The First Rains of the Storm


"You will be leaving us, then?" The disappointment in Idoria's voice was not entirely insincere. Since saving the young Tevinter's life, she'd almost come to like her, in spite of the never-ending reverence. She'd though things were bad before, but now, with her display of powers, and Meridia coaxing her into something as...as strange as song, she could barely walk a step without someone offering their cloak for her feet to tread on.

Envoy Pavus was not really that different, only she at least had a reason for the gratitude and reverence she showed. Idoria could, herself, testament to just how horrible the effects of the Taint were, and she hadn't even been as far gone as Tamara, when she had been healed.

"Yes, Herald." The dark-skinned woman bowed deeply, despite the many times the Centurion had asked her to cease such dramatics. The cold winds threw about her cloak, and her entourage stood as automatons in the wind, unmoving and steeled; "My time in the Anderfels could ever only be brief. I must return to Minrathous, and tell of what I have seen here."

"Of course." Mallin nodded, smiling a smile that wasn't entirely shallow. She didn't exactly mind the young woman, even though there was slavery in her lands where Tamrielans were held. Tamara seemed a sound character, and hopefully represented the willingness of her people to enter into formal talks of relations; "Will you take my words to your Archon?"

"I will, Herald." Tamara bowed again, not as deep this time; "Though I cannot guarantee the outcome, I will present it to him to the best of my abilities." She paused before looking to the Legate, standing besides Idoria; "I wish you all the best henceforth, Legate Kratorius."

"The Empire would enjoy Tevinter's friendship, and you ours." Her superior seemed to do his best not to show his aversion to the cold, though his mood always betrayed how little he cared for the damp and cool weather of early spring. He had changed, though, since her healing of Tamara Pavus. She wasn't sure why, or how exactly, but he treated her less like an underling and more like an equal now, rarely giving orders as much as requests or suggestions; "The Emperor has voiced his intentions to personally visit our allies in Thedas, and to provide what aid he can."

"It would be most appreciated." The Tevinter woman bowed again, then mounted her horse and trotted off, her entourage following behind as they wrapped themselves in their cloaks, sheltering from the winds.

"Sir...I've a question." Idoria quietly spoke once the last of the Tevinter's had left the courtyard. His face turned towards her, nodding his permission; "If we secure an alliance of some sort with Tevinter, wouldn't that put us in conflict with these...Qunari?"

"It probably will, yes."

"But already we're worried Orlais might declare war, right?"

"We are, yes." He sighed; "Though with regards to Orlais it almost certainly only a matter of time anyway. The Qunari are far enough removed that we could be at war with them and only face them in battle should we march on their territories. Gods willing, Orlais keeps its armies south of the borders until later in spring, and General Tullus gets here with the rest of the Tenth."

"So...it will almost certainly be war, then?" she sighed; "Because of us."

"No, because of Orlais." He rebuked her; "We fight to cleanse the Blight from the world, though it be a somewhat lofty goal. Orlais already whispers of heresy and worse taking root here. If they invade it will be of their own volition, to stamp out what they see as a threat to their Chantry."

It was left unsaid, she realized, that she had been the one to make that threat apparent.


"Bring him in."

Talia had participated in trials before. Her status as second in line to the Seat of Evermor required her to have the experience, and to understand what went down and how. The rule of law would only be respected if those holding the reins led by example. That had always been her father's principle, and it was one where she could proudly declare herself in agreement.

Usually though, she would watch from the galleries. Never once, in fact, had she been at the forefront and center of attention, at least to what few spectators the trial had. General Belisarius sat in the left upper gallery, watching with what looked like amused interest, and a group of scribes filled up the opposite gallery, waiting with baited breath for the doors to open.

Anora sat the throne, though now there were two, Fergus in the other. Aedan had wondered aloud at the addition, to which his brother had simply shrugged and muttered something about it being 'about time'. Talia suspected it was the next step in the purely political union of those two, which really more and more didn't look quite so 'purely political' as time passed. It'd seemed Anora wasn't much of a match for the tall, dark and brooding attitude Fergus mixed up with the same sense of humor Aedan thankfully possessed. Cousland men...really, it's not fair.

Speaking of, though, she glanced at Aedan. Her husband wiped at his forehead, though whether it was sweat or irritation he wanted gone, was hard to tell. She frowned herself, leaning back in her own, somewhat less ceremonial chair. Of course, only the regents had thrones. She just wished the rest of them had been afforded something that didn't look like it'd been dragged from the kitchens at the last moment.

The doors opened inwards, allowing to enter a pair of guards. Between them, walking with a posture surprisingly uncaring of his predicament, the young man could only be Nathaniel Howe. Talia noticed how Aedan seemed to stiffen in his seat, though she herself was afforded the relative, emotional distance to actually watch the defendant as he was taken before them. The Howe Scion - or was Rendon still technically recognized as the Head of House? - stopped before the stairs to the throne. Hands clasped in iron contrasted somewhat with the fact that he wasn't at all dressed as a prisoner, but much more looked freshly returned home from a sporting hunt.

"Nathaniel Howe, do you know the charges upon which you're brought before us today?" Anora's voice lacked anything even close to the same shades of warmth she'd shown since they came to Denerim. It was the voice of a ruler, cold as could be, but lacking the malice or spite Fergus would probably have laced his words with.

Nathaniel, however, simply nodded. Anora frowned at his silence, though it was Fergus who spoke next;

"Your father betrayed House Cousland and the Crown, consorted with demons and engaged with slavery and attempted murder." The boy - how old could he be, eighteen? - didn't speak, but also didn't seem shocked at the charges. Of course, he'd already heard them before, Talia noted; "Would you stand before this court, and repeat the claim that you were unaware of his treason and his activities as a Maleficarum?"

"...I was not even in Ferelden during the Blight." Nathaniel's voice was more akin to gravel than even Sten's, a feat on its own alright. It was bitter and slow, but also laced with a pain Talia found hard to ignore. A glance at Aedan betrayed his own reaction, and his eyes averted from a past friend; "I knew nothing. Would I have returned, if I'd known?"

"Maybe, maybe not..." Anora allowed the words to hang in the air before she spoke again; "The fact remains, however, that your father is an apostate, maleficar and a traitor. The question, now, is the extent of your knowledge of his plots. You claim, truthfully, that you knew nothing?"

"...would hanging me make you feel better?" Talia felt more than she merely saw it, Aedan slouching in his seat, hands tightly balled into fists atop his knees. The monotone, almost bored voice with which Nathaniel spoke, was not one that failed to disturb. Fergus had been right, when he'd said he sounded resigned; "Whether I'm guilty or not, there's no evidence anyway, and you need to send the message that treason is punished. Well, my father's gone, as is the rest of my family it seems. I'm the only Howe left, it seems if you need someone to hang, I'm right here."

Watching Anora blanch would have been funny, had the situation been different. As it was, Talia felt the same, mounting discomfort. The man before them, if he was even old enough be called such, might as well be dead already. He was right though, they lacked hard evidence to point at anything or anyone but his father. The Howes' serfs had been saved, ironically, by a letter written by the very man himself, detailing what to do with named dissenters who argued his plans.

Nathaniel, however, equally had nothing to prove his ignorance of his father's doings.

"...perhaps, though we're so fortunate to have another option, albeit one that might be somewhat...unorthodox." Talia and Aedan both turned to watch the Queen, though it seemed she barely noticed their shift in attention. What was she planning that could be unorthodox, if not torture? Inwardly she curled up a little at the notion, that Anora would even consider such. In the edge of her vision, at the same time, she realized the General was no longer in the gallery. Had he left? "No doubt you are aware of the newcomers from the east?"

"...I have heard of them, yes." Nathaniel admitted slowly; "And I saw their camp, beyond the walls."

Below the gallery, General Belisarius emerged from one of the doors connecting it to the main floor. He strode in, followed by a man in robes identifying him as a Battlemage. Talia couldn't tell if the man was a Nord or a Breton, though Imperial as well was an option. Nathaniel as well turned to watch the latest addition to the crowd, no doubt wondering what was going on. In all honesty though, so was she.

"Your Majesty." The man greeted Anora, stepping to the side to allow the mage in his wake to step forward instead; "I assume this means you agree to my proposition?"

"Much as it aches me to stoop to such measures." She nodded, and Talia felt a knot pulsating through her insides. What measures were they taking? She'd heard nothing of this. The Queen turned to the young Howe, his eyes locked on the robe-clad stranger before him; "Nathaniel Howe, General Belisarius has offered a solution to our situation. You will answer us, again, whether you knew of your father's plans or not, and his mage will know whether you speak the truth or not."

"So, already Fereldan law is subject to foreign spells and magic?" Nathaniel scoffed, spitting the last words like a curse. It rankled Talia to hear him speak of something as integral to her life as magic, but then again, when one considered the charges brought upon his dad, she could hardly fault him for pointing out what he no-doubt also saw as hypocrisy; "How convenient, that only you can tell the truth of things..."

"Still." The mage stopped before Nathaniel, placing a softly glowing hand upon his forehead. He winced at the contact, and Talia had to admit she didn't envy the encounter. Spells that read the minds of unwilling targets rarely were pleasant. It was a violation as real as were it physical, and one few unprepared could muster any defense towards; "Proceed to ask, Highness."

"Nathaniel Howe." Anora spoke his name again, slowly and with authority as if to remind him who was the true power in the room, and that it was not the man clad in steel; "Did you, have knowledge of your father's plans of treason, apostasy and murder?"

At first, he didn't speak a word. Amber-yellow eyes skipped across the assembly, pausing briefly at her Talia before they came to a rest on Aedan. She watched her husband in the edge of her vision, unwilling to turn her face from the accused. Aedan remained still, unmoving as if Nathaniel's eyes had frozen him physically to the spot, his gloves creaking with the strain as his hands gripped the edges of his armrests.

"No."

A single word, yet nothing followed from their side as the mage simply seized on it, bearing down on his victim like a bird of prey. Nathaniel groaned in his grasp, and Talia found herself almost wishing for his guilt. Otherwise, they were subjecting an innocent to what could amount to torture. Finally, the mage stood and turned, watching for his superior's nod of permission to speak before doing so;

"He speaks the truth."

For a long moment, longer by far than what felt even remotely comfortable, the room was cast in silence. Nathaniel remained where he was, blinking as if to dispel the effects of the magic he'd been under. Anora and Fergus exchanged glanced, though nothing was said, and the general merely nodded at his mage, dismissing the man without a word. Aedan, meanwhile, looked like was he going sick. His face had paled and he trembled, ever so slightly but enough that she could pick up on it, and he didn't react when she placed a hand on his.

"Very well." Anora finally spoke, shattering the silence with a voice that commanded respect without the volume it often took; "Nathaniel Howe, as of now you will no longer be held suspect for the crimes of your family...someone take off his cuffs, already."

"Thank you...your Highness." There was little gratitude in the youth's words, nor did Talia expect he'd feel any. A guard removed the cuffs from his wrists, leaving Nathaniel there to rub at the irritated skin.

"Your family's crimes against Crown and liege must still be addressed, however." She saw Aedan cringe, though he probably hoped she hadn't; "Though as it stands, as judges in this matter the Crown is both itself and Cousland, and as such partial in the matter. Aedan Cousland, being witness here, you represent your House more so than your brother. What do you, as the injured party, think should be done?"

Talia saw him stiffen, could sense him curling up inside at the sudden responsibility he now was to bear. Honestly it was unfair of Anora, to suddenly throw this at him, no mention having been made of it before now. Nathaniel's eyes were on him as well, ringed with darkness she couldn't tell was natural or the result of recent events.

"Though in retrospect, as a member by marriage of House Cousland, I would like your voice in this as well, Talia." Of course, Anora just couldn't leave it at that. Talia grimaced, not really wanting anything to do with this. But still, apparently she wasn't going to just get off with being a witness, she also had to be the jury. She looked to Aedan, and saw him conflicted in the face of judging an old, now proven innocent friend.

She decided to speak first.

"I've borne witness to many trials, hearings and courts, during my upbringing." Nathaniel now looked at her, probably surprised at her accent of all things. She knew it was similar enough to Orlesian that even Leliana had mistaken it for the real thing, so no doubt he would too; "The sins of the father should never taint the son, the Empire believes. Still, you are right in some punishment being necessary with regards to treason. The carnage I witnessed cannot go unavenged, though at the same time I cannot in good conscience lay the blame at the feet of an innocent..."

She'd really hoped someone would interrupt her or take over from here, because she didn't actually have a conclusion to reach. It sounded wise, because it was basically taken straight from a hearing she'd attended at fifteen, but the case had ended with trial of combat and the defendant dead, after insulting the court. It didn't really apply here.

But of course, no one interrupted her because...well, because she sounded a bit too much like she actually knew what she was doing. Damn it.

"...as well, at the time of Arl Howe's treason, I was not a member of the Cousland House, thus I was not intentionally part of the injured party." She should have felt worse for throwing the problem at Aedan, but damn it all, this was his mess too. At least he seemed to get the message, straightening in his chair; "I believe myself able to offer insight, but not judgement."

"I see." Anora muttered, looking from her to the youngest Cousland; "Do you have anything to say, Aedan?"

"...Rendon Howe was the one to betray my family, not Nathaniel." He started, clearly averting his eyes from his old friend; "Banish his father and have him wanted for treason...We've done this already. We've no knowledge of the whereabouts of the rest of the Howes, and...we should consider Nathaniel the heir, then."

"...You would name him Arl?" Anora's voice was laced with just a little disbelief; "Allow the Howes to retain their holdings, in spite of their crimes?"

"Rendon's, not Nathaniel's." Fergus interjected, and Talia saw Aedan nod to his brother; "I must admit, I am myself not entirely averse to the notion. If Nathaniel had no knowledge of his father's crimes, we cannot punish him for them. And besides, unless you'd plan on handing Amaranthine over to someone else or, Maker forbid, split it between neighbouring bannorns, removing his family from Vigil's Keep would leave a power vacuum we can ill afford."

"I'm not sure that would send the right message, Fergus." Anora countered; "If folk start reaching conclusions about just how safe their holdings are from the law, I'd rather not see the outcome."

"Anora, you're allowing the actions of his father to color your judgement of the son." Fergus said, causing a small flinch in the queen. It was hardly her fault, Talia thought, considering just how badly Anora's condition had been when they'd gotten a hold of her; "Besides, you yourself asked for impartial judgement...I'd honestly say my brother's doing a better job of it than I could."

"...Very well, then." Anora sighed. Talia fought the urge to make herself invisible when the Queen looked to them again; "So, you would both argue that allowing the Howe's to retain their position is the right course? What guarantees do we even have that this won't end with uprising? We don't know Nathaniel's character."

"I do." Aedan argued, a little more heat in his voice. Talia noticed Nathaniel too seemed to perk up at it, though it was confusion more than hope she saw in his face; "I've known Nathaniel since we both could walk, though I was a good two years older than him."

"...and you will vouch for his character?"

"I will."

"I see." Anora sighed and looked like she would rather be doing quite a few different things than being here, right now, arguing a sentence. She turned back towards the uncuffed defendant; "In that case, I will deliver the verdict as is. Nathaniel Howe, in light of Aedan Cousland's vouching for your character, and the establishment of personal innocence on your behalf in this matter, the Crown has decided that you should be cleared of any and all charges, and that the Arling of Amaranthine should fall under your jurisdiction, as it was your father's. May you prove worthier of the charge than he."


Hours later, Talia found herself outside the door to Nathaniel's assigned quarters.

The room was much like her own, a guest room, but had also served as the newly appointed Arl's cell while his innocence was determined. It was a little ironic, given how easily it had been to use magic to get what answers were needed. Still, it clearly hadn't been Anora's preferred method. Fergus had hinted at as much as well, letting it slip that the General had approached her while she and Aedan were off to the baths.

Now, her husband was within with Nathaniel, his old friend. Part of her kind of wanted to burst in and be part of the reunion, if nothing else then to satisfy her mounting curiosity. But she knew, realistically and because she knew Aedan this well now, that he needed this, to meet with Nathaniel again, alone.

At least, she wasn't alone in the corridor. Two-Sock kept her company the way only a Familiar could, tongue lolling as he watched the door alongside her. His ethereal visage pulsated softly, betraying the calm he was inducing to her. She ruffled the soft, cool fur behind his ears as a way of letting him know she appreciated it. That their minds were to a large degree intertwined was irrelevant, really. There was nothing wrong with a little physical display of affection.

She hadn't expected this outcome to the trial, honestly. Especially because what had taken place could barely be called such, with no lawyer or evidence for either side, barely any witnesses and everything in the end hinging on magic. Father would probably have blown an artery at the disregard for proper, judicial procedure...actually, that image alone was pretty uplifting, she couldn't lie.

But still, to now have Nathaniel declared the new Arl of Amaranthine, that meant he'd technically be a vassal of the Couslands, and thus sort of to her and Aedan as well. Definitely to her child. How would Eleanor react to this outcome, she wondered. She'd like to think the Teyrna would be supportive of the conclusion they'd reached, but...There was no getting around just how much Eleanor had lost, when Howe betrayed them. Fergus being as impartial as he was, quite honestly, was a testament to the man's integrity.

What kind of a man was Nathaniel, though? She'd only really Aedan's words to go by, and those had been of experiences from before the young Howe left for the Free Marches. What exactly he'd been doing up there, she wasn't entirely solid on yet, but apparently it wasn't entirely far removed from her stay in Winterhold, only he'd been sent there, whereas she'd...more or less fled there.

Aedan had vouched for him, though, so that had to count for something. He might be a great many things, her husband, and have a great many flaws, but he was no poor judge of character. He'd even stuck up with her, when Talia was pretty sure she'd been the worst slut in Thedas.

But he'd proven her wrong, in the end. Or, maybe he'd just made her realize how little she herself believed that. Either way, same effect and outcome. Pregnancy was fucking with her hormones, she hoped. It'd prove an important excuse, eventually.

"Talia?" the door opened, Aedan looking somewhat less like death than he had a few hours ago. That had to be a good sign; "Want to come in? I'd like to introduce you."


"A report, Majesty."

Titus turned from his map, a grand and spectacular depiction of the Empire, his Empire, as it had once been. Morrowind, Hammerfell and Skyrim, High Rock and Valenwood. All the same, familiar shade of ruby red that signaled their allegiance to the rightful rulers of the continent. Elsweyr he could, to some degree, accept for now as retaining their independence, though their allegiance to the Elves still irked him deeply. Valenwood, he knew, would present a problem. The border was hilly, and both sides so heavily fortified he suspected it would take a second Numidium to ensure certain victory.

And then there was Elsweyr...

It was, perhaps, because the province had been lost to what anyone sane could tell was a lie. Only, the cats at the time had been anything but, desperate for a return of the moons to save their people. And the Thalmor, of course, had capitalized on that desperation, feeding the beastmen tall tales of secret magic and rituals that had brought back the moons.

True, their disappearance and reappearance was still unclear, but reports from Akavir indicated the natives there having a hand in it. Tevinter, some civilization much akin to the Empire, seemed to hold a large number of Ohmes-Raht as slaves, and the story supposedly went as mages from there having cast some spell that involved the moon.

Even if he couldn't truly fathom this mystery, at least it sowed further illegitimacy to the Thalmor's claims. Still, that was all in the future. His spymaster knelt before him, one hand outstretched with a scroll in hand. It bore no seal, much as he had expected.

"What does it say?" He was tired, and honestly it was no secret to him that the chief of his spy- and agent network read the incoming reports anyway. The man was too paranoid not to.

"Houses Telvanni, Indoril and Dres have been depleted of branch-members. Gleaming Steel moves on the House of Knives." The man paused, perhaps expectant of Titus' words or reaction. So, the preparations were thus far proceeding optimally? The Emperor allowed himself a smirk, at something going right for once. The House of Knives, that would be the Morag Tong, wouldn't it? He knew little of them, but trusted in his agents to at least thin out their leadership whilst the Dunmer were yet unaware. They only got one chance at this; "Further, Red Iron has requested the relocation of two hostages to the Imperial City."

"Denied." Titus waved it off; "No hostages. Last time, we allowed for the survival of disloyal Houses, and see where that got us..." He paused, struck briefly by the oddity of Red Iron taking hostages at all; "...who did she take hostage?"

"The youngest daughter of Thanryn Maryon, as well as his wife." Maryon. Of course, he should have foreseen that branch might be problematic. It was already enough of a stretch that he'd decided to leave the older daughter untouched. Her adoption into House Redoran saved her life, whether she knew it or not; "She adds her reasoning being a debt of blood."

"...she can't take hostages." Titus sighed, knowing he would probably be having a less-than pleasant debriefing with the Redoran woman later; "...tell her to dispose of the mother. We can yet find someone to imprint on the daughter, or if need be wipe her mind. She can take the girl either here, or to High Rock."

"Understood."

"Good." He glanced at the map again; "Relay that order, and then send a message to General Tulius."


Castle Dour never really failed to earn its name.

Tulius has mulled over as much, more times than he could count, and no matter the amount of banners he plastered on the walls, no matter the furniture or decorations he filled it up with, the fortress never truly seemed to change its nature from just that, a fortress.

"No, leave it..." he sighed, gesturing for the men halt their efforts. In the end, he supposed it had been a fool's dream to have the Stormcloak banner mounted in the war room. Already there was barely a brick of wall to be seen for red and purple, but he'd wanted something to remember Ulfric's Rebellion by, and a banner had seemed just the right thing to go with; "Take it to storage, if anything we can send it south for the Emperor to decorate his hallway...though I'll be buggered if he'd actually have it on display."

"Yes Sir." The men saluted and left, leaving him for the moment alone in the chamber. A map of the province was still on the table, left untouched since the siege of Windhelm. In its own way, he supposed the map itself was also a reminder, of what had been. And what they had avoided. Occasionally, he'd randomly switched the flags for the different provinces, giving Ulfric hypothetical ownership. It'd left him to consider options for how to retake previously uncontested positions, and to defend from new directions.

"General Tulius." He glanced up at Legate Rikke's voice, watching and waiting for his next in command to halt before him and clasp a salute. As always, she was the very image of military professionalism, courteous and respectful, as still as an automaton when spoken to and as hard again to break. He was glad the death of her former brother-in-arms, Galmar, had not shaken her to the point of hindering her duties. He noticed the scroll in her hand before she spoke, a black-ribbon tying it shut. Black ribbons...those were directly from the White-Gold Tower, not even with the Council as middlemen; "A message from Cyrodiil."

"Let me see that..."

She handed him the scroll and stood back. Tulius snapped the ribbon and unfolded the parchment, eyes dancing from side to side as he poured through its contexts. His breathing came close to a halt, halfway through. When he was finished, a deep breath allowed him to unwaveringly move to the nearest brazier, and throw the message into the smoldering fires. Light beige turned brown and then black, the letters within quickly turning unreadable before simply merging with the rest of the blackening material.

"...General?" He should have considered Rikke's presence, he realized with a start. No doubt his actions had betrayed too much of the turmoil within him, and caused her to worry. But, truly, this was grounds for turmoil, and for exhilaration and anxiety.

"Send messengers to the Holds, Legate. Assemble the Legion and prepare for a march on Dunmeth pass." Rikke snapped off a last salute, turned on her heel and left, her steps precise and measured, yet he could still sense the trepidation they held. He felt it too.

A bigger map was hung on the wall, almost directly across the room from the entrance door. Tamriel was displayed thereon, and Tulius stopped for a moment to look at it. For safety's sake, no Legion's position was marked on it, but he knew well enough where they were. The Second Legion would by now have amassed and garrisoned itself east of Harlun's Watch, only a day's full march from the border, and his own would soon enough encroach on Dunmeth pass. The third Legion would then be ready to follow through after the Second, but his own forces would have no reinforcements.

Maybe, there was a reason the Emperor had yet to request the so-called Dragonborn's presence in Cyrodiil. It had seemed strange at first, that the appearance of a man with the lineage of Tiber Septim himself would not be cause for an immediate transfer to the Imperial City, but now...now it was starting to make a bit more sense.

Prince Octavian would have an extra five thousand men at his back, in addition to the forces he commanded.

Tulius would have a man who could blow apart armies with his voice. A man though he might be, the General could hardly look at this officer and not see the weapon that might tip the scales in open battle. In truth, the very prospect of fielding such power against the Emperor's enemies was enough to bring a rare smile to his face.

"It's about damn time we got started."