Chapter 34: Dragonborn's Descent
Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls Series or the Dragon Age Series.
Elder Scrolls belongs to Bethesda and Dragon Age belongs to Bioware
A/N: Sorry everyone but you know the drill. School and stuff and now work. But I will deliver in the end. Anyway, enjoy.
10th of August, 9:45 Dragon/ 10th of Last Seed, 305 4E
How do you win a war? Striking the enemy with overwhelming numbers, hoping to overcome any of their defenses? Or perhaps is it to strike from the shadows, slowly weakening them from the inside as your forces gather? Generals and strategists alike debated over such things, each bringing valid points. Yet for one man, it mattered not one bit. Because for today, all that mattered was power.
Val Firmin, a city that screamed the epitome of Orlesian society. Divided sections for different classes, marbled streets of pearly white, and banners of superficial abstractions decorating it all. The last it would ever show itself to Thedas.
Thousands of Orlesian soldiers patrolled around the city, waiting for the inevitable siege. But rather than a somber outlook of death and destruction, spirits held high for the soldiers. With news of the Imperial defeat near Val Royeaux and the secession of Qunari fighting against Tevinter, it seemed like a turning point in the war for Thedas. Hope had reignited into the heart of the Thedosian Alliance and with it, a chance for victory.
"Captain," an Orlesian soldier saluted his superior atop the battlements. "Scouts have reported the Imperial army arriving within two weeks or so."
"Which is it?" the Captain questioned, glaring.
"We cannot say for certain," the soldier reported. "We haven't heard from the skirmishers but their last report told us the Imperials are still recovering from taking Montsimmard. However, with their dragons…"
"Are the ballistas prepared per the Inquisition's information?"
"They are, with dragon-slaying runes enchanted onto each bolt."
"Then you are dismissed. Back to your station."
The soldier saluted. "Sir," he said and marched off.
Out toward the field where the siege would begin, a small dot appeared over the horizon. Miniscule and insignificant to the defenders, many ignoring it as a stray bear wandering for food. But as it reached closer, anyone with eyes could see it was not an animal but a black hooded figure and it approached closer with each passing second.
"Now who would come here alone?" said a man by the name of Duke Theophile as he peered through a telescope.
"Your Grace?" a Chevalier asked the Duke.
"A refugee of some sort," the Duke said, putting away his telescope, "approaching from the distance, alone."
"Shall we send a warning shot?"
"And waste arrows?" the Duke huffed. "I think not. Go there down there with some other knights and deal with it."
"Why me?" the Chevalier stammered but before he could further respond, the Duke raised a hand.
"I know it is beneath you but you're not doing anything at the moment," the Duke said as he narrowed his gaze. "Unless of course, you're looking to lose some holdings of yours."
A very silent sigh escaped from the Chevalier, thanks to his full-face helmet. "At once, your Grace."
Within minutes, three Chevaliers rode out from the city gates. Their armored cavalry galloped briskly along the road to avoid the various pits, spikes, and magical runes placed in preparation. Then with a spur kick, the Chevaliers skidded to a stop in front of the hooded figure, who had stood in place since they galloped.
"What are you doing here, refugee?" one of the Chevaliers asked as he trotted up. "All fleeing the Imperial army are to go to Andoral's Reach."
"Andoral's Reach?" the hooded figure with the voice a decrepit old man questioned, turning his head back and forth. "Is that not Val Firmin?" he pointed to the city.
"The city is closed," the Chevalier said. "Turn back the way you came."
"Surely you can make an exception," the hooded man clasped together with his arms and began to walk. "I just need to retrieve my things and-"
Swords unsheathed from their scabbards simultaneously as one of the Chevaliers rode in front of the hooded figure. "Turn back," she said, edging the blade down to the hooded man. "I won't repeat myself."
"You'd threaten me just because I wish to retrieve my things?" the hooded man quivered. "But… my life's work is in that city. You can't-"
The Chevalier immediately dismounted from her horse. "Get lost," she shoved the hooded man down. "We have enough problems to deal with as if and we don't need a refugee to mess it up even more as is."
The hooded man laid bare on his knees, groaning. His hooded face turned up to the Chevaliers, looking down on the man with contempt. His hood concealed how he felt, merely a black abyss that hid his identity, and so sigh sufficed instead.
"Very well then," the hooded man said as he picked himself up. "If that is what you insist."
The hooded man staggered past back towards whence he came, limping in his leg evident that the push hurt him. The Chevaliers merely watched on from their horses and galloped off as the hooded man left.
Yet as the man departed, a rousing quake vibrated in the air and then into the ground. The Chevalier's horses stopped dead in their gallop and bucked and neighed erratically. With a thud, the Chevaliers crashed into the dirt and laid on their backs to behold the sky filled with a fleeing murmuration of birds.
"However," the hooded man said, his voice echoing in a deep bass. "I must warn you. The Imperial Legion is not the one you should be worried about."
The Chevaliers returned rapidly back to their feet to witness the hooded man slowly turn back to face them. They and the soldiers from back in the city watched in awe as a storm of clouds materialized above the hooded man. A soft echo fell from above, ironically booming into the ears of all within the city.
DOVAHKIIN, DOVAHKIIN
Just those two words immediately paralyzed the three Chevaliers before the hooded man. He approached forth, extending out bare hands from his sleeves.
NAAL OK ZIN LOS VAHRIIN
"There is a man," the hooded man said. "A man who has struggled all his life to find his purpose in this unforgiving world."
WAH DEIN VOKUL MAHFAERAAK AHST VAAL
"And even as the gods bestowed upon him his destiny, it did nothing but bring ever greater sorrow on his soul. For he knew that no matter what he did, he could never truly save this world regardless of whatever destiny the gods had in store."
DOVAHKIIN, FAN HIN KOGAAN MU DRAAL!
With a single motion, the hooded man flung his entire cloak to the sky. The clouds above consumed its entirety and left all eyes square on the man that was left. A clean angular chin trimmed over with a short beard, hair cropped in black, his appearance was the opposite of what his voice would have entailed. A man with darkened fair skin, aged but still showing of youth, a bit muscular in build. And in his golden plated armor traced in black and red wrapped in a crimson cape, it was if the Maker himself had bestowed upon a radiance rivaling that of Andraste.
"That is… until now," The man continued forth to the Chevaliers, still paralyzed by his display. "And he has come too far to allow for mere tricks and false knights to stop him."
The Chevaliers could barely regain their movements, with only one able to raise a shaking finger. "Y-Y-You're him… aren't you? T-the Emperor… t-the Dragonborn…"
Gaius cracked a smile. "Whatever gave that away?" he said, crossing his arms.
Like cornered animals, the Chevaliers gave way to fight and drew their swords. The Emperor though did not display any change in his outward appearance and merely chuckled.
"You intend to fight me? Even as I see your blades trembling in your palms?"
The Chevaliers held their ground, holding close together even as their shaking legs betrayed their true feelings.
"Fight it is then," Gaius said, pressing his face against one of the swords. "Go on then. Do it."
"W-wha-"
"I said… do it," Gaius said, his voice distorting to deep bass. "Unless Chevaliers are truly the cowards I know you to be."
The field itself began to ravage even further than before. The clouds above darkened, forming into a maelstrom of destructive winds and howls. The traps and barricades ripped from the ground, carrying chunks of dirt and grass high into the sky.
Panic and fear arose across for all in the region into a boiling stew, Orlesian soldiers in Val Firmin hunkering down from the winds. And the three Chevaliers who surrounded the Emperor were no more brave than their status claimed, gasping as they looked above in horror no doubt beneath their helmets.
"It's just wind," Gaius said, pressing his face deeper into the sword for a nick of blood to travel down his cheek. "Insignificant... wind."
The Dragonborn glared down on the Chevaliers as the force of a thousand winds pelted the soldiers deep into the dirt. With a final look, they cowered before the Emperor and screamed for dear life.
"It's the Dragonborn! The Emperor!" they all screeched towards the city.
But the torrent winds masked even the loudest of sounds from anyone, it was but a vain hope for the Chevaliers. Except for one.
"At last your true nature," Gaius sighed as he wiped the blood with a handkerchief. "Honestly, it would have been easier for all of us had you done so sooner."
As the storm raged on, the Dragonborn leisurely approached Val Firmin with his hands behind his back. Sharp pieces of metal and wood flung aggressively towards the man, passing harmlessly by and would continue until he reached near the front of the city gates.
A quick raise of his hand and the storm ceased as if it never existed. A silence was brought and immediately crashed down upon by a rain of metal and wood. Explosions of fire, ice, and lightning erupted upon their contact with the runes, destroying the very earth itself into a gigantic column of smoke.
The Orlesian soldiers in the city slowly returned to their feet, dazed in glances with each other. But those atop the battlements gawked with mouth and eyes wide open, witnessing the smoke dissipate to reveal an unscathed Dragonborn.
Silence was all that was bequeathed back to them. The soldiers stared down to the Emperor, who in turn himself closed his eyes and began to stretch. He rotated his arms and neck with brisk, sighing with each set he completed. It went on for several minutes, stopping as he took in a large sigh and exhaled.
FUS RO DAH!
Utter complete destruction befell. The walls of Val Firmin imploded into debris, flying off into nothingness. The buildings and streets, gone in an instant. The power of the Voice overwhelmed the entirety of the city and the earth itself, splintering it forth at the seam. The air rippled out into shockwaves, it's pressure further expanding out the debris into a giant cloud of dust and dirt. All in an instant.
Just as it came, it went. It was over and all that was left was a crater of where the city once stood. The high wall no longer stood proud, no more so than those of elvhen ruins. The streets themselves now completely marred in the stone debris of what were once buildings, excess water spewing out from the exposed sewers. And as for those that had stayed to defend the city, they were nothing more than chunks of arms, legs, torsos, and whatever other appendages that were laid or buried by the debris. Just… total obliteration.
"Hrrng…" the Dragonborn let out several coughs, rubbing his throat. "It really has been a while."
The Emperor set out among the ruined streets, whistling a jaunty tune. He casually observed all around him, like a farmer proud of his own crops, smiling all the way through until he reached what was presumably left of the center of the city.
Piles upon piles of stone and dirt, there was only one thing of notice to the Dragonborn. A large golden arm from a statue completely warped and bent from his shout. Yet it stood, embedded out from the pile with a flag of Orlais still flowing proudly from it. The Dragonborn could do nothing but glare up at it.
Suddenly, an arm broke free of one of the rubble and followed through with a man in Chevalier armor. The man could barely drag himself out and tumbled down like a ragdoll before plopping before Gaius. Breathes labored very lightly from the dust and blood-covered man, with only a skin-exposed arm of muscle reaching for the sky.
"He- he… heeelp… mee… any- one..." the man weakly reached out. His dry bloodied face collapsed on its side, with a single eye open. "Argh… it- itt'sss- you…"
The Emperor slowly turned to face the downed man with a stoic look. "You survived," he said as he approached and knelt over the man. "I suppose I should use a different shout next time."
The man responded in a quick gasp and his body shifted away. Or attempted at least as the man collapsed, only managing to roll onto his back. "Wh… what... are… y-yoou?"
"Just a man," Gaius replied, standing up as he looked down upon the man. "One bestowed with extraordinary powers. Dragonborn, Emperor, all titles and more I am called. But in the end, I'm just a human. Mortal."
With a flick of his wrist, a flame launched from the Emperor's hand. The Orlesian flag burned at its touch, turning to ash right before the eyes of the wounded man.
"And as a mortal, I am capable of mercy," Gaius said as he cast a healing light over the man, mending the cuts and bruises. "And in return, you shall leave for your 'Emperor' and tell him this. Val Firmin is no more."
Shock. Near to the core of his very being, Solas had not felt in such a way in a very long time. Observing through one of his mirror portal spells, he had just witnessed the destructive power the Dragonborn possessed. An entire city, gone with just his voice alone. And Solas knew from instinct that this was not his full power. Not even close.
"No doubt to toy with me as well," Solas said, balling his fists. "Is that it?"
He further gritted his teeth, annoyed at this man. We would have marched down to Val Firmin were it not for a soothing voice to wash in his mind.
"Solas," Mythal spoke within him. "Do not be so angry."
He paused and immediately relaxed his body. "I'm... sorry," he said, slumping. "I shouldn't have gotten angry, it doesn't help. But…"
"I know," Mythal reassured softly.
Solas looked with dismay as he looked out, atop the White Spire overlooking all of Val Royeaux. Ironic that the most guarded prison for mages was the only place he could find any semblance of quiet within the city. Hypocritical, the Inquisitor would say.
She was right below him with Cullen, Cassandra, and all of Divine Victoria's agents. Interrogating the two generals they captured, peeling for any information they could use against the Empire. A pointless effort.
Solas observed the streets below, the hundreds of people, soldiers, and civilians alike, in great fear and agony. As his friends of the Fade proved, all this negativity did nothing but bring ever more despair and hate for this world and theirs. Exactly what he was trying to avoid.
"But we have to keep moving forward, no matter the cost," Mythal said.
"I know," Solas said, holding his hands close to his heart. "Yet I can't help but feel regret. It was not meant to be like this, far from it."
"True… though they are not our people, it's still so sorrowful that they'll have to suffer for such a long time. Remerging the Fade back into this world will not make it any easier."
"It is not possible nor ever will be," Solas stopped Mythal. "Not as long as the Dragonborn and his Empire continue their path across Thedas. Unless we use-"
"You can't!" Mythal screamed.
Solas collapsed at the sudden yell, landing on the edge of the tower and followed forth by a rapid response.
"I'm sorry I didn't mean too-"
"It's alright," Solas replied. The Dread Wolf gently picked himself up, holding a smile. "You only did so because you cared, I understand. But with the Fea Opus-"
"I will not hear of it, Solas," Mythal shot him down. "You know what happened last time, what Elgar'nan did to our people with it. I don't want you to become corrupted by its power."
Solas could still remember the screams of agony from his people as they were used by the Fea Opus. It brought him so much rage that he would have started a war against Elgar'nan then and there were it not for Mythal.
Solas sighed. "You're right, it's… I was wrong to think of such a thing. It's just… even with you and me together along with the power we have stored, I fear we're only evenly-matched against the Dragonborn."
"With certainty?" Mythal asked.
"The orb we all created for the Fea Opus would tip the balance," Solas said. "But he would notice the moment I near something that powerful. You can feel, can't you? His faint presence lingers, waiting for a bite."
"Hmm… yes," Mythal replied. If Solas could see her face, it would be of pensiveness, a hand resting over her chin. "I've been musing on it ever since we met him in the Fade. He knew about the Fea Opus and of events long before any of his spies would have known. And I don't doubt he knows of the orb as well."
"And the movements he's made so far are more than just the mind of a master strategist," Solas added. "Every time our spies move against him, his armies always react accordingly. And even when he fails, he still manages to get the upper hand."
With magic not even he or Mythal knew off, it wasn't a far-fetched conclusion. The Dragonborn knows of the past and the future. And there was only one thing that would allow for such an ability.
"The Scroll of Ages," Solas and Mythal concluded.
Mythal continued as she let out a sigh. "I should have known he used it. I'm sorry, my friend."
"Don't be. We've both made mistakes, failed our people. And made the wrong moves," Solas said as he looked again to the streets of Val Royeaux. "The Thedosian Alliance won't hold any longer and we haven't acquired enough power to restore our people. We're out of options."
"That much was obvious, my friend," Mythal woefully said. "Even so, we shouldn't-"
"What else is there!?"
Solas rarely erupted in anger, much less to his friend. But he couldn't help it. Everything was falling apart, his months of planning ruined by someone likely his equal or even more, and he couldn't just take it anymore.
"Even though we share a mind," Mythal said to a teary-eyed Solas, "it's still an enigma for me to know how you feel sometimes."
"You've always known," Solas replied as he pressed his face into his palms. "It's why you were the only one who could truly understand me."
"If that's true then you should understand what I'm saying," Mythal said.
Solas kept his eyes buried in his hands, he wouldn't hear of it. But she would as his hands were suddenly pulled apart to lay upon a form of Mythal that he had not seen. Of radiant golden hair and fair beauty unmatched by anything, it was tarnished by a mess of tears pouring down her perfect skin.
"Don't do this… please," Mythal pleaded, pressing her forehead against Solas'. "The risk is too great. If you fail against the Dragonborn, then all will be lost for our people. For good. I can't in good conscience let you go through with this… I won't."
Can't? What did she…? Solas immediately sprung up, pushing Mythal aside, just realizing what she had meant.
"You…" Solas struggled to say as Mythal looked back with sorrow tears. "You read it… didn't you? The Scroll…"
"I-"
"When were you going to tell me this!?" Solas demanded, tears streaming forth. "Do you not realize the dangers of that thing? The others went mad from it! That's why-"
"That is why I had traded it away!"
Solas locked up, looking on Mythal as her eyes sulked into darkness. She still cried but she had spoken the words so emotionlessly.
"Because I thought putting it out of my mind would ensure the future I saw would never come to pass," Mythal continued as her voice cracked and lumbered with a fleet of tears. "But it's happening regardless and it's all my fault. The future where you die… and the world is destroyed by the Dragonborn."
Suddenly, it pieced together for Solas. The visions from the Inquisitor… Tevinter burning, the Breach emerging, the Evanuris being freed. They were Mythal's memories of the visions bestowed from the Scroll! A future coming to be.
"The future you saw… if I learn what happens then perhaps it can be stopped," Solas exclaimed.
"It won't matter… we've already tried," Mythal dropped her head down. Solas titled, perplexed as she said, "Working with the Inquisition again, the Alliance… we didn't do that in the future I saw. We worked alone with our agents all while fending off against another recruited by the Inquisitor. Yet here we are… in the same conundrum."
Conundrum but… no? It didn't make any sense, none of it did for Solas. How could his closest friend hide this from him, it didn't- she shouldn't have-
"Why?" he asked, balling his fists. "Why does it matter? Those visions from the Scroll are nothing more than unsubstantiated prophecies. There's no guarantee what they tell is true, you know that."
"The Evanuris' future did," Mythal answered, turning up to face Solas. "Why shouldn't it happen for you, no matter the probability? You can't deny that."
Solas didn't know how to respond, merely grunting in frustration as Mythal approached him. "That's why I'm asking… begging you," she said, holding his watery cheeks. "Don't fight the Dragonborn. Please… I don't want to lose you."
Their foreheads pressed together, melding the pain each held into a confusion of regret and despair. Of all they had done, all they had worked and bled for… was it all for nothing? Pointless? No… no, no it… it can't be. It wouldn't. Not after all the sacrifices, the loss, the waiting.
"But we can wait him out," Mythal responded. "There's still a possibility that he'll-"
He can't… he couldn't. That wasn't his way, to stand on the sidelines and watch as his people would continue to suffer. For thousands of years, he did so. Today, that ends.
"But you might die."
"Or live and succeed," Solas retorted as cupped Mythal's face. "Either way, both of these options are better than risking the Dragonborn freeing the others. And that is certain to end in disaster for everyone, not just us."
"But-"
"I have made up my mind," Solas said, firm in conviction. "I am sorry my friend but I must do this."
A waterfall of tears burst from his friend and he too couldn't help to join in as they embraced each other, never wanting to let go. For this may be the last time.
"There you are! What are you doing up there?"
Solas made no sudden move to face the voice as he knew it to be of Cassandra though he was slightly worried how she nearly hung out the window from below him.
"Contemplating, Seeker," Solas sighed as he stood back up. "The war against the Empire is… leaving me in a difficult position."
With a gesture of a hand, Cassandra entered back in through the window and allowed Solas to follow through.
"Losing most of your people's support would be difficult for any of us, regardless of our power," Cassandra commented. "You have… my… sympathies."
"Cassandra please, you don't have to force yourself," Solas said. "I don't hold it against you that you feel betrayed by me, I understood the consequences when keeping my true identity. And with that in mind..."
"I don't know whether to admire or hate your objectiveness," Cassandra mulled, shaking her head. "But your right, I didn't come here to talk. We need your assistance with the Imperial generals we've captured."
An odd request from Cassandra, Solas thought. "We or the Inquisitor?" he asked.
Cassandra did not answer immediately, walking away towards the stairs down. "It's… becoming more desperate," Cassandra said as she looked with dismay. "The Empire is still marching across Orlais and with the main army of the Alliance marching towards Markham… there's still too much uncertainty."
"Extracting the memories from the generals… you were against-"
"I still am Solas. That's why the Seekers and I will keep you under close watch as you do so."
"Ah… of course," Solas said. He expected nothing less. "But even so, you're taking a risk, Cassandra. That's not like you and I suspect Divine Victoria doesn't support this either."
"The Divine is... busy at the Cathedral speaking with members of the Alliance," Cassandra answered before pausing at the top of the stairs. "And you are right… this goes against my better judgment."
A silence permeated from Cassandra, no doubt to Solas as she struggled to find the right words. But instead, she turned back with a simple look that was not of sorrow or determination. Just a smile.
"But as someone told me, it's not such a black and white choice. And right now, between the Empire coming and you using your magic, it's clear to me which is the lighter shade. Don't you?"
Solas was blank of any emotion he could convey to the sincerity Cassandra spoke. A simple nod was all he replied with to her as she continued back down the stairs.
"You shouldn't be surprised," Mythal commented.
"Moreso ironic," Solas replied. "So much time I spent trying to guide our people that a human takes it before they do. And one of the Chantry no less."
"A shame that the rest of them won't listen."
"True," Solas said, closing his eyes to muse what might have been.
"Changing the subject…"
"I know," Solas replied as he walked to the stairs. "I- we must prepare for the Dragonborn. With access to those Elder Scrolls, he no doubt knows about us."
"But we know nothing of him."
"No, we don't," Solas noted. He continued to walk down, reaching the floor where the two Imperial generals were. Both sitting nonchalantly as Evelyn attempted to interrogate.
"But they do."
15th of August, 9:45 Dragon/ 15th of Last Seed, 305 4E
60,000 soldiers. Men and women of four lands, potential enemies to each other, marched in solidarity. All led by their respective leaders over the plains of the Free Marches. It was an Exalted March of the faithful, declared by the Imperial and Andrastian Chantries. Making headway to remove the scourge they called the Dragon Empire.
Today it would be the ultimate challenge the Thedosian Alliance would have to face. To free Markham from Imperial control and ultimately liberate the rest of the Free Marches, they would have to break through the Imperial host. Forty-five thousand strong led by what their intelligence reported to be the leader of the entire Imperial army, second only to the Emperor.
Unfortunately, some of the leaders of this coalition were much more focused on capturing or killing the man rather than defeating his force. That's why Sebastian prayed for this battle to end quickly and swiftly.
The Prince however still didn't feel at ease, an itch at the back of his mind. That told him something terrible would happen and, he hated to think, that not even the Maker could save them if he could.
Horns blared into his ear and drew the Prince back to reality of the entirety of the stopping before the sound. Well, most of them did save for the numerous devout followers who insisted to come along. Riders had to stop them from moving further ahead, chastising them to stay put as the leaders of the forces rode to the front of the force.
The Lord Chancellor of Tantervale, Hubert King, a pious man gave out a rousing speech to the force and of the objectives. But Sebastian couldn't hear the rest as he heard a voice from a familiar voice.
"Been a while, Sebastian."
"Guard-Captain," Sebastian answered as he veered around. "It has been-"
Sebastian was at a loss for words. Was a demon playing tricks on his eyes? He swore he heard Aveline's voice but the woman before him looked nothing like her. She was completely shaved at the head, a horrid scar drawn over the blinded right eye. Dressed in a heavy cuirass from Starkhaven, silver, and engraved with his family heraldry, but on her arms and legs, she wore what he believed were Imperial.
"It's me, Sebastian," the woman interjected, bringing the Prince out of thought. "Aveline. I helped you with Hawke bring Harimann to justice for killing your family."
"How-" Sebastian asked as Aveline raised her hand, gesturing him away from the main host.
"I was captured when the Empire took Kirkwall," she said softly as they rode. "I- It was a bloody disaster."
"What happened?" Sebastian asked.
"What didn't happen," Aveline replied as she tightened the grip on her reins. "Everything I suppose. Dragons rained hell, their heavy infantry cut through even our best guards, and the mages they… summoned demons."
"The Empire has blood mages? Or those like that Anders?"
"I don't know but they were like them. And the creatures they summoned… they-"
Aveline took a hard pause and she turned away from Sebastian.
"Aveline…" Sebastian reached out with a hand but was quickly snuffed as she pulled away.
Aveline let a loud sigh. "They tore him apart," she choked, letting her grip go as a few tears fell. "Those big crocodiles left nothing of him and I just left. For no reason."
It clicked in Sebastian as he realized that another was not with Aveline, one very dear to her. One that he witnessed blossom with her under the Maker's light.
"Aveline-"
"Saying sorry won't help, Prince," Aveline shook her head. "Not even the Maker can help."
"Not if you stop believing he-"
Aveline turned away, waving him off.
"Very well then," Sebastian sighed, understanding her grief. "In any case, may I ask how you're here?"
"It's a long tale, Sebastian," Aveline spoke as she quickly wiped her eyes. "But to suffice to say, this scar wasn't from the siege at Kirkwall."
Before Sebastian could question further what Aveline meant, the army began its move. A loud holler reached across, calling for him and Aveline to march forth.
"The battle has begun," Aveline said, stating the obvious as she bucked her horse. "Let's go, Prince. To the center!"
"Wait!" Sebastian called and followed behind.
But no response came and instead he was met with another cavalry rider blocking his path.
"My prince," the rider asked, "what are you doing? We are advancing and Starkhaven needs you."
"Move," Sebastian pushed aside the rider.
He tried to look for Aveline within the moving host of soldiers trudging up the hill but to no avail. She was nowhere to be seen, no doubt have moved on with the cavalry.
"My prince!" the rider grabbed and turned Sebastian around. "The battle is starting, do not just wander off!"
Sebastian looked back to the army to search for Aveline when a high pitch rang in his ear and before he could process the sound, he found himself pulled and planted face-first into the dirt. His face bruised but was overpowered by a large weight pressing on his back. Sebastian pushed and struggled, only to be put down. With one push, he managed to turn his head up and only to meet arrows nearly grazing his face.
His heart raced through the storm of arrows that befell around him. Was this it? Was he going to die on the battlefield? Apparently not as the storm ended and in an instant, he was dragged away by armored knights as they pulled him away from the dead scout that laid on top.
"Down here!" the prince heard one of the soldiers yell as they leaped down into a crevice, shaking around as a seismic force radiated from the earth.
"Stay down, my Prince," a knight of Sebastian's said as he held down his leg.
Sebastian winced in pain as he felt an arrow pulled from his leg. He hardly noticed it, still focused back on his near death.
"Prince Sebastian, Prince Sebastian," a soldier shook the prince, regaining back the prince's attention to the situation as he swerved his head around.
"Yes, yes," Sebastian reengaged back. "The battle! What's-"
Gunks of blood and dirt splattered over Sebastian, spikes of earth shot out to impale and sever the soldiers in the crevice followed by an explosion rocking the prince to black.
A light appeared in the center of the darkness. Tiny and bright, it inched closer with a warm radiance of the sun. The Maker! This was it… by the Maker's side he would arrive, all the struggles suffered were coming to an end.
The light washed over and… and… he was in a tent? With other men, wounded in blood-dried bandages-
"No this can't-"
Sebastian bellowed in pain, furloughing his stomach over. His hands were completely bandaged in dark-crimson wraps along over his entire chest and feet as he noticed he wore nothing but trousers.
"What…" he could only muster as a hand gently grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Please do not move," the woman who the hand belonged to said as she pulled him down. "You need to rest."
"The battle," Sebastian quickly said. "Have we…"
"No, we haven't lost," the woman shook her head. "But… well, it isn't well either."
"What do you mean?" Sebastian asked the woman, raising his head to clarify.
"It's…" the woman began to speak when her lips pressed and quivered. "It's too terrible to… to say."
The woman's eyes flooded with tears, casting in hushed silence as she looked away to redirect the topic. But it was too late for Sebastian as he rose.
"Your Majesty, you must-"
"I am not your king," Sebastian said as he pushed the woman aside, grunting as his chest flared in pain. "But I am a prince to my people, to the soldiers of my city that walked on that field. I need to know what has happened out there."
The woman looked back, a glimmer in her eyes from the tears. Her mouth braced together as she grabbed hold of Sebastian, hoisting him up from the bed.
"I must warn you," she said as she walked forth with the limping prince. "Not even the Maker can help prepare you for what you'll see."
The depressed energy she emanated hit Sebastian hard as if his heart was literally pierced and pumped full of the despair she had. He looked to the curtain before him, dark crimson cloth separating him from the gruesome image that laid beyond. His hand reached and grabbed the curtain, balling his fist. With a deep breath, the prince fortified himself to stand tall and pulled the curtain aside to- to-
"I warned you," was all the woman said.
It was all Sebastian really heard before nothing a bleak silence stretched in him, looking at the batt- massacre, carnage, slaughter. They weren't enough to describe what he was seeing.
What was once a peaceful field full of the Maker's love was nothing but blackened hearth of corpses and waste. Banners of both sides lair tattered, destroyed over broken ground uprooted by dirt and grass to be replaced by spikes of ice and spears embedded through flesh. And even though he wasn't a mage, Sebastian sensed the agony and death that emanated from the desolation.
"I am sorry, my Prince," a knight spoke, approaching up the tent. "You should not have to see this."
And what would he have rather seen? A lie that everything was fine?
"How-"
"Inside, my Prince," the knight interrupted, grabbing hold of Sebastian over by the shoulder. "It is better if I explain where assassins might not kill us."
"Assassins?" Sebastian questioned, wide-eyed at the callous statement as he was led back to bed.
"The Orsimer should lead the vanguard with our battlemages."
"Against Templars whose magic will be useless against? We haven't made much progress precisely because of our over-reliance on magic. We need to send in the arbalists."
"They'll take too long hitting them, they're not stupid enough to expose them. The assassins can get rid of them."
"And what if they can't in time either?"
"This conversation is getting us nowhere. Commander Marius, what do you suggest?"
The four generals of the northern Imperial army all looked to their half-Imperial half-Nord commander for his input. But nothing came of him save for a steady pace he made towards the war table. His eyes revealed no emotion of anger or frustration, only a man deep in thought as he leaned over.
"You've all made valid points," Marius said. "But you're all missing the bigger picture. This is not just a battle but a turning point. Whoever wins here shall gain control of the Free Marches. Victory for the Empire is no doubt assured but how we win this will decide whether this region will surrender or fight to the death."
The Commander placed a finger firmly onto the map of the battlefield. "Which is why we won't be using assassins or any other underhanded tricks to win. I don't want to induce into the people that the Empire is nothing more than simple thugs that will bring about terror."
"Of course not, Commander," General Rhiata concurred. "It would be imprudent if we do so. However, we still must consider all options as we consider the time limit we have."
"The Emperor's time limit," Marius replied with a glare.
"We follow the Emperor's command by the oaths we swore, Commander," Gasred said as he approached. "And to complete it, I say we go with the plan I have proposed."
"Skirmishing won't get us anywhere, Gasred," Tsrani called. "Neither will Rhiata's frontal assault to dislodge the Thedosians in time will either. We lose two hundred soldiers a day every time we do."
The Khajiit general smirked as she spoke her piece, earning an ire of glares from her Redguard and Breton comrades.
"And your scouts will deliver the day for us, then?" Gasred shrugged.
"Tsrani knows so," the Khajiit general wavered forth with a sway of her tail. "The plan even complies with your wishes, Commander."
Marius raised a brow. "Explain, General."
Tsrani nodded as the other generals gathered around. "The scouts have reported the Thedosians are beginning to desert their camp."
"They're retreating?" Gasred asked.
"No, even though they should," Tsrani said as she traced a line on the map. "This one's scouts say they're setting up traps and magic-resistant barricades like in Jader and Halamshiral. They expect us to chase them just like last time."
"And what particular tactic did you have in mind?" Marius raised.
"A simple plan, yes," Tsrani smiled, baring her teeth. "One that they won't expect but also what no logical person would do so either. And all it requires is this one and the Commander's presence."
Another raise of brows and eyes came to question Tsrani's meaning including Commander Marius himself as he watched the Khajiit explain.
"Tsrani and the Commander shall walk to their camp and announce our surrender."
Dumbstruck hit the faces of all, with Marius the most expressive as he shirked away from Tsrani. A long silence of bewilderment rested across the minds of the generals as they tried to process the so-called tactic of Tsrani's.
Rhiata best-expressed everyone's response as she interceded to Tsrani and said, "Hell no, that is a terrible idea."
"For one of the few times, I agree with Rhiata," Gasred chimed.
"Doubly so, Tsrani," Marius added with a slight nod.
Tsrani shot back, hissing beneath her breath. "This one isn't done explaining! The surrender is but a distraction for them. The rest will be decided with our mages, specifically the illusionists. They will grant us a larger force to deal with this Exalted March."
"Oh, I see," Gasred said. "That makes more sense. In that case, I might add that the illusionists create dragons instead of more soldiers. The Thedosians are all too willing to fight large numbers but they falter facing the dragons."
"Won't their Templars notice they're illusions?" Rhiata asked.
"No," Marius shook his head as he looked back down at the map. "The mages report Templars can only prevent them from casting spells. Any objects or Daedra already summoned for example only get weakened, depending on the amount of Templars present."
The Redguard general hummed at the report. "You said they've retreated?" she asked Tsrani. "Where?"
"Behind the hills," Tsrani pointed. "Horses and archers wait for us to stumble in their traps and charge us down while we're disorganized."
"But we'll be the ones setting the trap," Rhiata said, eagerly drawing lines over the map. "The cataphracts can head south through the forest while lighter cavalry towards Starkhaven. Both can circle and be ready to flank along with the Bosmer archers from the forests. Just in case, of course."
"Oh undoubtedly, Rhiata," Gasred chimed. "We'd be fools not too. Though I question if you approve of this Commander? This plan would put you in the most danger. I still believe we should move forward with the Argonian assassins."
Commander Marius took the Breton general's word and the plan itself in stride. Like an eagle searching his prey, the Commander's eyes scanned over the map. His keen mind and expertise were halted as his brows furrowed, frustrated. What was the best action?
His generals all leaned and waited for a response and just as they were about to speak, Marius slammed his palm.
"No," he said discern with sullen eyes. "We're not doing that. We are here to save the people of Thedas from forces they cannot defend against and to show them a better way. We'll win without having to resort to slaughter. We'll deal a decisive blow and rout their force, securing the rest of the Marcher cities."
"Then shall we go ahead and prepare the men?" Tsrani asked.
"Yes, but with a few alterations," Marius added. "Rhiata, have the cavalry be accompanied by illusionists as well. We don't want them to get caught. Have them gather as many magicka potions they can carry."
"Yes, Commander."
"Gasred, in case things go wrong, you must charge on our position. Have the lighter infantry arranged in a grid formation, twenty to each group. Once they've secured the top of the hill and the Templars are in disarray, then the Legionnaires can move in."
"Yes, Commander," Gasred nodded.
"Good. Now, all of you get some rest and stock up on some potions. Tomorrow will be an arduous day. Dismissed."
The generals saluted and marched out from the tent, making their way to their respective units to belay their orders. All but one. And as they stood atop, observing the Imperial camp and the no-mans land beyond, their fist balled in a dwemer communicator.
"Please rethink this, my Prince. You're not fully healed yet."
The number of protests and pleads Sebastian had heard had reached its limit as the prince toned them out. Even as a maid and a knight tried so hard to even physically confine and hide his armor.
"I am not- urggh-," Sebastian groaned as he pulled his arm through his shirt. "going to repeat myself. I'm going."
"But this could be a trap, Prince Sebastian," one of the appointed Marcher commanders said. "We shouldn't put it past the Imperials to concoct a scheme like this. Let us soldiers take the fall if something were to happen."
"I don't care if it is," Sebastian answered as he strapped together his armor. "I have to go."
"There is no reason for you too!" Sebastian's knight stampeded, blocking the tent entrance with arms outstretched. "My Prince, you are risking not just your life but the people of Starkhaven as well! If you perish-"
Sebastian pushed his knight aside, leaving without a word. There was nothing to explain to them. He was going and that was that. He had too.
To the entrance of the camp stood the commanders sent to negotiate. Sebastian didn't know any of them but as he walked by, came upon one familiar saddling their horse.
"Lord Chancellor?"
"Ah, Prince Sebastian," Lord Chancellor Hubert greeted. "You're up. Have your wounds healed?"
"It's a bit hard to breathe, thank you for asking," Sebastian replied, holding his chest close. "Um… what are you doing?"
"Same as you are," the Lord Chancellor replied. "I'm going to meet with this so-called Commander of the Imperials and discuss their 'truce'. I was going to ask you to come but it seems the Maker has directed you here already."
"For once we can agree… somewhat," Sebastian shrugged. "Of course, you don't want me to come out of the goodness of your heart, do you? Not completely."
The Lord Chancellor scoffed and let out a light laugh. "And here I thought spending time with the Champion made you aloof to politics," he said. "Nevertheless, you're here and ready. Arguing about it won't solve anything."
Sebastian agreed with a silent nod and prepared forth for the meeting. It wasn't enough. Riding through the blackened wasteland still caused him heartache and even physical pain. How could an enemy do this to others? With Corypheus and the demons, he knew it was human sin manifested. Because they were not worthy. But the Imperials… are they a punishment sent by the Maker or is it something else? He had to know… he had to meet them and look them in the eye and ask them if this wasteland was what they wanted.
To his and other soldiers' surprise, there were only two individuals before them. On horseback, two armored Imperials. One a man, so tall he was twice the height of the other, in black armor with golden accents. His helmet was unique with its large horizontal black plume and his face covered completely with a metal face.
The other was one of those Khajiit Sebastian heard about if he was right. And a female from the looks of it considering it had breasts and a narrower hip than the man. Her armor was much less intimidating than the other, steel with spiked pauldrons and greaves, it still had the image of a prestigious commanding officer.
"I thank you all for coming here in peace," the Imperial man spoke, resting his hand over his chest. "There has been much bloodshed today and I wish for it to stop."
"Save for your breath, Imperial," the Lord Chancellor retorted. "You're the one that started all this bloodshed in the first place so don't act with false remorse."
The Imperial slowly backed down in his stance. He removed his helmet, revealing a pale man with calm blue eyes and scared over the left eye. "I apologize if it sounds like that but I generally do have remorse."
The man had spoken with a frown and looked full of remorse but all Sebastian could do was glare at the man full of hate. Hate that he hadn't felt not since the likes of Anders or his family killer's, perhaps even more.
"Allow me to introduce myself," the man said. "I am Commander Marius, commander of the entire Imperial army. This is General Tsrani, accompanying me as part of our army."
"This one gives greeting to the enemy side," the Khajiit bowed and perplexed Sebastian with her unique point of view.
"I am Hubert King, Lord Chancellor of Tantervale," he said. "These are my retinues, Sir Barnes and Sir Rogers, my Champion. And this is Prince Sebastian of Starkhaven."
Sebastian made only a gesture to nod, still focusing on anger on the Imperial Commander.
"Now tell me, what do you want?" the Lord Chancellor demanded. "Have you come to discuss your surrender?"
"In a way, yes," Commander Marius said. "My forces shall cease hostilities to your army and in return, your forces shall disperse as well. Return to your homes and your families and end this."
"You dare tell us to surrender?" the Lord Chancellor scoffed. "Are you seriously under the impression that you are of the upper hand? We crushed your invasion of Val Royeaux and have two of your generals imprisoned. Your days are numbered, Imperial."
A cackle of laughter emerged from the Khajiit, baring out in arrogance. "And you think winning one battle has suddenly turned this war in your favor. Tsrani can't believe the idiocy you possess to think you can defeat us."
"I wouldn't put it like that but my general speaks the truth," Commander Marius said. "I ask you, from the bottom of my heart to surrender. I do not want more countless lives of Thedosians to die for a cause that will inevitably fall. I know it is hard for me to ask but I truly want you to surrender and become part of the Empire. And if you continue resisting, not even I can guarantee the protection of your people."
"That's what you call this? Protection?" Sebastian raised as he stampeded forth on his horse.
The Prince couldn't believe the gall of this person, to say how tragic and awful this was. Was he blind to where they were standing?
"Do you not see the bodies that line this place, this wasteland?" Sebastian said, raising his voice to the highest it has ever been. "This was a lush green meadow, full of life and your army has destroyed everything. Nothing but death lingers here and you have the nerve to say we're monsters. How can you honestly call yourself liberators when all you've done is destroy?"
"Please, this is not-"
"The Prince has spoken the truth," the Lord Chancellor chimed in. "You are nothing more than invaders, who wish to destroy our way and enslave us to our Empire. But Tantervale and the Free Marches will never bow to the likes of you and we continue to do so until you are driven back into the sea. So go and-"
FEIM ZII GRON!
Wind pushed with the force of the Maker himself with a thunderous boom echoing over the party. Sebastian was brought to the ground, the sound of horses frightened bucking and bolting off. His wounded chest splintered in pain, instinctively holding it close. Then a thud landed before him.
His eyes could not believe what he saw. A specter in the form of a man, standing before Sebastian at ease as he looked down upon him. In a flash, the specter became a man in golden armor. The presence Sebastian felt from the man emanated in brilliance, his brown eyes casting regalia of authority.
"Your Imperial Majesty," the two Imperial officers kneeled before the man.
"T-the Emperor," was all Sebastian could utter.
Just what… what was this feeling that was stirring in him? The utter lack to even speak, to even move before the man.
"At ease, both of you," the Emperor said dryly. "We don't have time for formalities on the battlefield."
"Yes- of course. But what are you doing here… how did you-"
"General Gasred explained the situation to me, no need to worry. And do not be mad at him, he was only concerned."
"But my Emperor, I have the situation under control-"
"Yes I heard of your plan from Gasred and frankly, I am tired of it. While I appreciate your concern for the Thedosians, our goals slip further away the longer your strategy is implemented. I shall be taking command of the Northern army for the rest of the war."
"But my Emperor I-"
"Lord Chancellor Hubert King of Tantervale and Prince Sebastian of Starkhaven," the Emperor bellowed, his voice booming with strength. "You know who I am so let's get straight to the point. You and this Exalted March of yours will surrender, now. This is your only chance to end this without any more blood split. I will not repeat myself."
This presence that emanated from him and his words struck Sebastian with a dumbfoundedness of shock. He just… fell from the sky as if it were nothing. Just looking into his eyes only further froze Sebastian. This wasn't an ordinary man.
"I-" the Lord Chancellor stuttered, still on his knees from his fall. "I… will not."
Sebastian was in awe of the Lord Chancellor. The old man rose against the Emperor, shoulders held high and defiant. Then his retinue began to rise, resting on their knees until they stood with their lord. And it inspired Sebastian, if they can stand against this Emperor then he-
AL!
The Emperor shouted, his voice rocking Sebastian to the ground again. White noise filled his eardrums, piercing into his head with a shriek. He could nothing but hold his ears until he noticed the blackened ground light with a brilliant red.
"By the Maker," Sebastian exclaimed.
Columns of inferno barreled from above, vaporizing all the clouds and overpowering the rays of the sun. Within seconds they landed to where the camp was, exploding into massive mushrooms of flames and clouds. The sky darkened with soot and ash, crackling and breaking as they carried forth deafening roars. Dragons broke through, so many Sebastian couldn't count as their breaths of flames blinded from afar.
"All these deaths are on your heads," the Emperor said, coldly looking down on the Lord Chancellor.
"You bastard!" the Lord Chancellor drew out his sword and charged.
IIZ!
Icy frost expelled from the Emperor's lips, encasing the Lord Chancellor and his retinue into frozen statues. Sebastian's entire body chilled at the sight, trembling with horror. Then with one motion, the Emperor moved with a wide kick and shattered them to pieces. Ice and blood laid over the ground melded together. Sebastian had no words to say, not even the frozen head of the Lord Chancellor rolling over broke him from the pandemonium.
"Why did you do that?" Commander Marius exclaimed, looking just as shocked as Sebastion did.
"The Lord Chancellor was an avid fanatic of the Chantry, a violent suppressor of mages and to those of other faiths. Even the Chantry itself is appalled by what he has done in the name of the faith. People like him have no place in the Empire."
The Emperor remained calm as he spoke, continuing to observe the destruction his dragons befell among the Marchers. There was no anger, no sense of regret, or a furrowed brow to hint. Just a cold calculating man.
Sebastian now knew what this feeling was. To be unable to move or speak against this man… this Emperor. Because before Sebastian was not a man… but a living god amongst mortals. Beyond the Maker, beyond anything he ever deemed possible. Such a fool he was.
There was only one thing he could do. More than anything, Sebastian for once cared more about himself than the Maker. On his knees, he crawled ever slowly before the Emperor. Head hanging low and kowtow before him as he hoped what he uttered would not be his.
"The Free Marches are yours, Dragonborn."
DRAGON LANGUAGE TRANSLATION
AL - destroy
If you played Skyrim, then you know the rest
Also, a map I drew for this chapter at imgur. /a/b2cFIwe
