Simon
The chill of the snows was enough to render the campfires ineffective.
It was not really a chill, more like the punishment of some God. It was not a blizzard, but the soldiers of the Imperial Legion were not suited for the weather that was native to the Colovian Highlands. No amount of furs or scarfs could keep one warm in these mountains, and yet they did not leave.
Not too cold for Althalos. The Lord of the Deadwater and True Emperor of Tamriel had urged them to continue to trek through the Highlands until they reached the other side. With the uttermost confidence that he would not lead them astray, the Counts and Lords followed their leader.
Their stores were aplenty with food the first few days, but the men needed to eat, and soon enough the meats began to dwindle. Days and days in the snows with no creatures to hunt or fruits to gather left them at mercy to whatever supplies they had taken with them. Unfortunately, the Aldmeri Dominion was too close for them to waste time gathering items.
But Simon did not feel the woes of the common Legionnaires; he luckily dined with the Emperor most of the time, along with the Elder Council members, and the few honorable guests such as the Counts and Lords. The soldiers would often grumble and make snide remarks, showing their disdain that the Lords would dine on extravagant foods and wines, while they were stuck with bread and cheese.
Simon understood well enough though, even if he had never been a soldier. Bread and cheese was not the most delicious supper, especially when compared to the fine foods that would often be in stock at the Deadwater. Simon had the luxury of dining on better foods than he deserved, although he was concerned that they were eating too much than they should. If the Emperor's own stores lacked, than what would that say for the rest of them?
But this night was especially cold, the chill serious enough to garner three fires in the Emperor's tent. Each man was clad in furs that must have cost the lives of three or so beasts to keep the Lords warm. The Counts were dressed even more prepared, with not only furs, but armor over the furs. But the Emperor was not dressed like his guests; he was only mildly covered, with the cold seeming to not affect him as much.
The servants brought them mead, ale, and wine. Althalos refused to drink any alcohol, but Simon took a very small cup of wine. He would not drink too much, he had a reputation as Althalos' primary advisor among the Counts, and he would not look like a good counselor when drunk.
The other took as much as they pleased however. Count Vergo was already down two tankards when Simon finished his first. The others took more time, enjoying their honeyed drink. Soon enough, the servants came about serving steamed vegetables and roasted pork. The food was not hot, as it wouldn't be in this weather.
"This is a fine pig, my lord." The fat Joshua Orwell told them, plenty of sauce all over his face. "I should hire your cook."
"If he lives past the week." Lord Althalos commented, not taking much of the pork, nor the vegetables.
"With the food he has made for us, I would hope so!" The Count of Kvatch, Alfarin said. Being only a minor lord before Kvatch was rebuilt; he was most definitely the lowest rank of the Counts. Not trained in war, he did not possess a built body like the others. The one thing he and Orwell have in common.
"Best eat your fill now; this food won't be here forever." Count Vergo said. He had been a depressed man ever since he had learned that the now Empress was keeping his daughter hostage.
"I beg to differ," Simon chimed in. "Eat as much as you like, soon enough we will be past the mountains and back into the mainland."
Althalos remained quiet, but the rest seemed to agree. And when the second course of food—containing chicken and breads-came about, Althalos did not partake in eating any of it. Simon chose to watch himself as well, only taking a few bites of bread before leaving the rest for the others.
"This was a good plan, my lord." A Lord from Anvil said, "The Dominion would have skewered us all had you not been so wise to help us escape."
"Yes!" Alfarin shouted, "A toast to the True Emperor! May he lead us through the snows and to victory!"
"Ha-ha!" they said, raising their cups to join in the toast. Simon rose slowly, grabbing his empty wine glass and lightly banged his cup against their, pretending there was something actually in it.
For a group of men in the idle of a blizzard with only enough food to last a week, these men seem quite happy. Simon would have expected them to be a pessimistic, doom driven group that lacked faith in their Emperor. They've all heard the tales; they trust Althalos with their lives.
"When we return to the mainland, we'll put those elves on stakes, and hang their King atop the Imperial City bastion and watch him squirm!" Lord Valthjof, a Nord whose cousin was Count Olvir of Bruma, the traitor who sided with the Dragonborn.
"The Dominion will know to never challenge the Empire again!" Vergo said, drinking more and more of his mead, looking drunker by the moment.
The third and final course came about, a set of pastries (somehow) made by the cook. Extravagant cakes and doughy goods. Simon did partake this time, enjoying a certain sweet roll he had been eyeing for quite some time after set on the table. It was still warm, which was quite a miracle in its own right.
Still, Althalos didn't eat, but the others did. Something was wrong with the Emperor, he had always eaten before. Did he lack hunger? It would be likely, since every night they had feasted like Kings while the men outside shiver in the cold and complain about their cheese and bread.
After the feast was done, the Counts left the tent, returning to their personal areas. Each Lord and Count had a quite large tent assigned to them personally, with each having their own fire, quite different than the soldiers outside. Simon on the other hand stayed in the Emperor's tent, along with Lady Alysa. It was large enough to encompass the entire throne room of the Imperial Bastion, so it would serve. And with that he went into a dreamless sleep.
The morning was different, with Lady Alysa awakening Simon quickly. He remembered a small hand slapping him across the face, sending a bolt of pain through his upper body. Simon's eyes opened immediately after.
"Finally, you woke up!" Alysa sighed, "Hurry up and mount your horse, we're riding today…well, as much riding as we can do here."
It wasn't really riding, since their horses would not be able to maneuver in this rocky landscape. Instead the horses (that still lived and had not been eaten) would be used to carry weapons, supplies, and other such things the soldiers required.
There were carts, used to carry those that had become weak and ill from the cold winds. Also among them were large cut pieces of cloth—most likely from tents—used to carry those that had suffered tremendously from the cold, leaving their legs unusable. Lord Althalos was in the head, his mount next to him, carrying his weapons and clothes.
The sun rose and fell, and soon enough they stopped once again at the base of another mountain. It was not as cold as where they had resided before, but the chill was still enough to warrant a good amount of fires and furs to keep them war. And when the Emperor's tent went back up, they feasted again; boasting about how they would retake Cyrodiil and Althalos would sit the Dragon Throne again.
After that feast had been done, the food had been cleared from the table, and Althalos called his advisor to speak with him. Being in the same tent, it was not much of a burden to answer his Lord's request. Lady Alysa accompanied him as well, being an advisor; Simon thought it was only appropriate.
Moving to the far side of the humongous tent, they saw Lord Althalos drinking a cup of water. He looked no different than before, except his blade was on the ground, instead of at his side like normal.
"Lord Simon, you've finally arrived." He said.
"Indeed."
"And Lady Alysa, I did not realize you would be joining us. But it does not matter, take a seat, both of you." He pointed towards two chairs that had been at the feast table. Simon and Alysa both took one and dragged them back to where their Emperor sat.
"My Counts have told me that we should be out of the mountains in two days." Lord Althalos said.
"A good thing, is it not?" Simon asked.
"It is, but we'll be headed into the Dragonborn's territory. Chorrol is loyal to the rebels." He replied.
Lady Alysa spoke up. "Then defeat them, just as you will the Dominion."
"If only it were so simple." Althalos said, "We would have enemies on both sides. Elves to the West and Rebels to the east."
"Perhaps we should forget the Dragonborn and refocus our attention to the Aldmeri Dominion?" Simon asked.
"It's not the Dragonborn I am worried about, I left the Deadwater for a reason, the Dominion most likely made short work of him." Althalos said, "It's the woman who sits on my throne. I cannot risk belong trapped in between two enemies."
"The rebels do not have enough soldiers to defeat you." Lady Alysa pointed out, "But Simon is right; the Elves should be your first priority."
"So I should let the Dragonborn's whore sit on my throne?" Althalos asked, angered. "Is that what you're saying?"
"No, we're telling you to set the throne aside, and deal with the Elven host." Simon finished.
Althalos sat there for a while, contemplation in his eyes. Simon shot a confused look at Alysa, but she was studying the Emperor. Althalos was a stubborn man, not one to have his opinions swayed easily. Simon waited quite a while for his response.
Althalos got up from his chair quickly, grabbing his sword. "We'll go south. The Elves do not change their tactics quickly, we'll have to stay here…I have a plan."
