36.

"'Til Death Do Us Part"

When Torin destroyed the strange black orb that seemed to be the cause of the Aurorans' revival, Alessia was stunned to see him suddenly vanish from her sight. She was so alarmed she almost didn't see the sword that whistled past her head. Instinct took over then, and she quickly rolled away and came up firing her bow rapidly at the head of her closing attacker, putting down the impudent Meridian who had dared tried to kill the Empress of Cyrodiil. There was no time to consider Torin's fate now, though she found her eyes scouring the area repeatedly as she fought, searching for the man she loved…a dangerous distraction that could easily get her killed, she knew, but she could not help it. He was not just her husband…her lover. He was the key to all of this…the key to ending Umaril and saving them all.

At last, with no orb to power their resurrection, the last of the Aurorans was finished. Carodus and Avita were nursing injuries, but nothing major, Alessia thought thankfully. Now, she searched in earnest for Torin, but he was not in the chamber. He had disappeared right in front of her, so where…? It was then that Avita shouted, "Here, Your Highness, a passage!" They charged ahead expecting to find more Aurorans or Umaril himself in their path. But when they reached Umaril's Throne Room there was only an ominous silence. They spread out, searching for some sign of their Knight-Commander. From across the room, Alessia heard shouts. "Here! Over here!" She ran, the strangest feeling of dread overtaking her with each step she took. "Kynareth, no…" she heard Avita moan. Alessia's heart went into her throat.

When she reached them, they were crowded around in a small circle. Geimund and Gukimir looked at her and lowered their eyes and their heads, unable to face her. They were filled with shame at what they could not prevent. Carodus and Thedret stepped back sadly, parting for her, so that she could see…so that she could grasp the situation…so that she could go to her husband. They had all seen the depth of feeling that was between their Knight-Commander and his Empress.

Alessia could read the grief on their faces but it did not register what might be the cause…that the unthinkable might have occurred. As if in slow motion, she stepped past them to witness the scene. She saw Umaril first, his lifeless body vivid proof that her faith in Torin had been justified. He had done it! She thought proudly. But where was he? Had he vanished to pursue Umaril in the spirit plane?

Avita was on her knees praying, tears running down her cheeks. She stood when she saw the Empress, revealing Torin's prostrate form. "I'm so sorry, Empress," she lamented softly, "I tried every potion I had."

Alessia stood there, scowling at her husband's body, shaking her head, shock setting in. "Torin?..." she asked weakly. Her mind could not comprehend it. "Nooo…" she whispered, "it…it isn't possible. He can't…" She fell to her knees and touched his face lightly. "Torin," she said softly, in full denial of his state, "You must get up now. I am here. We are all here, your brave Knights of the Nine. The Aurorans are finished, and so is Umaril. I feel it. You have done it, my love, you have saved us! Just as the Divines knew you would…just as I knew you would. But it is over now. You must rise. We must leave here. We still have our lives to live, and I…I cannot live mine without you…" she whispered, her voice breaking. The tears were coming unbidden now. Truth began to gnaw at the edge of her unreality even as she tried to convince herself that he was still alive…that he was in the spirit plane battling Umaril…that he would awaken safely at any moment. But it had been more than two hours since they had last seen him. His heart beat not within his chest. His lungs drew no breath. His eyes did not sparkle when they gazed at her. They no longer saw her at all. They saw nothing. They were empty…devoid of life, devoid of love. She had lost him…she had paid the most terrible price of all for their victory over the dread Elf-King. Torin was…gone.

Alessia cradled his head in her lap, caressing his face tenderly. She whispered how much she loved him, how proud she was of him, that he had triumphed over the impossible, and that all of Tamriel would sing his praises. He would be revered for all time as the hero that stopped Umaril, the man who took down Dagon. He had faced down the Prince Boethiah and overcome the worst that Oblivion had to throw at the mortal realm. A greater Champion has never lived, she murmured, wiping away the tears that blurred her vision of his handsome face. She knew he had never cared about such things, but it made her feel better to say them…to tell him the ways he would be honored.

The Knights made camp on the bluff outside Garlas Malatar, taking turns guarding their Empress as she mourned, making a litter to carry Torin's body. Day became night became day, her mind in a fog, always hoping in the depths of her soul that it was mistake…that somehow he would wake up…that the Gods had not asked him to do this only to see him destroyed by it once he had saved them. And so she held him, willing him back to her. She did not know how long she sat there with him, for time was immaterial to her now. The Knights could not make her eat or sleep. At last, when she was bleary with exhaustion and frail from hunger, she felt gentle hands lift her up. Alessia protested weakly, "No, I…I cannot leave him!"

"Your Highness, we are taking him with us…back to the Priory," Ser Thedret said.

Two days after he had slain the dread Umaril the Unfeathered, Torin was taken back to the Priory. The group made the journey in silence, none of them speaking, taking their cue from the numb, mechanical movements of their Empress. Each was lost in their own thoughts of mortality and bravery and admiration for their fallen commander, of their own loves won and lost.

Alessia was just lost. She felt nothing. Her grief and denial had given way to a detached and lethargic emptiness, a feeling of devastation unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

The others greeted them on their return, knowing they would not have returned if Umaril had been the victor. But their joy quickly turned to sorrow when they saw the litter and the somber appearance of the party…and the fact that their Knight-Commander rode not in the lead. It could only mean he was the one in the litter…and the face of their beloved Empress spoke volumes. Could he be…?

"Your Highness," Gukimir said gently, kneeling before her when they had dismounted. She looked down at him dazed. "My brother and I are Nords. It is tradition in our culture in Skyrim to send our greatest fallen warriors to their Gods with fire, to purify the body and show them the greatest respect. We would consider it a privilege to do so for the Champion," he said softly.

Alessia was moved, touched that they should be so devoted to their fallen leader. "I…am grateful you wish to pay homage to him. Torin…" she choked up emotionally. Even saying his name was difficult now. "He would be honored as well. But…I…cannot bear to…to think of him burning. Please…good and brave Gukimir, tell me you understand," she said pleadingly, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

The young Nord Knight nodded sadly. "Aye, I loved a woman once," he said, his gruff voice barely above a whisper.

It was enough. She could see he did understand.

They carried Torin to the undercroft and laid him reverently beside the original Knights as was his due. Dismissing the others, Alessia sat beside him for a time trying to say goodbye. It grieved her no end to think of leaving him…to think of never seeing him again, but she was Empress, and it was a luxury she could not afford, no matter how much she wished she could stay at his side forever as she had promised. She knew he would want her to go on, to be the best Empress she could be. He had believed in her as she had in him. And this was the place for him…he had given his life to defend the Nine, to spare Tamriel the horrors of Umaril. He belonged here, at this intimate Priory with those who had fought at his side to save the Empire.

She had no tears left. Her grief had given way to a cold, resigned acceptance to her fate…a life alone, without love. A life without life. She would do her duty to her Empire, but she would never be the same. She would shut down her feelings...burying them deeply beneath the surface so that she might put one foot in front of the other and function again as Empress of Cyrodiil. She owed it to her people…she owed it to him after his sacrifice, to lead them into prosperity. She would make him proud. Alessia sighed and stood, walking away with one last glance at that she had held most dear in this world, the man she had loved beyond compare, the Champion that had captured her soul.

"Should we keep his death secret?" she heard young Lathon ask the others as she ascended the stairs into the main room of the Priory. "What if our enemies should discover he is gone?"

"No," Alessia said firmly. All heads turned to her, bowing. "He deserves more than that. He deserves to be remembered. He has earned the recognition and the love of an Empire. His loss should be mourned by all who value honor and courage. He has given them their lives. We will not hide his death. He will inspire all of my people to better things. A man such as he…comes along but…once…" she found herself unable to continue for the great lump that had risen in her throat.

Lathon fell to his knees in front of her apologetically. "I'm sorry, milady, I meant no disrespect, I swear it! He was my hero…I only meant…" he fumbled pathetically.

Alessia forced herself to smile. "I know, Ser Lathon. I know how you all felt about him. And I am thankful that he was held in such high esteem. But know this. You have all proven yourselves worthy of him. He led you and you earned glory. You should not be afraid to face anyone. You stand for him now, and for the Nine. Honor them well and feel not fear," she said, addressing them all. "But...you will need a new Knight-Commander. Ser Thedret, you have survived much and borne your burden with great distinction and valor, never betraying that which was right. I believe it is for you to lead them," Alessia told him.

Thedret stepped forward, bringing his fist to his heart, his head bowed. "I am not worthy to replace the Champion, my Empress, but I will spend my life trying to be," he said softly, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable.

She nodded her appreciation. "I know my trust is well placed, Ser Knight," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder.

The Empress made ready to leave the next day. She had disciplined herself to eat, but sleep did not come as easily. It was fitful and restless as it had been since she had learned of his death. She said her goodbyes to the stalwart Knights of the Nine and bade them take good care of themselves and her precious husband. Then she started to mount her horse to return to Imperial City and stopped, glancing dolefully at Torin's great white stallion without its magnificent rider astride it. There was something in its eyes…a sadness? It seemed to know its master was gone. She threw her arms around the great beast's neck as if to impart her own grief and love for its owner. Then she mounted Torin's horse to make the journey back, leading her noble black mare behind her. Somehow, it made her feel less lonely to do so. Anything to make her feel less lonely.

She rode, willing herself not to think of him, but the responsibility that lay in front of her. Ocato was surely doing an adequate job keeping the Empire running, but she had once again to take up the mantle that was hers by birth, unwanted though it had been at the beginning. She would see to it that the Chapels in Anvil and Bravil were repaired and re-consecrated. There would be much to do, she was certain, and she silently thanked the Gods for that, for it would keep her busy enough to keep her thoughts from constantly going to her Champion. But then it occurred to her. The heir. She tried not to think of it. But in the back of her mind, she knew that one day she would have to give herself to another in loveless marriage to produce an heir to the Empire. And she could not prevent the tears from streaking down her face as she rode.