cloth, revealing the golden book of the Aesir family tree. It's jewel encrusted cover glinted in the candle light, and drew out a gasp from the child.
"I found it in the Trophy room." He said.
"Sicarius this was locked up on a pedestal." Skjoldur said.
Sicarius shrugged. "I found the key."
The king chuckled, ruffling the boys raven hair. "You rascal."
"Mother said it is special."
"Yes. Indeed it is."
What is it?"
"It's our history."
"What's h...His...tery." He struggled at the new word, his brows crinkling together as he said it.
"History is the past. Everything that our family has done is in this book." Skjoldur gently lifted the cover, revealing the embossed pages inside.
"Like a story?"
"Yes. Like a story."
"Can you read it to me?"
Skjoldur smiled, watching his son awe over the book, and run his tiny hands over each etched word.
"I suppose you're old enough." He said, settling in to the chair for the lengthly tale. Sicarius laughed excitedly, bringing the book closer for Skjoldur to begin reading.
Skjoldur cleared his throat.
"You see, Sicarius. We Aesir's were the first to walk this earth."
"Even before the elves?"
"Yes. Long before the elves."
"But...All the books say elves came first. Why aren't Aesir's in the books before elves?"
"Because the Aesir's are in this book." Skjoldur said, patting the page. "This is all the history we need."
Sicarius nodded, and leaned in for more.
"Aesir's were created in a god's image. Which god do you think it was?"
The child squeezed his eyes shut, thinking.
"Who sits in the middle of the pantheon?"
"Akatosh!" He squealed.
"That's right. We were created in Akatosh's image. Being in his image, we were made strong, intelligent, powerful, gifted in battle."
"Mother says we were made handsome too."
The king laughed, nodding. "Handsome too. The first Aesir was named Primitus. First of The Gods." Skjoldur pointed to the top of the page, where the firstborn's name was written. "Akatosh put him in the land known as Atmora."
"Where is Atmora?"
"It's very very far north of here. Across the sea."
"Why don't we live in Atmora anymore?"
"Well if you stop asking questions I'll tell you." Skjoldur teased.
Sicarius sighed, but allowed his father to continue.
"Mara, the goddess of love, was in love with Akatosh. She would do anything for him. So, Akatosh had her make a creation of her own. A woman. Her name has been lost, but Primitus fell in love with her. They had two sons. Ysgramor, and Judex."
"I know Ysgramor! He built the city of Windhelm!"
"Yes. That's right sicarius. Judex and Ysgramor sailed across the sea to Skyrim. And together they built Windhelm."
"Were they both king?"
"No. Ysgramor was king for a time, and then his son, Ylgor was king. He died, and Judex took the throne."
"Oh."
Skjoldur continued down the line, all the way to Kongur, who made the decision to move the palace to Solitude.
"Kongur thought Solitude would help with trade, and bring in more money. Or rather, Lucrum did."
"Lucrum?"
"Kongur's advisor and youngest brother. The only one who moved with him to Solitude. Do you know what Lucrum means?"
Sicarius shook his head.
"Greed." Skjoldur informed. "After Kongur, Pando took the throne, Caedis became the general, and his twin sons Verto and Eurus trained the armies."
"Both of them?"
"Yes. It is said, they used to tie together in battle, and whirl around like a storm."
The child giggled. "That would be funny to see."
"Yes. I'm sure it was quite a sight." Skjoldur smiled, running his finger further down the line. "Pando's son was Ignis. My father, and your grandfather. And then me. And your mother and I had you."
"We have a lot of history."
"Yes we do. A history you will help continue."
"When I'm king?"
"When you're king."
The boy marvelled over the book some more, and Skjoldur rubbed his tired eyes.
"Is he still awake?"
Skjoldur shot his eyes to the door, where Artanis had her brow raised, and her arms crossed. "A thousand pardons, my love. I was only showing him our history."
"Well history is not excuse enough to be awake this late."
"But mother." Sicarius whined, yawning against his fathers chest. "I'm not sleepy."
"Of course not." She said, reaching for the boy.
"Do not trouble yourself, Artanis. I'll put him down." Skjoldur stood up with a groan, holding his son close as he left the study.
"Alright. Goodnight, my child." Artanis whispered, kissing the boys cheek.
"Goodnight, mother." He replied, already dozing on the kings shoulder.
She gave her husband a kiss too, and whispered a quick "I will wait for you in the bedchamber." Before letting him carry the boy to bed.
Skjoldur tucked Sicarius beneath his woven covers, patted the top of his head, and was almost to the door when the boy spoke.
"Father? How many people have you killed?"
Skjoldur turned to his son, taken aback by his question. "Why would you ask such a thing?"
"Every king I've read about has killed people. How many have you killed?"
The king pondered a moment, and took to his sons side once more. "Sicarius...You have to understand that killing is not some kind of sport to be played. It is not a competition who can kill the most. Taking a life is done only when absolutely necessary."
"Why did you say you were going to kill everyone in tamriel?"
Skjoldur sighed, wishing he did not have to explain this to the boy. "Because if that's what it takes to keep you safe, thats what I will do."
"But what if the people you kill are just trying to protect people they love?"
Skjoldur took his sons hand in his. "Listen to me Sicarius. When you are king, you will understand. Sometimes A king must kill for what he loves. He goes to war when his kingdom faces danger. It is his duty to protect his people. You must fight for what you love, or it will be lost."
"I want to learn to fight! I want to be just like you and fight wars! And win!" Sicarius said, grinning from ear to ear.
"My hope is that you won't have to fight wars."
"But I need to know how to fight. What kind of king will I be if I can't?"
"A compassionate one. Violence is not always the solution. A great king fights with words, and kindness. He keeps his kingdom safe through his love. Not his sword."
"Can I be both? A lover and a fighter?"
Skjoldur smiled a little, ruffling the boys hair. "You will be, Sicarius. You will be. But for now, you must sleep. Do not poison your mind with thoughts of war. You are still young. Such sadness is not fit for young minds."
Sicarius nodded obediently, laying his head on his pillow.
Skjoldur stroked a wild strand of raven hair from the boys eyes, once more marvelling at how much he resembled his mother. "Sleep well, my little king." He placed a kiss upon the child's forehead before once more leaving him to sleep.
Skjöldur closed his sons door, his heart heavy with sadness. He crossed his arms over his chest and made the slow walk to his own bedchambers.
"Your majesty."
He looked behind him and saw his General giving a slight bow.
"What news do you bring under the moon?" He asked
"The scouts have returned. They report a massive encampment near the border."
"I do not wish to be rude, general. But every army in Tamriel is descending upon us. You will have to be more specific."
"It's the Imperials."
Skjöldur sighed, scratching his beard. "How long will it take them to get here?"
"If they went without rest, I would say four days. Five if we're lucky. ."
"Pick three hundred good men. Meet the bastards on the road at the Bonechill pass. Jam up the middle and kill as many as you can."
"Yes sir." The General ran off down the hall, leaving the king alone.
Skjöldur pushed open the door to his lavish bedding quarters. Artanis lay on the bed, dressed in a sheer nightgown, awaiting her husband.
"Did Sicarius go down easily?"
"He did." Skjöldur said, removing his crown and sitting on the bed.
"What plagues your mind?"
"Our son believes a king must wage war to be a good ruler."
"Skjöldur. He is but a boy. He does not know any better yet."
"My son is being brought up in chaos. He watches his father send men to their death, to keep control of a crumbling kingdom."
"You mustn't think that way. You are a beloved king. There has never been a better king than you."
"A better king would not lay awake in bed, terrified about not seeing another sun rise."
"I trust your judgement. And Sicarius does as well."
Skjöldur looked to his wife, his severe expression softening at the sight of her.
"Oh Artanis." He whispered, placing a kiss on her forehead. "I just wish there could be peace."
"History does not remember the kings of peace."
"I would prefer a record-less rule to constant fear. Perhaps my father was right."
"You are not your father." Artanis reminded. "The people adore you. They will follow you to the death if that is what is required of them. You know they trust in you."
"I know. And I do not wish to let them down without a fight."
"Nor will you."
Skjoldur laid with his wife in his arms, drifting in to the alert sleep of an anxious king.
-four days later-
The king jolted from his sleep to the sound of yelling and clanging bells. His wife, clutching his chest, she whispered, "What is it?"
Skjoldur's heart froze within him, his blood ceasing in his veins and his bones turning to stone.
"It's begun." He said, leaping out of bed. "Go fetch Sicarius, and get to the throne room! Hurry!"
Artanis nodded, rushing to their sons room. Skjoldur strapped his sword around his waist, and set his crown on his head. He stared at his reflection, wondering if the gods would allow him to do it again the next sunrise.
He strode through the chaotic halls, the sounds of the battle waging outside only fuelling him further. This was his kingdom. He would see it burn before he surrendered it. He would die before he gave up.
Such was the Aesir way.
"Skjoldur!" Dommer panted, jogging alongside the king. The hefty Nord was covered in sweat and blood, still wielding his battle axe with the glimmer of war in his eye.
"What are we up against?"
"Imperials are trying to break down the south gate. Orcs at the north. Archers surrounding us."
"How many men are at the north gate?"
"Twenty? Maybe less."
"How many to the south?"
"Fifty strong."
"Take thirty of them and keep those orcs back. They get in here, and this kingdom falls."
"Yes, sir." Dommer said, running off again.
Skjoldur gripped the hilt of his fathers sword, and climbed the twisting staircase to the ramparts. Beneath the midnight sky, his countryside burned. The great windmill set aflame, filling the air with thick billowing smoke. He looked skyward, and for the first time in his life...Skjoldur questioned whether or not the gods were looking back.
-Artanis-
"Mother where are we going?" Sicarius said sleepily as the queen rushed around his room, packing his satchel for whatever was to come.
"I do not know, little one. Somewhere safe."
"Where is father?"
Artanis glanced at her son, and sighed. "He'll be along." She finally said, though she herself could hear the uncertainty of it.
"I want to go back to bed." Sicarius whined, and let out a soft sob.
"Sicarius listen to me." Artanis took her son by the shoulders, sweeping the wild dark curls from his eyes. "I need You to be very, very brave tonight. No matter what happens."
"But what is going to happen?" He asked.
She felt the sting of tears, and pulled the boy close to her. "I do not know." She admitted. "But you must promise me you will be brave."
"I promise, mother."
She kissed his cheek, taking a moment to hold him. It killed her, not knowing if she would live to do it again. "Come now. We must hurry." Artanis fastened the buttons of the satchel, and scooped up Sicarius.
She carried him hurriedly through the stone halls, which echoed with the sounds of battle outside.
"Mother wait!" Sicarius squealed, wriggling out of his mothers arms. He ran in to the study, wrapping up a book which lay open on the table in cloth.
"Sicarius we do not have time to-" Artanis froze as she saw the gold and jewels of the Book Aesir.
The boy held if close to his chest, looking up at his mother.
"Put it in here." She said, opening the satchel hurriedly. He stuffed it down, closing the leather flap and hurrying along with the boy in tow.
-Skjoldur-
The king gave a grunt, as he buried his sword deep within the red chest of the imperial intruder. But no matter how many he slay, more of them poured through the crushed gate.
"My king!" Dommer screamed from atop the rampart. "Tullius approaches! You must flee!"
Skjoldur stabbed another Imperial and looked to his brother. "But the gate! You cannot hold it alone!"
"And this kingdom cannot be ruled without a king."
Skjoldur nodded solemnly at his brother, sharing a wordless farewell. He dashed back in to the castle, leaving the waging battle behind him.
He burst in to the throne room, where Artanis was holding Sicarius and pacing in front of Skyrim's seat of power.
"How is he?" Skjoldur whispered, placing a hand on the boys head.
"Tired. It wont be an easy trip for him.
"It will all be over soon my little king." Skjoldur whispered, taking the boy from his mother. He set him down, slipping the pack on his shoulders.
"Artanis. Help me move the throne."
The queen nodded, and heaved the heavy throne aside with her husband.
"Alright. You first Sicarius."
The boy nodded, ducking in to the crawlspace.
"We must be quick." Skjoldur warned. "Tullius is-"
There was a deafening crash outside the in hall, and the royals froze.
"No. No." Artanis whispered.
"Sicarius. You must go on." Skjoldur urged.
"But father where?" The boy asked.
"Skjoldur we cant leave him! We cant!" Artanis sobbed.
"Go with him! I will try to close the entrance."
Artanis threw herself at Skjoldur, giving him a long kiss before withdrawing in to the escape with her son.
Skjoldur pushed on the throne, grunting and screaming with all his might.
But even his god given gifts did not aid him.
"Curse all the divines!" He shouted, kicking the solid gold of the throne. "Artanis I cannot do it." He panted.
Artanis gripped her son one last time, before exiting the small space.
"Sicarius. My son." Skjoldur said, taking the boys worried face in his hands. "You must go on your own."
"But father...Where do I go?"
"Onwards. Follow the tunnel. All the way down. And then...Anywhere you can. Someone will take you in. but you mustn't tell anyone who you are. No one may know."
"Father what will happen to you."
There came another crash, and Skjoldur's eyes filled with tears. "I will see you again, Sicarius."
The boy began to sob, and gripped his father tightly. "I'm sorry, father." He cried.
"Sorry? Sorry for what my son?"
"I am afraid! Aesirs cannot fear!"
"Sicarius...Fear is what fuels us. If you fear, you can fight."
The boy looked glassy eyed at his father, sniffing back the tears. Skjoldur took one of Sicarius' tiny hands in his, tracing the smooth lines of his palm.
Skjoldur removed the amulet of akatosh around his neck, presenting it to the crying child.
"You must promise me one thing, Sicarius." The king said, tears streaking down his cheeks. "When you grow up...To be big and strong...You must promise that you will take the throne. You must make Tullius pay for his crimes."
"But what if I don't want to be king?"
"It is in your blood. You were born to rule this land. As was I, and my father, and his father before him. All the way back to Primitus."
The boy sobbed some more.
"It will be alright my son." The king whispered, holding his son close one last time. "Now go."
Sicarius nodded solemnly, and Skjoldur began to block in his son with the throne.
He and Artanis pushed with all their might, covering the tunnel just before Tullius burst in with his men.
Skjoldur reached for his wife, knowing they would both perish at the General's hand.
-Sicarius-
The little Aesir crouched fearfully in the secret tunnel, still gripping the amulet. The king had said to go on, but the boy couldn't possibly obey. Not without them. As his eyes adjusted to the stony gloom, he notice a small sliver of light cutting through a small space where the throne had not met the stone of the tunnel.
He crawled towards the light, peeking out.
His father stood proudly before seven men, head held high, crown glinting in the torch light. The queen stood with him, holding his hand, and doing her queenly duty of remaining by his side in the face of adversary.
"Well Skjoldur." One of the seven said, stepping closer to the king. He bore a pointed golden dragon on his leather chest plate, and donned a red cape. His eyes were black, soulless, his hair was tinged grey. He held the face of one who was used to getting what he wanted. Smug, and arrogant.
Sicarius shifted, curiosity overtaking him.
"It is just like I said." The greyhaired man said. "Your city burns, your people lay slaughtered, and you are defeated."
"As long as the Aesir blood flows this kingdom will live on." Skjoldur said, and even in the face of death, the king's voice remained strong and commanding. "You can take my life, Tullius. But you cannot take my legacy."
The man, Tullius, stepped closer once more to the king, staring hard in to his eyes. "I will burn every shred of evidence which illustrates your pathetic history. You will be lost... The world will forget you ever existed."
Skjoldur laughed in the generals face, not faltering against his threats. "You cannot erase the legacy of the gods."
Suddenly...In a scrape of metal and the swing of a blade, Sicarius saw his once mighty parents fall to their knees. His mother's head rolled across the stone, her body crumpling beside her husband as he clutched the silver sword of the empire which protruded out of his chest. He let loose a quiet, but agonizing groan, as blood poured out of him, pooling at the feet of the general. The boy clapped a hand over his mouth to hold back the screams which threatened to compromise his position. He watched horrified as Tullius took a hold of the sword and twisted it in Skjoldur's chest.
The king cried out in pain, his crown falling off his head and crashing to the ground.
The general leaned forward, pulling the king in to his blade even more.
"Watch me." He said, and kicked Skjoldur away.
The king fell, one hand reaching out to his slain wife, and the other clutching the bubbling wound.
Tears streamed silently down Sicarius' face as he watched Tullius pick up the crown and raise it above his head like a victory flag.
"Long live the empire!" He screamed.
His men cheered wildly, breaking the silence that had filled the throne room.
And the heir to the Aesir throne crawled on in to the darkness. On hands and knees he crawled, his face sticky with the shed tears, and his heart shattered.
Until finally, the boy emerged in to blistering sun light. His knees bloodied, his eyes heavy, he collapsed to the grassy ground, letting the sun warm his chilled skin.
He lay beneath the sun, his childhood innocence slain like his parents.
He was alone.
He was the last Aesir.