Imperial City, Green Emperor Way
30 Frostfall, 3E 433
9:00 AM
Ardaline had been to the Imperial City before.
She had known this city well, in her days as a pupil at the Arcane University. It looked like a wagon wheel on a map.
If each of the districts were spaced between the spokes of the wheel, the Imperial Palace at the White-Gold Tower was the hub at the very center.
But never had she visited the seat of the Empire before. Not until today.
Ardaline did not believe in miracles. This was nothing more than lucky timing.
If being driven to submit a transfer request as a result of that scapegrace that haunted her at the Bravil chapter of the Mages Guild could be considered fortunate.
At least something good had come of that ordeal.
The young alchemist arrived at the circular garden surrounding Green Emperor Way in her indigo university robes, as these were the finest clothes she owned. She had to scrub out some older stains – glow dust in its luminescence tended to show remarkably well on dark blue, and at this point she could forget about getting rid of the dark greasy spots which she guessed were from troll fat. No one would be close enough to see that, would they?
Ardaline hoped if she kept her hands folded behind her back when in the presence of the High Chancellor or anyone else of importance, no one would notice that the edges of her sleeves were singed from an unfortunate incident involving fire salts.
Ardaline swallowed as the shadow of the White-Gold Tower drew closer.
The Altmer remembered another tower. Crystal-Like-Law, unsurpassed in its splendor, even in comparison to the Imperial Palace. She had gazed after it every night from her home in Cloudrest. Her father told her that the Crystal Tower was the cradle of magicka on this mortal plane. Volanair, the House's seneschal, claimed it was the key to the Altmer's eventual ascent to the stars.
Of course, the White-Gold Tower before her could not come close to Crystal-Like-Law's beauty or importance, but the elven influences in its architecture were apparent. She knew, some time ago, the tribal, illiterate Cyrods had viciously slaughtered the Ayleids and appropriated the Tower for their own, advancing their heathen race with the cultural and technological achievements of the elves before them. At least, that was how the story went according to the books in Summerset.
She walked through Green Emperor Way, past the headstones of the previous members of the Septim Dynasty with grandiose Imperial names. Many of the epitaphs were worn to unreadability by the elements, but she peered at a few. Andronicus Septim. Father of Pelagius I. Died in the first year of the Third Era, followed by his wife Basilica a decade later. What an odd place for a cemetery, Ardaline thought, but perhaps it was the notion that the close relatives of the Emperors and Empresses of the past could watch over their descendants sitting on the Ruby Throne. Or something along those lines.
Yet... Ardaline couldn't help but wonder. There must have been at least a thousand tombstones here. And they could not even find a single heir to continue the dynasty? No distant blood relatives? No bastards, or children of bastards...
Perhaps it was not her place to think of such things.
Ardaline shuddered. She couldn't help but feel nervous, approaching the palace looking the way she did. Her attire was... unsuitable, to say the least, for the holder of as prestigious a position as the one she had been offered.
It would all be fine, she kept telling herself. What was the worst that could happen? Some noble would scoff at her clothing?
Maybe they would. Ardaline had been a bastard in her father's court in Cloudrest before his wife had her banished as soon as she came of age. And though she had never been afforded the same privileges as her half-brothers and sisters, she had seen what the gentry wore, and she had seen what the lowborn wore.
In this moment, Ardaline appeared positively lowborn.
That familiar nausea returned to the pit of her stomach. It was a sudden lurch in her tightening abdomen, that feeling from so long ago, and more than anything she wanted to shrink into herself until she disappeared.
At her father's court she was expected to remain unseen. Her footsteps could never be too loud and she wasn't allowed to speak unless directly asked a question and she couldn't sit at the table with the rest of the family until after they had their fill. At least the servants earned their keep; Ardaline was just another mouth to feed, a living, breathing reminder of her father's shame.
She had to remind herself that none of this should even matter. She was not here as a debutante, trying to impress a prince or some rot like that; she had been summoned to the Imperial Palace as a respected professional in her field.
As the provisional Royal Alchemist.
A title.
The very notion took her breath away.
Ardaline stepped beneath a colonnade to rest a moment. She leaned back against a column, facing the soaring White-Gold tower that sparkled so brilliantly in the sunlight she had to shield her eyes. Standing here in this circular garden with trim grass she examined the neat rows of blue and purple Viper's Bugloss outlining the path. The flowers had been cultivated simply to look pretty, not for their alchemical properties.
Ardaline may have very well been the plainest thing here.
Suddenly, the doors to the palace burst open. An Imperial lady of perhaps around forty years (though it was often difficult for Ardaline to tell; the races of Men aged so quickly), accompanied by a palace guard in plate armor following closely behind. They were heading in the Altmer's direction.
Ardaline sucked in her breath, straightened her posture. She held her hands behind her back as the woman approached.
Pale of skin, with striking blue eyes, she was garbed in a modest black dress buttoned all the way to the neck, hair covered with a black wimple. A moonstone pendant on a silver chain dangled halfway down her chest.
The lady in black curled her lips inward so that her mouth was a dour, straight line. With one sweeping glance she scrutinized Ardaline in that way that nobles so often did, that discerning first look from which one could all at once estimate social position, and relative wealth.
"Are you lost?" asked the lady in black. Stern, she sounded, but not unkind. The palace guard stood several paces behind, inscrutable under all of the armor.
Ardaline felt her face flush.
"No, my lady. I was summoned by High Chancellor Ocato."
The woman raised her blonde eyebrows, so light that they nearly disappeared against her papery skin.
"Oh?"
Ardaline brought her hands around to retrieve the summons from her pocket.
The lady in black's gaze flitted to the burns on her sleeves. Ardaline's heart sank.
The letter was worn from having been perused a hundred times over, to the point where she had committed it to memory. She presented it to the Imperial woman, holding her breath in the hope that her hand would not tremble so much.
The lady in black took it in her own gloved hand, taking notice of the diamond-shaped wax seal. Her eyes moved as she read the letter. Less than thirty seconds passed, but it was an uncomfortable silence all the same.
Then, with a brief nod at Ardaline, she folded and returned the paper.
"I see. We have been expecting you. Welcome to the Imperial Palace, Ardaline of Cloudrest."
"Thank you, my lady."
"Please. Call me Lavinia."
Lavinia Septim. Ardaline knew that name well. Widow of Crown Prince Geldall Septim, who was heir apparent to the Empire. At least, before his tragic assassination. Lavinia had always been the subject of gossip, even before the succession crisis, as soon as word surfaced that she was barren. Renowned healers and alchemists had been called from Necrom to Daggerfall, all of their treatments proving fruitless. Lavinia had never been able to bear Prince Geldall a child. Now that there were no heirs to be found, Geldall's widow unfortunately shouldered much of the blame, for it was in poor taste to denounce the dead Princes Ebel, Enman, and Geldall, no matter how disconcerting it was that all three were in their fifties and childless.
Lavinia excused herself for whatever doubtlessly important matters she had to attend to, leaving the palace guard to escort Ardaline inside.
"After me," he said in a gruff voice, walking ahead. Ardaline blinked, then quickened her pace to catch up to his long strides.
Her trunk containing her alchemy apparatuses had not yet arrived, she was told, but she would be staying in the basement, close to her predecessor's alchemy laboratory. Out of sight, she thought, just as she liked it. No one would try to bother her while she was doing her work. Her colleague Sinderion shared that sentiment. Ardaline wondered why he had not been summoned for this position instead. To call him a genius would be putting it mildly; Ardaline had the rare privilege of studying under him in Skingrad for three months, and in those few months she learned more about alchemy than she had during her two years at the Arcane University.
Certainly High Chancellor Ocato would have sent for him first, given his impressive reputation among scholarly circles. Then again, Ardaline knew Sinderion well enough to know that he likely refused, if asked. If he had ended his residency at the University because of their restrictions, he would be most unhappy at the royal court. Sinderion disliked boundaries placed upon his work. Actually, Sinderion disliked working for others in the first place.
Ardaline wondered how the master alchemist was coping with the Oblivion Crisis. Last she heard, he was still fixed on his nirnroot obsession. In all honesty, she wasn't certain if the Crisis would even affect him. He'd just continue with his work, blissfully detached from the rest of the world in the comfort of his basement laboratory. She wanted to write him soon, inform him of her recent promotion.
"Don't forget what 'provisional' means," the steward reminded her the day her trunk arrived from Bravil. He was a persnickety Imperial by the name of Quintus, a young-faced man with peppery hair, already graying from the stress of his position.
Ardaline did not respond. She was unpacking her few belongings, including her alchemy apparatuses. She unwrapped her glass alembic and placed it on the table, examining it closely for any chips or scratches in the glass.
"What I'm saying is, don't get too comfortable," Quintus added, as if to confirm that she had heard him the first time.
Ardaline finally looked up at him, into his dark eyes that always seemed to be squinted as if he needed spectacles.
"I won't," she promised. Then, she wiped the fingerprints off the alembic with a cloth.
The doors to the council chambers were typically closed shut, but they were open the next Loredas when Ardaline was heading out. She slowed her pace when she noticed the wide entrance to the near-empty room, peering inside out of sheer curiosity.
That was the first time she saw High Chancellor Ocato.
Gracing the marble floor the regent stood straight as a tower in his silk burgundy garment, decorated with the chains of his office.
Quintus was the only other person in the room, and he looked even more flustered than usual.
"Your honor, it pains me to bother you with this yet again..." the nervous steward started. He had a quill pen behind his ear and was still carrying an abacus.
Ocato crossed his arms, looking an impenetrable fortress.
Even his golden complexion was smooth and unblemished to the point where Ardaline could not discern his age. There always were certain 'tells' that Altmer noticed in one another, such as the thin smiles and blank stares of the very old compared to the markedly more emotive youngsters, but High Chancellor Ocato had an assured tranquility about him that shrouded the truth from Ardaline. He could have been thirty-two or one hundred and two and she would not have known the difference.
"What is it, Quintus?"
"It's... her. The Hero of Kvatch. Demanding to see you again. She doesn't seem to understand the word 'no.'"
"She knows my answer. What more does she want?" Ocato's voice was calm, though still bore an imposing regality.
"A different answer, I suppose. Should I have the guards remove her from the palace grounds?"
Ocato shook his head slowly. His sand-colored hair was neat and glossy, not a single strand out of place.
"The Hero of Kvatch is at present not threatening anyone's safety. I guarantee you she will tire of this and leave once she realizes this is all a waste of her time."
"But your honor, she has become a nuisance. Soliciting the courtiers as they come and go, saying all sorts of things, and the common folk adore her, of course, for what she's done in Kvatch and the rest of the countryside... they listen to her. What if she began to speak ill of you? Your honor, I have no doubt she could incite a rebellion if she desired."
"The palace gardens are open to the public," the High Chancellor said simply, walking towards the round table at the center of the room. The chains clinked softly as he moved. "Are we to use force on every individual expressing discontent with the Empire, or my decisions? I hardly find that reasonable. Let her speak all she wants. My answer has not changed."
Then, Ocato glanced at the doorway, where Ardaline stood. For a moment he was looking straight at her with inscrutable amber eyes, head tilting slightly as if in inquiry.
Ardaline gasped. She turned on her heel, but before she could run, a courier in a great hurry brushed past her.
"Battlemage- High Chancellor Ocato!" he cried out. He was in a lot of distress. Breathing heavily, shiny with sweat.
Ocato made a gesture for the courier to continue.
"Ah! Y-your honor! I have news from Summerset. P-perhaps you would prefer to hear it alone?" the courier asked, glancing at Quintus.
Summerset? Ardaline's heart quickened. Yet Ocato remained poised and dignified as always.
"Whatever you can say to me, you can say in front of my steward."
The courier handed Ocato a folded piece of parchment crumpled even worse than Ardaline's summons.
"The... it's the Crystal Tower. It fell to the Daedric forces on Fredas after a month-long siege."
Time stopped. Ardaline tried to inhale but something sharp had stabbed her lungs and she could not breathe.
In the other room Ocato stood motionless, and Ardaline knew not if she were watching him stand there for a minute or an hour. She could feel the darkness swallowing her entirely and she couldn't breathe.
Ocato moved to the table, gripping the back of a chair with a hand. He was trembling, blanching, yet he still remained calm.
"Thank you. You are dismissed," he said to the courier. Then, to Quintus, "Isn't there something else you ought to be doing?"
That was the last thing Ardaline heard before everything went black.
When she came to, she realized she was on the cold marble floor and her head was pounding.
She desperately tried to draw air into her shuddering lungs. Short, agonized breaths. Panic seized her chest. This wasn't happening. Crystal-Like-Law would never fall, not like this, no, it could not be... if Crystal-Like-Law were to fall, so too would the Summerset Isles.
What of her family, in Cloudrest? Had the city been overrun too? Each thought led to another, and she could only assume that everyone she ever knew in Summerset was dead if Crystal-Like-Law now lay in ruins.
The steward noticed the alchemist on the floor as he walked out the room. "Ah! Miss Ardaline," he said, holding a hand out to her. His voice sounded distant, but she took his hand to help herself up.
"I... gods, I... I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. You don't look well. Shall I find a healer?" Quintus asked. Again, she did not know if these words were even said, if this exchange were even happening. His face was a featureless blur to Ardaline.
The Altmer took a step backwards, then another. She saw images of the Crystal Tower in her mind, of the red Oblivion sky and smoke rising in ribbons from its spires, of the white stones crumbling to the ground while the terrified refugees fled from the endless sea of Daedra.
Elder magic had been woven in the foundation of the Crystal Tower and could be found in each stone. It radiated with the light of Aetherius. How could something Aetherial be destroyed?
What did this mean for the Altmer when they passed from this mortal plane?
"Miss Ardaline?"
Without any sense of where she was or where she was going, Ardaline ran.
"Oi! This isn't the Red Ring Footrace!" shouted a maid after Ardaline had nearly tumbled into her.
In the garden, Ardaline wept.
When the Daedra ravaged Snowhawk, leaving nothing standing but a broken temple, the Nords mourned its loss in songs and poems, while Ardaline felt nothing. When the Dunmer summoned the Ald Skar to defend the city of Ald'ruhn, only to be overrun by the Daedric horde, they forsook the absent Tribunal and despaired. Again, Ardaline felt nothing.
Now... what did she feel? She could not describe it. Something intangible had been torn out of her soul and left it naked and vulnerable. She tasted the salt of her tears that would not relent, saw the blurry orbs of light when she gazed at the moons and stars above. As the violet-streaked twilight darkened into the deep blue-black of night she realized she was not wearing a cloak, but it did not matter. Her heart was already freezing over.
Once upon a time, the stars had brought her great comfort after she had moved from her homeland and could no longer see the night illuminated by the Crystal Tower from her window.
Now, the starlight that leaked from the holes in the fabric of Aetherius only mocked her.
Crystal-Like-Law had been actual, palpable proof of Altmeri divinity, an intermediary between Mundus and Aetherius.
Now...
Ardaline wondered if their souls would ever join Auri-El in eternity.
In the distance, under the fruit trees now bare a light was approaching. A pale green magical orb of light.
Perhaps it was a ghost. There were an awful lot of graves out here.
No... she could hear the dead leaves crunching beneath their feet.
It looked as though this person was heading in her direction.
Probably a guard to tell her that the gardens were off-limits at this hour.
Ardaline hiccuped. She never thought this would ever happen, but she didn't even care that someone might see her in the dreadful state she was in.
Where was she again?
Right, she was sitting on a marble bench in the palace gardens. She had to keep reminding herself that she still existed, that time had not stopped for everyone else as it had for her but was moving at the same rate, and the people in the city were all going on with their lives.
As the light drew closer, Ardaline could hear a faint clinking, like the chains on the High Chancellor's robes. She sniffled, took several sharp breaths and attempted to cease her sobbing. Perhaps if she could be quiet they would turn around and leave.
But no such thing happened.
The illuminated stranger stopped directly in front of the bench she sat on. Ardaline held her breath but she still hiccuped inside her throat, like the croak of a frog. The light from their spell washed over her face, and she knew they could see her tear-streaked face and crinkled unbraided hair. Not that that mattered.
"I knew I heard someone out here. May I sit with you?" came a familiar, composed voice. Anxiety gripped her, though she knew not why she was afraid.
She gazed up.
He was not a ghost, though he looked just as pale in the magical light. Yet it was undoubtedly him, High Chancellor Ocato, still dressed in his official robes, the chains glistening from the glow of his spell. His eyes were those of an older Mer than the one she had seen in the council hall.
And though he stood just as tall as he had before, he seemed tired... his face was so colorless he looked as if he needed a healer.
Or, perhaps he too was dying on the inside.
"Your honor...?" Ardaline breathed. She gathered her skirts to stand, but the High Chancellor shook his head.
"We need not stand on ceremony at this hour. You and I... in this moment, we are Altmer first. Now, may I sit with you a moment, or is it solitude you desire?"
Ardaline moved on the bench so that the High Chancellor could join her. With a rustle of heavy fabric he lowered himself on the side to the right of her. She stared into her lap, afraid even to look at him. Trying to hold her breath again but another sob escaped her.
"You'll have to pardon me. I have seen you at court, yet I'm afraid I do not even know your name," the High Chancellor admitted. His voice sounded unstable, like a branch in the wind, ready to break at any moment.
"Ardaline," she mumbled. "I'm the... alchemist. Only been here a... a week," she managed to utter.
"Ardaline. Yes, I recall that name. I hope you'll forgive me. My duties kept me from welcoming you to the palace sooner. You're not from Cyrodiil either, are you? I hail from Firsthold myself."
"I wasn't too far from there. In... C-Cloudrest."
"On the mountain?"
"Yes. I saw it from my window. Crystal-Like-Law," she blurted. Ocato was silent, as if waiting for her to continue. She took a deep breath, gaining confidence. She stared at her hands, closing them into fists and then opening them again.
"I... remember. Every single night, I would look out and see it. Glowing like starlight... I thought, I thought if something so beautiful existed in this mortal plane, then... perhaps... our lives on Mundus were not as empty and bleak as we believed."
Ardaline rubbed her eyes. Ocato's light spell slowly faded and they were both sitting in darkness. She thought she heard him sniff.
"What are we going to do now?" she asked.
A beat. "I don't know," Ocato admitted. His voice sounded smaller, even more tenuous than before. "I... don't know," he repeated. "I'm sorry. You should never have to hear that from the one you look to for leadership. But I..."
The High Chancellor's voice cracked. Somehow, this made Ardaline afraid. He had been so poised and dignified before. If he was falling apart, then what did that mean for the rest of the Empire...?
"I am so sorry, Ardaline. I can't... I know that words alone cannot ease your pain, but... Crystal-Like-Law has fallen under my regency. For this... as High Chancellor, I apologize to you. This never should have happened. It is so wrong..."
Ardaline did not know what to say. How could she even begin to respond to something like this?
She choked on her breath. Tears were stinging her eyes again.
Somehow, the High Chancellor still had the strength to speak.
"With that being said, is there anything... anything at all that I may do for you? If you have relatives in Summerset, I could see to it that my people get in contact with someone who may know of their fate..." Ocato trailed off. He seemed... almost fragile, feebly trying to be of use, when he knew that everything was futile.
Ardaline shook her head. Then, realizing that Ocato would not be able to see that in the darkness, she swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to speak.
"No. If they are alive... they wouldn't care to hear from me."
"I see... that is most unfortunate. I hope you know that your presence is welcome at the palace."
"Thank you," Ardaline said, choosing not to repeat what his steward had said to her earlier.
She closed her eyes, and several minutes might have flown by. She had truly lost all sense of time, but when she opened her eyes again Ocato was still there. His mere presence gave her some comfort, if at least the knowledge that she did not have to face this grief alone. This was a pain that only another Altmer would understand.
"Ardaline..." Ocato finally broke the silence.
There was another pause. The only sound came from the chirping of the crickets. A chill wind caught them. Ardaline shivered.
"May I sit with you here a while longer?" he asked. It almost sounded like a plea.
"Please," Ardaline said. Perhaps that was the only thing the High Chancellor could do for her in that moment, and she for him. Sitting together in mutual understanding as they both contemplated in silence what the present events meant for the future. For a while she even forgot he was regent of all the Empire.
Crystal-Like-Law was gone from this mortal plane. But they still had to continue living.