Chapter was delayed due to Field Excursions with my University, and the fact that the days at said excursion were finished off with copious amounts of alcohol.

Grieving Loss - Seeded Love

"At least the weather's improved."

Talia made the remark, but was nonetheless pulling closer her cloak against the weather. The cold, biting frost of winter might be past them now, with warmer weather in store, but it was still hardly warm enough for casual outings. Hard frost had found itself replaced with fog and dampness, and the mornings still remained as cold as were it winter. The one benefit frost had brought with it, that muddy ground became like stone, was gone now as well.

Honestly the weather was just as shit as before.

"Fereldan springs are as malicious as our winters, really." Nathaniel muttered. He'd hardly been in the best of moods since the trial, but at least there seemed no ill will between him and Aedan, which really was a goddamn blessing. General Belisarius had actually approached them with talks of recruitment centers and fortified camps, and some sort of harbor-renewal project for Amaranthine. In the end, perhaps cautioned by the deadpan expressions Nathaniel levied at the man, he'd relented and simply promised to send them a note. She sniggered at the notion. An Imperial General promises to write...like some half-grown kid; "Better mounted than on foot, at least."

Circumstances taken into consideration, Anora had gifted him a horse, which he'd strangely enough wasted little time in dubbing 'Henry', much as the name didn't really fit. It did make her remember the need for naming her own mare, though, and somehow the name 'Pebbles' had simply come to mind. It'd strangely enough been rummaging around in the back of her skull ever since that dream...

Pebbles hadn't seemed to be too bothered by the spontaneous and not-at-all planned naming.

Still, how to even tell if that study with the fireplace and Alma had been a dream or not? She'd been able to read, though that might as well have simply been her mind telling her she could. Dreams were not exactly a science, much as the Thedasians were in a different situation on that account. Gods know we dodged a cannonball there...

"Talia?" Aedan rode up next to her and forced her mind from thoughts of old Bretons and fireplaces; "Ready to head home?"

Home. It was a strange thing, that the place she had once entered as an unexpected guest was now just that, her home. Highever Castle, where the people she loved would be. And, as long as the Empire was cleaning up Darkspawn across the Bannorns, where she would be too.

"It's probably a first, you know?" she smiled at the thought; "Grey Wardens being left unemployed by common men-at-arms. Aren't we usually called on day and night to clean up after the Darkspawn?"

"Yeah." His smile was smaller, though no less relieved at being allowed a reprieve from the fighting.

But then, she knew he still was not entirely confident with the Empire, much as she had done what she could to reassure him. What she knew, and how much she could explain, were two very different things indeed. Especially because she could not, on her own and with just words, explain just why and how she knew the Empire was a force for good. It had always been so, with her life being full of little things that showed just how beneficial the Empire was to the people under its rule.

Even the Redguards, a people that in her mind was less than deserving of inclusion into the Empire, had been treated on par with citizens of the Heartland. And their repayment, the total sum of their gratitude, had been to spit in the Emperor's face after the White-Gold Concordant. The man had fought and bled for his people, and the bastards had been too proud by a half to recognize how much he'd sacrificed to keep them all alive.

How many Legionaries had died, for a province that in the end simply seceded? For a people and a culture that cared more about old feuds and raiding their neighbors than they did for cultivation of civilization, agriculture and common human decency towards Bretons? How many farms and hamlets had been sacked and left in ruin by their horsemen, how many murdered and raped?

"Yeah." She sighed, disbanding the thoughts of where the Empire had been kinder than it should have. Of course, with the mere thought of the Empire came the thoughts of home, of Bretons like her. And so returned thoughts of Alma, and the dream; "...out of curiosity..."

"Mmm?"

"Is there a place called Oxford in Ferelden?"

"Oxford?" In the moment when all she received was a confused frown, Talia felt some relief that then, definitely, she'd just dreamt the whole thing. If Oxford was just a name she'd come up with on her own, then that creepy old Breton with some weird mystique-complex wasn't actually calling to her through dreams; "That's the grain distribution center, roughly a day's hard ride west, yeah."

Oh how it almost sounded like glass, the shattering of her hopes for normalcy.

"It's the largest town in Ferelden not acting seat of the ruling family." Nathaniel supplemented, because of course he would. He'd perked up even faster than Jowan had back then, and she wasn't sure if she liked the idea of two smart-asses sharing insider jokes over her head. Not that Aedan would do that, naturally, but still...

"Bugger..." she cursed under her breath. Well, then she might as well just tear the scab off and deal with it. At this point she'd ample evidence that leaving things like this for later would only bite one person in the ass, and usually it was hers; "Would it be a terrible detour if we went that way home?"

Aedan and Nathaniel shared a look, and she wasn't blind to what it meant. Mostly because she wasn't in disagreement with it at all, that she wasn't really making sense. Why do you want to go to Oxford, Talia, I'll be they're thinking...

"It'd add half a week, I'd say." Aedan shrugged; "I'm not sure if we've got the provisions for it."

"If the Blight didn't reach the area, there's a few inns along the way." Gilmore noted; "We used them occasionally when the Teyrn took us through the Bannorns instead of the Highway...But, I'm not sure I understand, M'lady, why would you wish to go the longer route? It's hardly scenic yet."

"...curiosity, mostly."

"Curiosity, eh?" Aedan hummed, clearly not believing her. She wasn't sure if that was more annoying or satisfying, that he wasn't so easily fooled. Then again it was her attempt to get away with this, so annoyance was definitely the closer option. The look he gave her also pretty much hammered that point home. He didn't believe her for a single damn second, but seemed more amused than anything else; "I don't suppose we'll be missed another day or two. Ser Gilmore, I'd like you to escort Nathaniel the rest of the way home to Amaranthine, then proceed to Highever."

"M'lord?" Poor Roland, Talia had to fight back the smile at her husband's antics. Sure, he didn't believe her for a second, but he hadn't called her bluff, and was sending the knights off with Nathaniel; "...would you be safe?"

"Oh, I'm sure I've adequate protection along."

Aedan patted the sword strapped to his saddle, but Talia caught his eyes. Right, yeah, it wasn't really like she could actually be disarmed. Glaive or not, she doubted there was a wide selection of anything alive in Ferelden more capable of mass-slaughter than her.

Plus, it meant alone-time for them, which was something she'd missed since having the escort attached.

"Very well, M'lord." Clearly, Gilmore had picked up on at least a few of the hints, but seemed still reluctant to let them out of his sight. Damn if that loyalty wouldn't have been highly appreciated at any other time but now. Nathaniel, of course, knew very little of what she could actually do, which was probably why he looked at the two like they'd decided to walk home.

"...are you sure?" the concern wasn't really that hard to pick up in his voice; "I mean...the roads are hardly safe yet, what with Darkspawn still roaming about."

"We'll be fine, Nathaniel." Aedan grinned, leaning out of his saddle to slap his old friend on the shoulder; "I think if we made it through the Blight like this, we'll be fine now too."

Clearly, the moody youth didn't much care for the notion, but nodded nonetheless. It was probably because he'd just realized or remembered that, oh yes, Aedan was actually a Grey Warden, and so was she. Not that Talia looked dangerous without her staff or fireballs, she knew that, but still.

"Good luck, then."

Half an hour later, it was just the two of them alone, seated atop their mounts as they watched the last signs of their escort, though now Nathaniel's, disappear over the hills. Neither had spoken while they watched, though now Talia felt like there were some things she wanted cleared, and better times to do so would be hard to come by.

If they were doing this, going to Oxford, she knew sooner or later Aedan would have to know why she wanted to go there. He might trust her with his life, and she in turn would trust him with hers, but he was not unable to see when she was keeping something concealed. At least usually he seemed content with letting her try and deal with it at her own pace and just be ready when she needed his help.

Which, really, she somehow always ended up doing. Needing his help, that was. But then, wasn't that the sum of a marriage anyway, to always have someone at your side who could and would help and support you, no questions asked? In hindsight, maybe not without the questions asked, because she of all people could admit she tended to do some pretty shady shit.

Like nearly going insane from a lack of human blood because she couldn't get over herself to tell others? That wasn't even the worst of it, though honestly the rest required too much context for her to even bother trying to go through mentally, and because Aedan had turned and was watching her now, eyes as keen as before. Would life be easier with a fool for a husband?

Maybe, heh, but then it probably wouldn't be nearly as exciting.

"If we're headed westwards...I think we should go by Alistair and Leliana." Aedan's words were almost as far from what she had expected as was possible, and presented a brilliant example to her earlier ponderings, almost as if he'd read her mind. Or, maybe she was overthinking this. Also possible.

There hadn't been a grave, of course. Alistair's body had been burned to ashes, and Leliana's had never been found. When the Legion had cleared away the last of the debris, and the funeral pyres had gone cold, Talia's hope of somehow finding her friend had cooled with them. Leliana had been one of the thousands of bodies burned to ashes with the modicum of respect the Chantry could offer its faithful, but with Alistair at least they'd seen him burn and been able to offer their respects and say farewell.

She could still see his eyes in her mind.

In idle moments when her mind turned treasonous, she could feel his blood flowing out between her fingers, coating and soaking through the torn skin of her gloves.

She'd been pouring her magic into his body even as his heart had stopped. She'd done everything she could, and it hadn't been enough.

Of course it hadn't been enough.

It was never enough.

Was it a blessing, then, that she'd not had to see Leliana's mangled corpse? Her mind was generous in those first few weeks, presenting her image after image of what it probably looked like, broken, mutilated and brutalized. Had the Darkspawn cut off her head, her arms or her legs? Had she been crushed by a collapsing building or trampled by an Ogre? Do Ogres eat people?

More than once she'd forced herself to think of something - anything - else, for immediately afterwards would come the memories from Ostagar, and the Tower of Ishal. The Ogre that had killed Dela was easting corpses at the time they'd come across it.

There was no grave, not even a symbolic one. Still, the hillside that had come to be known as Victory Hill, because it was where the Archdemon was killed, had become a memorial site as well for those who had fallen in defense of the city and their country. Angled halfway between north and east so that it overlooked both the riverside where Urthemiel was slain and the sea from which 'salvation' had come, it was a chapel without the insides of a Chantry.

A great many of those who had died had been mauled beyond recognition, but the names of those that had been recognized, Divines only knew by whom, were carved into granite slabs on the walls. The names were small enough that she'd have had to almost touch her nose to the stone to read them clearly in anything but full daylight, and not even half the walls were covered with names yet.

Returning families from Amaranthine would soon enough supply enough names to fill out the spaces, she knew.

When they entered, the hall was empty. Only a worker was there, chiseling another name into the stone, each careful tapping of metal in granite slow and measured. A quick glance at the newcomers, and then he returned to his work, no doubt used to by now the flows of people who came to remember.

At the far end of the hall, a small plaque was separated from the rest, if only by its deliberately centralized placement. Three names were chiseled into its dark surface, each apart enough from the rest that there could be no mixing them together.

[In the memory of those who led us, and died for us.]

King Cailan Theirin, Slain at Ostagar

General Loghain Mac Tir, Slain at Denerim

Warden Alistair Theirin, Slain at Denerim

They stood for a moment, in a silence Talia couldn't identify. Herself she was contemplative, trying to force away the memories of that final day. Instead inviting what she could remember of Alistair in the early days of the Blight. He'd been happier, back then, or at least better at hiding the steel within. Leliana's name wasn't on, of course, but she still liked to imagine them being together in death, at last.

Anything else was too fucking depressing for her to handle without breaking down.

"...so, they put Loghain above Alistair?" Aedan's voice was thick with the same grief he'd choked down then. There was little real resentment in his voice, only longing and regret, the same deep sadness that tore and her own heart.

"I..." she had to swallow down the lump at the top of her throat or it'd spill out. It didn't spare her eyes though, and she had to wipe away the droplets from her cheeks; "...I guess Anora just... gave them the names. They named...they named him Theirin, at least."

"He'd have hated that." Aedan's voice was at the weird midway between laughter and sobbing, which didn't do wonders for her own endurance. Talia leaned against his side and he wrapped an arm around her waist, as much for her support as for his own, she knew; "He never wanted that dumb name, did he, or the title?"

"Eamon sure as fuck wanted him to take it though." She sighed, not really angry at the Arl. The man had done what he'd thought best for Ferelden, though she'd rarely agreed; "...I don't see his name here though."

Aedan didn't answer that, probably because her statement really didn't have an answer. Teagan had raised a memorial to his brother in Redcliffe, but if his name was here it would be among the thousands of others.

"...You don't believe in the Maker, but..."

"Doesn't mean it's not true." She muttered, because really, who knew? Alistair might really be up there with Leliana now, at peace and happy at last; "I want to think it is, though. That he's up there, they're up there together."

"Mmm." He nodded, offering nothing else for a moment as they stood together.

"I thought she was insane, back then." Talia finally sighed; "I mean, who in their right minds would join us after what happened at Ostagar?"

"Leliana." Aedan noted, his breath heaving as his embrace on her waist tightened a little; "Damn it, she shouldn't have come with us." She could feel him trembling as he spoke, and it did little for the thickening of her throat, already sore from grief; "She'd still be alive."

"She chose to come." She said quietly, because on the inside she would happily have gone back in time and turned the girl down. No matter how harsh her language would have had to be, it would have saved Leliana; "...you know she'd never have stopped bugging us otherwise."

"I wish I could go back, that we could go back." The leather glove of his free hand creaked as he bit down on it, clenched in a fist wetted with the tears that spilled down his face; "I'd have...I'd have stopped her. I'd stop her from coming with us."

The Imperial City

Seat of the Emperor.

Heart of the Empire.

The city had many names, more than he himself knew of, probably. It was highly likely the elves had names for it that were less than flattering, though Titus cared little for their wounded pride and scoffs. As long as they remained wary of Imperial might and its armies, they could hate his people all they liked.

Instead, however, he saw a sprawling metropolis, his metropolis.

Like everything else in the Empire, the Imperial City belonged to him, and was his responsibility. The happiness and safety of its citizens was his responsibility, though to his shame it was one he had failed once already. The city still bore scars from its brief occupation by the Thalmor, and very few of them were the sort of scars that could be covered with mortar or flushed away with water.

But the past was the past, and all one could do was to hope for its lessons, and forget the pains. He did well enough with the first part, but struggled with the second. He himself had not even been capable of leading the retaking of his city, an honor that had instead fallen to a man whose very name he had never even learned. It was but another scar on his honor, both as Emperor and man, and another display of his failures. Emperors were not allowed such failures, nor such weakness as he had shown at the start of the war.

The commoners, he sometimes envied. Their lives were simple, free of the mountains of dreads and worried that plagued his nights. None of them had to contend with the hundreds of ways the Empire could crumble, should he miscalculate or misjudge. For the simple farmer, life was all about securing the next meal for his family.

But to manage an Empire, and keep the hundreds of cities within it satisfied, safe and prosperous? To ensure that Imperial Law was equal for all, and stamp out any Noble with the senseless notion that, somehow, he was above it? Would any of them be able to keep the Bretons and the Redguards from open war, especially with the latter spitting on his efforts and open hands half the time?

Could anyone else, but himself, have kept them all alive, when he knew what the true goals of the Dominion was, beyond to curb the worship of Tiber Septim?

He would gladly have given away the throne to any man who could have turned the tide entirely and uprooted the Thalmor from their island, taken back Valenwood and reunited the Khajiit with the Empire. But, no one else could come even half as close as he had, he knew.

How many in the Nobility could he truly count on, he wondered. How many would dedicate themselves to the Empire's survival, if the heat was on once more? If Elven armies ravaged the lands, how many could he counted on to send him men and money to beat the Thalmor back, and not simply shore up their own homes? Pragmatism would see the Empire through this, but it was a very rare thing indeed to find with those in power.

The Nord nobility, the ones that had sided with the Empire, he could rely on to keep the peace in the north. Skyrim would need the stability now, in particular when Tulius was leading the Legion eastwards, and the holds to be held by their Jarls. He did not trust them entirely, but trusted their queen enough that he would leave it to her.

The Bretons were a safer bet, all things considered. Daggerfall's loyalty was firmly secured, though he knew they might change their minds should the Empire seem to lose the next war. Of all the king- and fiefdoms in High Rock, in the end he trusted none more so than the King of Bankorai, Omluard Aulus.

"Emperor." A guard announced. Once, they had been Blades, but now instead the Penitus Oculatus kept their vigil, disguised as they were like common soldiers; "They have arrived."

"Show them in, please." He sighed and put away the dark thoughts of what might lie ahead. The future was not one that would be changed one way or the other by him leaving its ponderings for a few, precious hours. The frown left his wrinkled face and became instead a smile, small enough to remind visitors of his authority, yet clear enough that he appeared a merrier, almost happy man.

The throne room resounded with the muffled creaking of well-oiled wheels. Titus Mede turned to regard his guests, maintaining his smile in the presence of the youngest of the Aulus children. Alai, was her name, he recalled. Omluard, his hands steering and driving her chair, pushed the girl forward until they reached courteous distance of his throne.

The Emperor allowed himself a moment to study the girl, a gesture he realized she was well aware of. Smaller than her older sister, though she was also younger by a few years, she looked far more like Queen Rhea than her, in particular with the raven-black hair and the fine, soft features of a child bordering on proper womanhood.

She was pretty, yes, but in a way less pronounced than the other women in her family. She did not have the strongly attractive features of her sister, nor the posture of her mother that signaled strength and determination, but...he could approve of this.

"Welcome, King Omluard." He greeted the man, one of the most loyal of his subjects, with open arms. He stopped as if he'd only now noticed the girl. Even though he himself had never asked the man to bring his child here, he'd known long before they'd arrived at the capital; "I see you are not alone?"

"Emperor, this is Alai, my youngest daughter." Was that a hint of nerves in the man's voice? Titus almost chuckled at the notion, that he could inspire such. The girl, Alai, couldn't rise to greet him for obvious reasons, but managed still to bow her head. Her breath came quickly, though was that exhilaration or anxiety? He couldn't tell, but it most likely was a bit of both, for a child to meet the Emperor in person. He had not heard she was confined to such a chair, however; "I had thought to show her the Capital, and your summons coincided with our planned visit."

Had his father, and his father's father inspired similar reactions?

"It is my pleasure to make your acquaintances, Princess Alai Aulus." He smiled at the girl, lowering himself slightly before her so that they were almost at equal heights; "How are you finding Cyrodiil so far?"

"It's...It's very scenic, Excellency." Scenic? Well, he supposed it could be called as such. The Heartlands had meadows and forests and springs and clear and clean as crystal, and the Imperial City was a marvel unrivaled around the known world; "I'm...It's my greatest honor to meet you as well, Excellency."

"I am glad you enjoy it, Princess." He said kindly, standing again; "Now, I hope you won't take too much offense, but...I might have a favor to ask of you, whilst your father and I bury ourselves in paperwork."

"A f-" the word ended up choked on a sharp inhale of air as if the girl had been hit with a spell. Titus frowned, surely he wasn't that imposing, was he? Or, again, maybe it was simply the novelty of it all that had the girl so wound up; "I- I would be honored to assist you in anything, Excellency, but...I'm afraid my body is not capable of much any servant could not do better, or faster."

"Worry not, Princess." Ah, so that was it, then? Of course, he could see where she was coming from, with a family of such gifted and powerful individuals, being the child chained to a wheelchair was bound to induce some confidence-issues; "The favor I have in mind is not one I could entrust to any servant. In fact, your being here is a rather favorable stroke of luck."

Titus realized Omluard was glancing between them now, no doubt wondering what by the Eight he was planning.

"My son, Crown prince Octavian, is currently away from the Capital, and has left the care of his son, Valerian, to tutors with little notion of the minds of youth." And frankly, neither had he himself much knowledge of how to entertain a hormonal, seventeen years old prince. He'd never had the same peace or luxuries in his early life as his grandson, which also sometimes made for...misunderstandings; "As I understand it, the two of you are close enough of age that you might be better suited for the task?"

"I...I'd...I would...Your Excellency, I'm not..." the girl's protests were to the point of funny, if not for the fact that the expression on her father's face, usually always so stoic and measured, overdid her by far in shock and surprise. Come now, was the prospect of the prince's company really such a terrifying thing? "I...I wouldn't know what to do, or...or say, Your Excellency."

"Please, I'm not asking you to tutor or imprint on my grandson, Princess." Titus did his best to reassure her, though it seemed to do little for the girl's darkening complexion; "I would simply like for you to offer...a fresh mindset, so to speak. Valerian doesn't see a great amount of people I or his father don't personally verify, which means they're often times too focused on pleasing us to actually offer the boy... new perspectives, but the ones we espouse..."

The boy, like his father soon enough, would be Emperor one day. He desperately needed the perspectives and viewpoints of those outside the circle of tutors and nobles of the Imperial City, and Titus wasn't about to let slip the chance Omluard had so unknowingly dropped into his lap. Alai was pretty, soft-spoken and seemed eager to please whilst still retaining some restraint, or if not then doubts as to her own abilities. She might be the right mind for Valerian to pick, or she might not.

It would still be a valuable experience for the prince, all the same.

And if it would further tie House Aulus to the Empire, then whether or not the girl could walk might end up irrelevant. Valerian was not the sort to judge by appearances, or he would not have done his best to shun so many noblemen's daughters till now. The youngest of the Aulus children lacked their graces and their finery and style, but maybe...maybe that would be what worked the best?

And certainly, Omluard who was currently chewing on his own beard - Titus had known the Breton king long enough now that he could tell - would never find a better match for his daughter than what might be borne from this.

"I...It would be my greatest honor then, Excellency, to offer myself in service."

Titus had a hard time holding back his grin, though by far it was brought forth by his subject's fretting. No doubt Omluard worried of the thousand ways his crippled daughter could offend, disappoint or outright fail in whatever tasks she would be given. You worry too much, old friend. This will do her good, trust me.

And so, we introduce Alai Aulus Geotien(and indirectly the grandson of Titus Mede, Valerian Mede), Third Heir to the Evermor Estate and Princess of Bankorai. I wonder how many picked up on the clues throughout last book and this one that she was bound to a wheelchair. They were not exactly "out there", so in hindsight maybe that's not all that surprising. Remember what caused Talia's occasional shutdowns if faced with severe and sudden emotional turmoil?

Anyway...

I greatly enjoyed the reactions to Titus ordering the deaths of Brelyna's family last chapter.

The fact that I can make people react emotionally to these things is what fuels me. Well, that and enough coffee that I should be able to see through space and time. The latter - the coffee that is - was what made me include the little part with the memorial. My mind went on an overdose and decided it wanted to be depressed as fuck.
The Memorial was the result.