37.

"Matters of Life and Death"

Nearly five weeks had passed since those terrible events had transpired…since the Empress had lost her beloved husband. Five long, lonely weeks that seemed an eternity. Empty and desolate, mechanically moving through her role as leader of Cyrodiil, she plodded on as if in a trance…unfeeling, indifferent to her own fate. She had focused on the task in front, never thinking beyond if she could help it, never letting herself dream, trying to keep her thoughts away from him. The days were mercifully full, but the nights…when he should have been holding her…the nights were nearly impossible at times. Sleep fought her and dreams were her enemy, seemingly meant only to torture her with that which she could not have. Ever since she had thought him dead, her dreams had been the bane of her existence, good and bad. When her dreams of him were pleasant, she awoke to bitterly find they were but dreams, and it was doubly difficult to go on without him. And when they were not pleasant, she lost him over and over in the most imaginatively terrible ways. She had supposed that her guilt played a role in that…that she had survived and not been at his side for the final confrontation with Umaril. Many mornings she woke feeling as though she had not rested at all.

The light was gone from her eyes and from her life. She conducted her affairs of state with precision of memory, not the natural care and concern for her people that had marked her reign in times past. Alessia wondered if she could ever recapture the spark that had made her a good Empress. Perhaps one day, when she would be able to think of him without her heart being gripped by debilitating grief. Until then, she just had to keep going through the motions, to run the Empire as best she could. It did not help that she had felt so unwell these last days. Her personal physician was due in her chambers at any moment. Perhaps it was but a manifestation of her grief, yet her stomach was so unsettled at times, she had grown concerned for her ability to manage her duties so she had summoned him forthwith. She thought of Vaelor and shuddered involuntarily.

The physician finished his examination and listened to her explanation of her symptoms. He was a gentle, older man, kindly and caring, and had become friend to her since she had assumed the mantle of Empress. It had grieved him greatly to see her in such pain when she had returned from the battle with Umaril without her husband, the noble Champion of Cyrodiil. Now, his worried mask of concern erupted into a fatherly smile, his fear replaced with joy for his young Empress. Ah, but she needed some happy news.

Alessia scowled at him. What madness has taken hold of him? He looked as though he were about to dance a jig!

"My Empress! You carry not illness in your body, but a child! The Empire has an heir!" he exclaimed delightedly.

Alessia's jaw dropped in shock. It…had not occurred to her in her miserable state. But how was it possible? She and Torin had not been together for nearly seven weeks…not since he had taken on the terrible curse. But she had been with no one else. There was no tell-tale bulge yet to have given her warning, but certainly, it was possible! By the Gods, she was carrying Torin's child inside her! No wonder she had felt so ill, so irrational at times these last weeks. There was the grief, yes, but her body was playing havoc with her, too. She was with child…Torin's child. Oh, such bittersweet fortune! To have lost her beloved husband, and gained his child. To still have a piece of him in his son or daughter. Torin…oh Torin…why could you not be here for this moment? she thought as tears sprang to her eyes. The most profound feelings of joy and grief swept over her then, and they warred for supremacy for a few moments, until at last, she looked up and whispered through her tears, "Thank you, my good friend, for bringing me this wondrous piece of news. It will make all the difference in my life. For the Champion still lives…in me, in the offspring I will bear that is his. His child will grow up strong and courageous as he was and will know of the man, Torin Grayrider, and be proud to call him father. It will be alright now, you will see," she said softly, her hand subconsciously placed on her abdomen, her mind a thousand miles away. For the first time in weeks, she allowed a smile to break on her beautiful face.

The old physician squeezed her shoulder gently and left her to her thoughts.

There was a dense fog. That was the first thing he remembered, and a gentle, soothing ethereal voice that pierced it…calling him back. Back…back to the living, back to her. He struggled to return, for that was all he wanted…to see her again, to hold her again. His beloved Alessia. His Empress. His wife. His life.

But it was not her voice calling for him to arise. It was someone else familiar…Dibella! Yes, praise the Nine! The Goddess of Love was speaking to him now. That could only mean he had succeeded in his quest!

"You must awaken, Champion," she said softly. "Your time in this place is done, though time itself means nothing here."

Torin heard her in his grogginess, but he could not see through the fog, nor could he yet move. "Where…where am I?" he stammered, disoriented. He lay on a hard slab, but could tell nothing else.

"You are in the space between…the place between places. You followed Umaril here when he fled his form to escape to Oblivion, and you caught him here before he could reach his sanctuary," the Goddess replied. "You have defeated Umaril," Dibella continued, "He is gone forever. Victory is yours and the Nine are grateful."

Torin breathed a sigh of relief. "I…remember…vaguely. But...seems...so long ago…" he managed, his mind as much in a fog as the air around him.

"It is this place. You will return to clarity when you have left it. Thus is it meant to be here, for it is the plane between life and death…between knowing and not knowing…between thought and the void that comes before the life beyond. Fear not, Champion of Cyrodiil. We will return you to life," she said easily, as though it were but a simple thing.

Torin was stunned. "You mean…I…am dead?" he asked in disbelief.

"Not in the final sense…not in the sense you understand it. But when you cast the Blessing of Talos to pursue the Elf-King, you left your body behind as he did. In the mortal interpretation, you are dead. Your spirit no longer resides in your body. Yet, it is still within our power to return you to the mortal plane, for here you have been since defeating Umaril. You have not passed on to Aetherius," Dibella explained.

Dead. They must think him dead. No…Alessia. Yet, surely he had not been unconscious that long. "I…must go back…please. I…how long…how long have I been here?" Torin couldn't resist asking.

"Time holds no meaning here. You slew Umaril but a moment ago, yet weeks ago. It is of no import here…all takes place in the blink of an eye," she answered.

Weeks!? By the Nine, he had to roust himself! He threw all his concentration, all his energy and focus into willing his body to move. He could hear himself groan with his effort and knew it was not happening here in this plane, but in his physical body. That gave him encouragement.

"We have lifted the curse that plagued you. The Blessing of Talos has taken back that which you selflessly assumed in order to aid us. Your sacrifice is noted and your affliction is no more. The tumult of Oblivion has calmed, and the Daedra are quieted at last…humbled by an earthly Champion. Three Princes know your name, and the rest whisper it in astonishment. You have earned the grudging respect of the Lords of Oblivion, and for a time at least, they will consider what they have learned. But it is for you to return to your world and find your place in it once again," the Goddess continued, "Awaken."

Torin could not yet open his eyes, but he heard his lips struggle to utter the one word that overshadowed all else, "Alessia…"

"Your wife and Empress is well in body, but weak in spirit. She is torn between obligation and grief, unable to bury herself in mourning as she wishes, unable to fully discharge her duty. She is but a shadow of herself. Make her whole again, so that she can rule her Empire effectively and compassionately as she once did…as she must do again," Dibella commanded.

"I will…and…thank you," Torin said aloud, feeling the strength flow back into his body, consciousness and control returning to him as he regained control of his mortal form.

"It is We who owe you thanks, mortal. Be well and honor the Divines in all things," she said, her voice trailing away as the fog lifted completely and he realized he could see again. Torin tried to sit up but recognized he was interred in a wall crypt.

"Crusader... arise... stand and face the light," Ser Amiel said, "We would speak with you."

The sound of Amiel's voice told Torin he was in the Priory undercroft.

"Breathe again and receive your reward. You have completed your divine task. You have defeated the enemy of the Nine and restored the Order. The Knights shall serve as the sword and the shield of the Nine in the dark times to come. We owe you a debt of thanks. You have succeeded where we could not. You have held true to your purpose. At long last, our purgatory is at an end. We go to the glory of the Nine, to serve in their host in the life beyond this one," Amiel said.

Torin was surprised when Ser Berich stepped forward. It seemed he had rejoined his fellows after all. "You redeemed my soul from the evil that had ensnared me. For that I am forever in your debt. The old bitterness that seemed so important to me in life - what is that now? How to weigh that against my very soul?" he asked, as if perplexed by his own behavior, wondering how he could ever have acted so. "The evil took hold of me the day that I slew Ser Caius on the Priory steps. I baited him, knowing his temper, and then I killed him when he drew against me. I killed him in cold blood, with the holy Sword itself! I took the Crusader's Sword down with me into evil. I could have disarmed him or wounded him. But a cold pride had taken hold of me, and so I slew him, and went to war, and never returned. The evil grew upon me until I became cruel…a tyrannical ruler…a terror upon the land. In death, evil held me even tighter than in life. Thanks to you, that all is behind me. You have redeemed us both. The Gods are truly merciful. Ser Caius and I will go to Aetherius side by side, as of old. Walk with the Nine, noble Knight and know you have my eternal gratitude," Berich finished.

"You put right the evil that I began through my own weakness. Ser Berich is once again part of our fellowship, and shall be forevermore," Ser Caius said, "I add my hearty thanks to those already expressed, Champion."

"While you may have performed greater deeds, none have meant more to me than your redemption of my friend Berich. Now, we will all finish our long-delayed journey to Aetherius, and Ser Berich will be among us, as of old. May your sword serve the Nine all the days of your life, Crusader. Thank you again and fare well," Amiel said.

The spirits of the original Knights of the Nine raised their weapons in salute. "Hail!" they shouted in unison. And one by one, they vanished into the afterlife, peace finding them at last.

Torin paused for a moment to pay his respects and then, anxious to return to Alessia, started up the stairs when he was met by a breathless, wide-eyed Ser Thedret. "Lord Crusader!" he whispered in awe, "You...you're alive! It's a miracle! I heard voices in the undercroft and I came to investigate...but...how can this be? You vanished in Garlas Malatar. After the battle, we searched further into the ruin and found you next to Umaril's corpse. You had no mortal wounds on your body, but you were dead, I swear it! I saw it with my own eyes! We all did - you did not draw breath! We laid you to rest in the undercroft, and..." Thedret stopped in horror. "By the Nine, the Empress thinks you dead, too!" the new Knight-Commander exclaimed.

"I know, Thedret, it's going to be alright. I am going to go to her now," Torin said calmly.

Thedret still looked thunderstruck. "But how…?" he asked in a daze.

Torin but smiled. "The wonders of the Nine are many," he replied mysteriously.

Ser Thedret nodded, accepting while not understanding. "Indeed they are..." he said in amazement. Then he recaptured his voice and asked the question they had all been asking themselves these many days since they had returned to the Priory. "We knew you had succeeded in destroying Umaril's physical form, but it seemed that you had met the same fate as Pelinal Whitestrake. The Empress was certain of your success, but tell me...was Umaril finally destroyed? We are all dying to know if we truly were triumphant," Thedret asked.

Torin nodded with a small grin. "The Knights of the Nine have won the day. I have severed his very soul. It is over, truly," he replied.

Thedret became very excited, his voice rising to a fever pitch, "Then he is annihilated! We've won - and you're alive! I have to tell the others!" And he raced up the stairs and out the door to the courtyard where the others were sparring.

Torin followed, unable to keep his mind from wondering what he would say to his wife…how he would break the news to her.

"Knights of the Nine, hear me!" Ser Thedret charged outside shouting. They all stopped and turned to give their Knight-Commander their attention. "Today we have witnessed undeniable proof of the strength and the might of the Gods we serve! Slain in battle with the dread Umaril, by the grace and mercy of the Nine, the Crusader lives again!"

A collective gasp escaped the practicing Knights as Torin appeared and they launched a volley of confused questions simultaneously at Thedret. He raised his hands to silence the maelstrom.

"How can this be, you ask? By the will of the Gods! What of our foe? What has become of Umaril The Unfeathered? Umaril has been slain by the Crusader! His very spirit cast into the void and destroyed for all eternity - never to rise again. Let us give thanks to the Nine! By their power, the Crusader has rid the world of Umaril forever! Hail the Lord Crusader!" Thedret shouted, plunging his fist high into the air.

The astonished but ecstatic Knights raised their sparring weapons in homage to their Champion reborn, shouting, "Hail! Hail the Lord Crusader! Hail the glory of the Nine! Through Arkay, the Crusader lives! By the might of Talos, the Crusader is arisen! By the power of Akatosh!" each man praising the glory of his own patron and the Nine together.

Gukimir slapped him on the back with a loud and hearty laugh. "Thank the Divines we did not burn you, eh? The Empress is as wise as she is beautiful!" he exclaimed in good cheer.

Torin looked at him strangely, not understanding, but somehow thinking it better not to ask. They all crowded around him to hear more and congratulate him. As much as Torin appreciated their well-wishes, he could think only of Alessia. "I am sorry my friends, but I must go. My wife must hear the truth from me. I beg you to say nothing until I have had a chance to speak with her. I do not wish her to discover I am alive by vicious rumor," Torin explained. "Know that I hold all of you in highest regard. You are brave knights one and all, and I am proud to have served with you. You have honored the Nine and saved Tamriel. None can take that from you. But my place is at my Empress' side, and so I leave you now to perform the great deeds I know await you. Fare thee well, Knights of the Nine," Torin finished.

They all nodded their understanding.

"But," Thedret started, "You are the true Knight-Commander, Lord Crusader. The Empress appointed me in your place only because we thought…" he stopped.

Torin put his hand on the man's shoulder. "It is for you now, Thedret. I concur with the Empress' judgment. I am sure you make a fine commander. Guide them well," he said. Then he turned to address the Knights who had served him so faithfully. "I will be with you all in spirit, but my heart is in Imperial City. I must return to my wife," the Champion said.

After saying his goodbyes, Torin searched for his horse, anxious to be on his way, and realized it was gone. Thedret looked at him sheepishly. "I'm sorry, milord, the Empress…she took your great white stallion back with her. In fact, rode him back herself, if I remember. Refused an escort, insisted on going alone. We were, quite frankly, relieved to hear she made it back safely," Ser Thedret said.

Torin nodded, knowing it was exactly what she would do. She would want to be alone, to gather her thoughts, to deal with what had happened to him, to prepare herself to be Empress again in light of the heartbreaking circumstances. By the Nine, he could not wait to see her! He needed to see her…to eradicate her pain….to restore her as Dibella had asked of him. His own heart was breaking to think of her suffering. "I need to borrow a horse, the fastest one I can get. I will see it returned with more for your stable…"

"No need, Champion, the Empress sees that we have all we need now…supplies, arms, food and horses. Take whatever you want to see you safely back to the Empress," Thedret said.

Lathon had overheard Torin's call for a steed. "Take mine!" he said, beaming, happy to be able to help his hero. "Truly, it is the fastest horse in all the Empire! It was Ser Roderic's!"

Torin smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, happy to see he had recovered from his serious injuries. "Thank you, lad! I am grateful for your assistance and well-pleased to see you on your feet again. I will see he is returned to you, that's a promise!"

"Hail, Crusader! Gods' speed!" they all shouted as he waved farewell and galloped off at breakneck speed for Imperial City.