Chapter Two:

Three weeks prior

He awoke in pain. His head felt as though a jabbing knife of agony struck behind his eyes when he opened his eyes. Thoughts were like mud, unable to form a tangible thought as his body moved to a sitting position. A primal snarl crawled up his throat, to which he simply forced himself upright.

"Hey there!" A voice echoed too loud in the cell. "You kinsman!"

Unable to remember what or who he was, He looked around to find the source of the irksome voice. Moist stone came from all sides except one that bore a doorway of steel bars. The only décor found was a table and stool that appeared to fall apart if you so much as looked at them wrong. A narrow window high above the opposite wall gave little light and a bit of air wafted of ocean breezes. He grunted as he forced himself to his feet. The whole world seemed to tilt on its axis, causing him to stagger.

A gray skinned, red-eyed elf waved to him from across a narrow hallway. A shock of white hair contrasted with the dark tone of his skin, matching equally white brows. The elf moved closer to the bars of his cell.

"I haven't seen another Dunmer in here in I don't know how long!" The elf had an odd half sneer, half smile on his weathered face. "Where you from, huh? Vvardenfell?"

Where am I from? Thoughts scattered, unable to find any bearing or direction.

"You got a wife back home?" The elf asked with a light snicker. "Tell you what- I'm getting out of here in a couple of weeks. When I get back to Morrowind, I'll look her up."

Wife…? The unknown looked down at his hands, seeing the same gray flesh as the elf across the way. Dunmer? Is that what I am? Thoughts roused only slightly to affirm this. Somehow, through the fog of his mind, he knew enough that he was Dunmer, but little else. A wife? No…nothing. He had no idea if he had family, let alone his origins.

"She must be so lonely…" The elf continued with a sarcastic smirk, "Don't you worry, eh? I'll take good care of her long after you're dead." A laugh barked out from his gruff voice, finding his own humor. "That's right! You're going to die in here!"

Looking at the walls closing in, the unknown prisoner scowled. "I don't remember coming here." Even his voice didn't sound familiar to him.

"Oh they must have hit you pretty hard on the head." The Dunmer chuckled. "At least, it looks as though they hit you on the head."

Instinctively, the Unknown touched where he felt the most pain, finding bare skin instead of hair. Running his palm over his skull, several swelled areas protested any touch at all. "My name." He asked, looking back at the fellow prisoner. "Did they say my name?"

White brows shot up in surprise. "You really don't know, do you? Sarethi, I think is what they called you. Dalvyn Sarethi. Both are common enough names, as common as rats."

At least now he had something…"And the charges…"

"Murder!" The elf grinned with glee. "I do believe they said the charge against you was for murdering someone of importance." A low giggle echoed, "I'm afraid you won't have time to remember anything much."

Dalvyn scowled, hearing approaching voices with heavy footsteps of armored boots. He tried to shake off the confusion, to ignore the headache he felt.

"You hear that?" The elf feigned a frightened whisper. His smile shone teeth. "The guards are coming… For you!"

Dalvyn shot him a scathing glare. They'd not take him like a lamb to slaughter. He wanted answers. With no weapon, he could do nothing but prepare for a possible confrontation with bare hands if need be.

Voiced approached, "My sons…they're dead, aren't they?"

A woman's voice answered, "We don't know that, sire. The messenger only said they were attacked"

Dalvyn stepped back at seeing one guard turn the corner in the hallway between the row of cells. He assessed quickly for weapons, seeing long swords and full heavy armor. Damn. Two other guards and a well dressed older gentleman also rounded the corner, heading straight for his cell.

The older man, a human noble by all appearances, looked weathered and heavy with the weight of things to come. "No…" His voice softened, "They're dead. I know it."

The woman that had spoken earlier turned out to also be one of the guards, bearing the same heavy armor. "My job right now is to get you to safety." Her gaze sharpened upon seeing him in the cell, her brow beneath the helm lowered. "What's this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off limits!"

Despite her slim size, and obvious younger age took nothing away from the strength of commanding these men. Blue eyes were piercing. Dalvyn couldn't help but feel a bit of relief at her words. It meant they weren't here for him.

Her companion looked awkward against her intense stare, armor rattling. "Usual mix up with the Watch…I…"

The woman lifted her hand to silence him. Dalvyn recognized her as the one in charge. "Never mind. Get that gate open."

Taking her orders, the man stiffened. "Stand back, prisoner. We won't hesitate to kill you." His hand rested on the pommel of his sword in warning.

Knowing the time of his execution was not at hand, Dalvyn did as ordered, stopping at the far end of the cell to give them space. Although, why they needed to bother him otherwise was unsettling. He was certain they were not for him. Why then come in here?

All three guards and the older man entered the prison cell, with two of the men keeping a sharp on him. "Stay put!" He warned.

Meanwhile another guard remained behind, looking back as if expected they were being followed. "No sign of pursuit-" He said.

"Good." The woman said, "Let's go. We're not out of this yet."

The elderly man, someone of great importance by the way the guards deferred to him, began walking by as the woman guard touched a stone in the wall. Where the sleeping shelf sat, the wall slid back revealing a hidden passageway. The heavy slab grated into nothing but a stepping stone. So this is where they were headed…

"You…" The elderly man gaped, staring wide eyed at Dalvyn. "I've seen you…"

Dalvyn stiffened, confused as to where this man could've have possibly seen him before.

"You are the ones from my dreams…" To this, even his guards halted in their tracks to stare at the prisoner as if he'd grown six legs. He could hardly blame them, even as the man continued his litany, he had his own doubts of having ever seen this man before. The pale blue eyes turned grim. "Then the stars were right…and this is the day. Gods give me strength..!"

Dalvyn felt their combined scrutiny. "What's going on?"

The man straightened, "Assassins attacked my sons,.. and I'm next." A wave of a withered hand indicated to the armored guards. "My Blades are leading me out along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell."

"And you are…?" Not that it mattered much to Dalvyn, but curiosity got the better of him.

"I am your Emperor, Uriel Septim. By the grace of the Gods I serve Tamriel as her ruler."

"Tamriel…" He mouthed the words, still remembering nothing. Even knowing the name of the lands he was in served nothing to giving him memories of who he was.

"You are a citizen of Tamriel, and you too shall serve her in your own way."

Dalvyn scowled, sensing the man knew something more but wasn't saying. I serve no one… "And why am I in jail?"

To this, the guards seemed surprised. Wouldn't a prisoner know the reason of his imprisonment? The emperor gave a soft, knowing smile. "Perhaps the gods have placed you here so we would meet. As for what you've done….it does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for."

He reads the future? Perhaps the gods speak to him or he thinks they speak to him, Dalvyn only realized that he didn't much care the idea of being led on a path not of his own choosing. "I go my own way." He replied firmly, unsure if there words for his own benefit or by convincing this man made them any more real to him.

The emperor nodded with a chuckle, His disbelief was obvious. "You will find your own path. Take care…" He motioned to the guards to move on. "There will be blood and death before the end."

The prisoner refused to admit to his own sense that the wheels of Fate were turning against him. Shouldn't I be glad? It would seem Fate had, after all, giving him the means to escape the prison. Brushing aside worry, he watched them file down the darkened corridor, with only the last of the guards giving a sniff of distain.

"Today is your lucky day." He said with a snide grin, "Just stay out of our way."

How can I miss them by the clatter of their armor? He heard rather than saw them disappear down the narrow hole, and wondered how they believed they could avoid trouble with all the noise. Ah well, no concern of mine…

All Dalvyn wanted was to find his own freedom…

Note: I don't appreciate using actual scenes not of my own making, but I felt this was essential to the story line. I wanted the reader to understand the extent of his loss of memory, and that he's become a bit more edgy and keen on surviving. I'm working on more than one story, and a number of other projects so hopefully I'll organize myself enough to get more done. Enjoy!