A/N: Hello, and welcome to my ESO fic, "True Strength"! For those of you who followed me as an author because of my Skyrim fic, "Template of a Hero", welcome back!

So, about this story. I may not be regularly updating Template of a Hero or anything else, but that didn't mean I stopped writing. These days, for the most part, I end up writing mostly for my small group of friends with whom I play ESO. My girlfriend, who you may know on this site by her username ShoutFinder, recently encouraged me to start sharing my ESO stories here on FFN. After some reluctance, I eventually decided "fuck it" and am now gonna be posting one of the first of these stories.

A little bit of background information regarding the story: I'm taking a few creative liberties with TES lore and canon to suit my purposes. As a result, things in this story don't happen quite as they would in the regular game. Here and there, I've added more than a few references to other media (again, this was just written for fun and for my little group of friends originally). Plus, I've expanded on the lore of the Templar class from ESO a bit, since we get little on them otherwise, because that is the class of warrior of my protagonist here.

Additionally, a little bit of context info about the protagonist: He is a human from Earth who was zapped into 2E Tamriel during the events of ESO. His name is Rolan and he has taken to calling his 'race' as Earthborn. He's a Templar of Lorkhan, but he didn't gain his divine patron until way after the events of the main quest where he defeats Molag Bal and reclaims his soul. It's been many years since he first arrived in Nirn, and he's since grown into a capable warrior, so there won't be the typical fumbling and bumbling expected of a college student suddenly thrust into a world of swords and spells. Lastly, this story takes place in an alternate timeline that Rolan was thrown into, leaving his old friends behind in the process.

That's enough of the boring contextual stuff. For now, I think you guys will be able to figure out the rest from reading this story. If you have questions then you may leave them in a review or DM me.

Rolando Alvarez, the Lion of the North, sat in his chair with one arm tucked in his sling and the other laying on his lap, his even gaze meeting the impassive visage of the Indoril Ordinator seated across from him. His chin was raised in the faintest sign of defiance, refusing to let himself be unnerved by the armored mer. Even so, the Earthborn would have liked to have remembered to shave that morning so he didn't have a scruffy look that he was sure did little to promote an image of innocence; he might have liked better yet to have Druvis here, or even Thalya, to help plead his case. Bereft of either of those things, instead he took a deep breath and asked in calm, collected Dunmeris, "Have you any intention to release me soon, sera? We have been at this for a solid half hour."

The Ordinator didn't miss a beat, responding in sharp, rapid-fire Dunmeris, as if to test the other's linguistic capability. "A little longer, Outlander. I insist. You don't have anywhere more important to be."

"Very well." Rolan nodded once at the Ordinator. "Ask your questions. I have cooperated thus far."

The Ordinator glared at the human through his masked visage. "You have asked many questions about daedra in this past week. This, you have admitted. You have implied that they are running loose upon our shores and attacking innocents. This, you have also admitted. However, I have heard no such reports elsewhere. One wonders what you would seek to accomplish by spreading such rumors."

"They're not rumors." Rolan tilted his head toward his healing arm. The incident with the Skaafin had been two weeks ago, but due to the higher density of his bones it took him longer to heal broken bones than a Breton — he'd be wearing this sling for at least another week.

"They are rumors," the Ordinator stated firmly, "and while we cannot incarcerate you for rumors, we can incarcerate you for disturbing the peace."

Indignant anger flared up in him, but with a concentrated effort Rolan fought it down, recollected himself, and answered. "I would think that you and your people would take more interest in a possible breach of homeland security like this, but instead you attack me for bringing it to light. One wonders what you seek to accomplish by this."

Rolan felt a twinge of irritation from the Ordinator, a ripple through still waters. Nobody liked having their own words thrown back at them. Nerevar's scowling visage leaned in closer and uttered in a growl dripping with venom, "You are in no position to tell me how to do my job, sera. Consider yourself lucky that I don't throw you to the Grand Inquisitor for that remark, if not for your heretical questions."

Now that was a threat, alright. Rolan bowed his head demurely. "I apologize. Being stuck in a small, stuffy room with an irate Ordinator and a bundle of guar steaks beginning to spoil in this heat does tend to wear one's patience thin."

The Ordinator glanced over at the bloodstained, cloth-wrapped bundle Rolan had with him. Then, he made a disgusted sound deep in his throat before waving his hand at the doorway. "Leave, Outlander, and mark my words: If I receive another complaint about you asking heretical questions and spreading rumors about the activities of daedra, then you will not be spared the dungeons. Do you hear me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good. Then get out."

Thalya Dren was waiting right outside the Hall of Justice in the Temple Canton with their pack guar when Rolan emerged. She was easy to pick out amongst the passersby, distinctive with her bright red hair and dark garments. When the Dunmer saw him, she rushed to his side and looked him over for injury, her red eyes hard and angry and her voice softened with concern. "What happened? Did they hurt you?"

Rolan shook his head and gave the Dunmer a faint smile. "Just roughed me up a little while gently shoving me toward the Hall of Justice, is all. Nothing worse than a few scuffs. Oh, but the guar steaks might have started to spoil a bit."

Completing her inspection of her fiancé's injuries, Thalya sighed and held out a large sack. "Just put them in here. Rolan, what happened? Why did they bring you in?"

"Because… I was a human daring to ask questions about the Skaafin who nearly killed Droplet and I just outside the Dren Estate. I was trying to figure out if anybody knew anything about them."

"And?" Her voice dropped to a whisper when Rolan's did, and she cast a surreptitious glance around them to make sure no more Ordinators were around to whisk him away.

Rolan glanced around them as well, idly stroking the pack guar's nose with his good hand. Having been pushed to paranoia again, the Earthborn man switched languages to one that he was sure could not be understood: Spanish. "I haven't found much. The people still don't like talking to me. I think that they're not happy to see me without my leash, without so much as a promise that my handler trained me to use a bathroom."

Thalya gently cuffed him on the shoulder with a look of reproach, firing back in the same language as he'd taught her just for this sort of occasion, whispered and heavily accented. "Stop talking like that. We know you are not a hound."

"The people here treat me like one sometimes." Rolan reached up to squeeze her shoulder with a weary look. "And it doesn't help my mission. I can't keep investigating when the people don't trust me, and with the Ordinators listening for any other people complaining about me… I'd rather not push my luck."

"That is wise." Thalya admitted this with a somber look. She reached down to grab Rolan's good hand and squeeze it. "I do not want to lose you."

"Me neither." Rolan kissed her cheek, then murmured into her ear in common Cyrodiilic, "Because if they send me to the Grand Inquisitor, then I will miss out on hearing you speak Spanish. It's very cute."

Thalya rolled her eyes with a snort, but she nevertheless gave his fingers another quick squeeze. "Come on. We have more things to buy. Let's finish this shopping trip, hopefully with no more arrests."

"I don't know. I feel like it'd be exciting to scale the statue of Almalexia over there and see how fast the guards come."

"You would die in the attempt."

"Well, I've already died before and it didn't stick. So, who knows?"

The market plaza was still as lively as it had been when the Ordinator first dragged Rolan away, with Dunmer all clamoring from their stalls to advertise their wares. Every other merchant seemed to claim the fortuitous honor of having their product blessed by the Three and approved by the Office of the Ordinator, including one peddler advertising a bug musk that would ward off unwelcome Outlanders. All it took was one whiff of the pungent scent carried by the wind to convince Rolan that it would work as advertised.

Thalya was loath to part with him again after the incident, so the two went together to buy the things that Sam had asked of them for the Dren Estate. Guar feed was high on the list, as well as kwama eggs, and both were being sold at the stall of a farmer who seemed to be doing well for himself. Thalya handled the business, putting both her reputation and her experience under her brother's teaching to use in the exchange, while Rolan hung back and pretended to be one of her underlings. Looking like a servant attending his lady, the sight of him did not draw attention from most of the passersby, and for the most part they seemed willing to pretend he didn't exist. It afforded Rolan the opportunity to pay close attention to his surroundings, so when he heard a pair of Dunmer gossiping by the guar butcher's stall, he couldn't help but listen in.

"News of that dreadful war never fails to reach our shores," huffed one woman wearing a dark burgundy smock by the alchemist's stall. "By the Three, but how it drains the life out of the late-night galas in Suran. One hears Cyrodiil and you could swear that a team of Night-Raid Ordinators just kicked down the front door!"

Her companion, another dark-haired woman with a flattering dress, wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "I wouldn't want to get dragged into that sort of conflict. Messy, bloody, and ugly, is what it is. I had a nephew return from assignment in Cyrodiil, he looked like he'd gotten mauled by a rabid nix hound. A daedric arbalest, they'd said it was that did it to him, fighting in the Imperial City. That poor mer… he was the only one who survived in his unit. He couldn't sleep some nights. Got a haunted look in his eyes at the sound of ringing metal, couldn't even walk past a smithy. Eventually we took him to the Temple in hopes that they could soothe his mind."

The burgundy-clad woman shook her head with a tsk. "A shame is what it is, ruining perfectly good young mer like that. I pray that the light of Almsivi heals your nephew, and that our people need not suffer the fires of the Three Banners War as our outlander kin must. Those poor fools…"

By this point, Rolan stopped listening. Hearing about Cyrodiil was never a pleasant experience. He still recalled his own service under the Covenant banner years ago. A necessary evil to endure in order to win the prize money from the campaign that he needed, but the cost had been dear. Rolan's features darkened in memory of how Urgalok, Fareed, and Elaine had stood between him and inevitable death, and fought like lions until the very end; and how Tarveth and Brinsingr, his old friends from the Pact, had so eagerly sought his blood for the banner under which he fought, consuming his friends like dragon fire. Even here, Druvis had suffered under his service to the Pact, having watched his squad leader perish and finally being dishonorably discharged for questioning orders from higher up the chain of command.

War never changes, Rolan thought dryly as Thalya turned to him with a new load of goods for him to put on the guar.

They finished their business in Vivec and headed back to the Dren estate. Memories of Cyrodiil clung like old chains to the back of Rolan's mind as they made their way down the earthen road. When they passed by the stately lodge overlooking Lake Amaya — the same lodge that he'd owned in his old timeline, purchased with his Cyrodiil prize money — he couldn't help but wonder about the Three Banners War again and how different it might be in this timeline compared to in his old one. What he overhead by the market didn't suggest it was a more pleasant experience, at any rate. By the time they made their way into the courtyard of the Dren estate, however, thoughts of Cyrodiil had ebbed into partial obscurity, and Rolan decided to bury them again.

"We're home!" called the Earthborn as he and Thalya stepped through the doorway leading inside the main house. "Hey, Druvis. Got you those filled soul gems you asked for."

The Dunmer Sorcerer was currently with Teleri, assisting with the lunch that was currently bubbling in the cauldron over the cooking fire. A furry white cat was perched on his shoulder licking his black hair, which he seemed to totally ignore. He scraped off some chopped vegetables from the cutting board into the cauldron. "About bloody time you got back. My staff's been little better than a kwama prod without a fresh charge."

"We could use some help unloading the things, Druvis," Thalya added as she set down a bag of flour. She slid a saltshaker across the kitchen counter closer to Tel, who had been groping for it, and received a kind smile from the blind Dunmer. An unnecessary gesture, ultimately, for Teleri was a werewolf, but the gratitude was genuine all the same.

"Oh, alright. Let me get these off first." Druvis set the cat down on the floor and pulled the apron off over his head. He tossed it at Rolan so that it fell into place around his neck instead, smirking. "It suits him better anyway. He actually enjoys cooking."

Druvis and Thalya went back outside while Rolan pulled the apron off. Just then, Tel perked up. "Oh, right — Rolan. Some mail came by, apparently one of the letters is for you."

"Really? Who's it from?"

"I can't say."

"Why not?"

Teleri stopped stirring the cauldron to make a slow, deliberate turn to face Rolan with an arched eyebrow. Seeing those milky white eyes, the Earthborn cleared his throat. "Right… Where are the letters?"

They'd been placed on a corner of the countertop in the kitchen. Rolan went through the pile until he produced an envelope addressed to him. It bore the roaring dragon of the Ebonheart Pact on its red wax seal.

"It's from Jorunn," he murmured to Tel, grabbing the nearby letter opener to slit the envelope open and extract the contents.

"Ah. Is he trying to get you to be his King's Arrow again?"

"Possibly." Rolan undid the folded parchment within and stood by the nearby window to read by its light.

To the Lion of the North, and Hero of the Pact,

It is my hope that you have been well, for I know Vvardenfell is not accustomed to having those they call Outlanders settle in among her people these days. Should you ever find yourself in need of more friendly faces, I can assure you that you and your friends will have agreeable company waiting for you here in Skyrim.

I wish I could write to you as the friend that you have proven yourself to be, and I wish that I could leave you in peace to settle into your new life without being troubled by affairs of the realm. However, I regret to say that I need to disturb your peace to ask something of you. It concerns the Three Banners War.

The fight for the Heartlands continues in a ceaseless back-and-forth slog between the Pact and her enemies. Our forces, and those of our enemies, found means to enter the Imperial City through its sewer systems some time ago. The Worm Cult and the daedra run rampant throughout the city, as you no doubt know. However, recent reports from my commanders in the City have brought back troubling whispers of daedric plots. We do not know what these plots entail, only that the daedra and the Worm Cult appear to be searching for something. Whatever their goal is, it surely cannot be pleasant.

Do understand that I accept the stance you've taken in this conflict, even if I do not understand it. Now, however, I must ask if you could come to the Imperial City and lend your aid to my men. After your actions across Pact lands, you are the only one I trust who can resolve this. The Worm Cult is an enemy to all mortalkind, and I think we can both agree that it must be stopped wherever it rears its ugly head. I hope that I can count on your help in this, my friend, and that this ordeal be over quickly so that I may leave you in peace once again.

Signed, Jorunn, High King of Skyrim

Rolan read through the letter twice before setting it down. He muttered aloud for Tel to hear, "He wants me to go to Cyrodiil, to the Imperial City."

"The Imperial City?" It was Druvis's voice who asked; he and Thalya had returned from the courtyard lugging heavy sacks of grain from the pack guar. The Sorcerer glowered at the letter in Rolan's hands, snarling. "Bloody figures. They just want more sacrifices to paint their red banners with. Those fools…"

Tel's expression was inscrutable, but her tone was calm and collected. "What was it that Jorunn wanted, precisely? I wouldn't imagine that he'd go through this trouble just for a few more capable warriors."

Rolan looked over the letter again with a weary look. "Says something about a Worm Cult presence in the Imperial City… he's heard rumors of a plot. He wants me to come over and deal with it."

Thalya's features darkened. "That sounds ominous."

"Jorunn just wants an errand boy." Druvis snorted dryly, his features twisted with distaste. "Someone who'll carry out his orders while waving his banner."

With his own look of distaste, Rolan scowled. "Well, he'll find someone else to do it. I'm not interested."

Thalya took a step toward him, reaching out for his shoulder. "Are you certain–?"

The deep scowl that Rolan leveled at her was intense enough to force Thalya to a halt. He uttered, "I will not return to Cyrodiil. I will never return to Cyrodiil. Everything about that place brings out the worst in people — and for what? It's a stupid war of conquest, is all. There's nothing worth fighting for in that place, nothing! Not even the Worm Cult. Besides, Jorunn's got the whole Ebonheart Pact at his disposal, surely he's got more than enough manpower to figure out the problem and take care of it his own damn self."

"And if he doesn't?"

Rolan turned sharply with a glare. Tel stood before him, her expression equable and thoughtful. Her voice was soft as she spoke, "What if the people he has aren't enough?"

The Earthborn glared at Tel with an intensity not derived of scorn for her or her question, but one born of painful memories surging to the forefront of his mind.

Fareed, grinning like a cat with its catch and a bottle of wine pilfered from the officer's tent… his eyes wide and white, both halves of him lying bleeding on the ground, where his rogue's swiftness had failed to save him.

Urgalok, clasping his shoulder and rumbling praise like a father to his cub… an axe tearing up from the Orc's jaw through his skull, shattering like a porcelain vase.

Elaine, punching his arm with a laugh by the campfire and sipping from a flask… lying crumpled on the ground with her hand wrapped around his, clasping the hilt of her dagger piercing her own heart.

Tarveth, standing over their bodies, overlooking the grave while the bodies were laid to rest. Ever stoic, ever dispassionate.

An empty, deafening silence had enveloped the kitchen when Rolan returned to the present. He blinked, looking at the assembled faces regarding him with concern. Then he shook his head and took his leave, muttering an excuse about being tired. He could not bear to look anybody in the eye or stand and endure their judgement of his outburst, and their pity only seemed to make it feel that much worse.

Rolan isolated himself in his room, laying back against the headboard of his bed while scowling at the far wall. He wanted to be angry, but there was no target for his anger. Something to vent his frustrations upon would have been welcome, but with his arm still healing there was pitiful little he could do to alleviate his stress by himself. No bags of straw to punch or target dummies to thrash with sword or staff. He couldn't get a book to read, because the library was across the hall and he didn't want to run into anybody on the way. You think yourself a man, but you act like such a child sometimes.

The sound of his door creaking open pulled him out from his thoughts, and he glanced toward the doorway. "Tel?"

"Came by to say that dinner will be ready soon." The woman approached and turned to seat herself next to him on the bed. "And also, to check up on you."

The Earthborn sighed and let his head rest back against the wall, shame suffusing him. "I'm sorry, Tel… I shouldn't have acted like that."

"No, don't be," she replied, shaking her head and groping on his lap for a moment before clasping his good left hand. "I understand. You told me about your time in Cyrodiil. It's a painful memory for you, and I don't blame you for how you feel."

Rolan's cheeks were still flushed as he scowled at her hand clasping his. "I can't go back, Tel… I promised. I promised. It doesn't matter that the people I made the promise to don't exist in the same way I knew them anymore…"

Tel nodded, giving his fingers a squeeze. "I know. It's very noble of you to keep that promise. From what I've heard, Cyrodiil really is just a terrible place for anybody to be, and I certainly would have no part of it without good reason."

A pregnant silence followed. Rolan sat in silence as Tel stroked her thumb against his knuckles, and he felt the old, pained anger ebbing from him at each stroke. He murmured, "Then why do I feel guilty for saying no?"

"Because it's who you are." Tel answered simply, her unseeing gaze cast into the expanse of the room. "You don't like denying a cry for help. Especially if it's against something as terrible as the Worm Cult."

Rolan sighed, feeling a rush of bone-deep lassitude sweep through his body. He was twenty-four years old — or was it twenty-five? Twenty-six? He couldn't remember anymore, not after all the time travel bullshit, but he felt older than he ought to be. "It's more than that. Tel… what if you're right? What if I really am Jorunn's best bet to fight this threat? I feel like I shouldn't be — I'm just one man, after all, just one Templar. He's got the might of the whole Pact, surely he has capable individuals he can call upon besides me."

"Perhaps he does," Tel conceded with a nod. "But this is the Worm Cult we're talking about. They foiled ordinary folks aplenty until we came to help. I don't much like the idea of them plotting something in the heart of the old Empire, certainly."

His lips pursed, Rolan's gaze turned downcast. "I still don't want to go back to Cyrodiil… I don't want to fight under any banner. I just want to protect my family. Besides, with the Skaafin lurking around here, I already have something to occupy my time with."

"I heard from Thalya that you had some trouble with the Ordinators in Vivec over that," Tel remarked, making Rolan's mouth tighten. "She said that perhaps it was best for you to leave your questioning for another time."

Rolan had no response for that, and when Tel realized that he wouldn't be answering her, she leaned in to kiss his cheek in a motherly fashion. "I won't push for you to act on the letter's call for help. That's your choice, and I respect your wishes not to heed its call. But just remember that this won't be the first time you'll be called on. As it turns out, there are few people in the world who have the skills, knowledge, and experience that you and your friends do — things that could solve problems decisively."

She smiled, then. "Who knows? Maybe they need somebody experienced in riding celestial Azuran dragons."

This prompted a small smile from Rolan. His good left arm came around Tel's shoulders as he hugged her closely. "You know very well that wasn't riding. It was mostly me tumbling out of the sky while clinging for dear life."

"So far as I know, it could have looked very graceful. After all, I couldn't see it happen."

Tel smirked, and Rolan snorted loudly with mirth. "Thank you, Tel. I needed this."

"Of course, Rolan." She gave his jaw a fond pat, then swung her feet off the bed. "Shall we be off to dinner?"

"I'll be right there. I promise."

"Alright. I wouldn't linger too much, there's kwama egg quiche at stake."

He watched Tel go before resting back against the headboard, musing over their conversation. His mind lingered on old worries and fears. She was right to say that he'd probably be called upon to help again in the future, in fact he counted on it. Perhaps he really was one of the few who could help in a decisive manner, in this reality. It was a scary thought. Without his old Hero of the Pact friends to lead the charge, it would be up to him to heed the call to arms when it came. In his old timeline, he'd had the whole War-Born Clan to help him.

But here, now? He had Druvis, Thalya, Tel, and Sam. Ferocious warriors, all of them… but they were so few, and somebody had to stay and manage the Dren Estate. Not to mention, somebody had to take care of Droplet, and he was not about to bring her anywhere dangerous.

Rolan felt a new wave of doubt wash over him. I'm not the hero that they were. Not like Brinsingr, not like Tarveth, not like Gimbles. I wish any of them were here to help me. I need their strength, their focus, and their resolve.

The next morning, Rolan drafted a response to Jorunn and sent it off via courier to Windhelm, hoping that the message would arrive without trouble. After that, life resumed as normal, for the most part. For Rolan, the new normal involved helping keep the Dren Estate running smoothly while remaining vigilant for any further daedric incursions. No Skaafin reared its ugly head, however, and no Ordinators came for him either. His arm finished healing at last, restoring some of his good mood at the ability to use his dominant hand again. He and Thalya even managed to find time one day to sit down together and start pondering a day to make their vows to each other by Mara — or by Ayem, he supposed, though he would choose the benevolent Divine any day over the one who betrayed Her lover for power.

"How about Frostfall?" Rolan asked, poring over the calendar on the table between them.

Thalya shook her head. "You don't want Frostfall. Red Mountain starts rumbling at its worst during this time and ash storm season begins."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah, I don't think I fancy a doomsday backdrop for our wedding." The image of a blackened, ash-choked sky overlooking the shrine to Almalexia in Vivec's Temple Canton formed in his mind, with the only light being the lambent glow of lava flows in the distance. Rolan flipped a page on the calendar. "Right, what about Sun's Dusk?"

The woman shook her head. "Bad luck, to do it on Sun's Dusk. It's the summoning month of Mehrunes Dagon, one of the Four Corners of the House of Troubles. Nobody has a wedding during Sun's Dusk if they can help it."

Rolan made a face at that and shook his head emphatically. "Blegh, okay. Wouldn't help make our union look very fortune favored, I guess. How about…"

"Evening Star is when the fetcherfly hives start molting — you'll have fetcherfly wings drifting in on the winds by the score during the ceremony."

"Oh, come on." Rolan groaned good-naturedly, facepalming with a wry smile. "I can't remember having this much trouble picking a date in my old timeline…"

"Must have done it during the midyear, then," Thalya remarked, flipping the calendar to the next page. The sound of footsteps heralded Druvis's arrival, who approached their table with a recently-tasted-a-sour-lemon expression and an envelope in his hand.

"Message for you, Hero of the Pact," grunted the disdainful Sorcerer as Rolan accepted the envelope. "Another one from Jorunn. Bloody Nord just won't leave us well enough alone."

Rolan made a face as he tore open the wax seal and pulled out the letter. He wasn't sure of what to expect but knowing the Skald King's stubbornness, he figured it might be another call for help. As he read the message, however, it became clear that this was not just any call to arms. The man couldn't believe what he was reading, and by the look of his changing expressions it became clear to the Dunmer that it must have been shocking.

"This is… this is…" Rolan shook his head, gathering his composure anew. Better to just read it aloud for them. "Ahem… A troubling development in Cyrodiil has been brought to my attention, regarding my forces in the Imperial City. Whereas the initial conquest of the City had been an equal tug of war between us and our foes, the tide has shifted for the worst. My men tell of a massive resurgence in daedric forces, as well as those of their minions, the Worm Cult and the traitorous soldiers of the old Empire who call themselves Legion Zero. The city is utterly lost to the mortal armies, and roving warbands of daedra and undead stalk the countryside."

Thalya scowled darkly at the news, while Druvis folded his arms across his chest. "Oh, if only they had a brave Templar to purge the darkness, huh?"

"Actually, Druvis… seems like that's part of the problem."

The Sorcerer blinked. "Come again?"

Rolan glanced back down at the letter and read the passage aloud. "From the small holdout the Pact maintains in the City's sewers, I have received disturbing reports of another creature that has only recently appeared, one whose description has left my generals wondering if this is a fabrication of a traumatized scout: a monstrous armored hulk wielding a magic sword, stalking the ruined husk of the City, indiscriminately slaying daedra and Alliance soldiers alike with little apparent difficulty. Attempts to destroy or subdue the creature have all failed, both on our part and those of our daedric foes. My men know little of this thing, except that it wields the Light as a Templar does, and it is more powerful than a mortal has any right to be."

"By the gods," Thalya murmured as she took the letter from him to read it herself. Her eyebrows furrowed into a scowl of thought. "I'd sooner believe this was a tall tale from a frightened soldier than believe a monstrous Templar was wreaking havoc."

Druvis smiled grimly at Rolan. "If he is real then maybe you could have a chat with him. Who knows, maybe you're long-lost friends from your old timeline."

Rolan shook his head. "Don't count on it. I don't remember meeting any hulking Templars… Wait."

The Earthborn raised his head, eyes widening with dawning realization. Thalya and Druvis turned their gazes on him, their eyes demanding answers. Rolan took the letter back from Thalya and perused its contents again. "I think I do remember something about this. About… huge unstoppable Templar warriors. Remember when I told you that I was made to embark on this journey in alternate timelines to serve Meridia, and repay my debt for her help during a crisis I had beforehand?"

At their tentative nods, Rolan continued. "Well, I met someone during that crisis. A Templar from the 1st Era, bound by Meridia to an ancient ruin in Bangkorai after saving him from being trapped in Coldharbor. His name was Belisarius. He was basically… a super soldier. In the 1st Era, a renegade Warrior Priest had his men take young children — some of them orphans, others abducted — and bring them to him to train them into a breed of warrior that would be able to annihilate threats to mortalkind, making them in the image of their idol, Pelinal Whitestrake."

Druvis snorted a laugh without a trace of humor in it. "He's the one that killed all those elves in Cyrodiil, isn't he? Sounds like a decent fellow."

"Right. Well, in any case… the Warrior Priest succeeded in his goal. I don't know exactly what he did to his child warriors to make them into the Immortals they became. All I have to go by was my conversations with Belisarius, and a passage in an obscure text on ancient knightly orders."

Rolan cleared his throat, invoking that obscure text from memory and reciting: "And it is with these words that I anoint my chosen warriors, these men of Faith and Fire who give themselves to me before the eyes of Akatosh; and it is beneath His gaze that I will forge these men anew, so that they may serve in the trials to come.

Their flesh shall be steely sinew, enduring and unrelenting — so that no trial could hope to weather them.

Their souls shall be oaken, impenetrable, and unassailable, and in great metal armor shall they be clad — so that no foe could hope to pierce them.

They shall bear keen arms, forged from star-blessed steel in the purifying flames of the Sun — so that no mail could hope to ward against them.

They shall be taught to mend their wounds and fortify themselves by the grace of the gods' Restoring Light — so that no ailment or plague could hope to bring them low.

These men, I anoint as my Templars — my Immortals. They shall serve as the bulwark of humanity against the creeping horrors of the world and smite the Empire's foes. And they shall know no fear."

"Someone has an air for the dramatic," Druvis remarked, arching an eyebrow. He turned to Thalya. "What do you make of it?"

The woman shook her head. "Foolish fantasy — power like that never comes without a price. But if Rolan can verify that such a thing exists… I do not know how any Alliance soldier could hope to overcome it."

"They do exist," Rolan responded gravely. "They're every bit as dangerous as you think… and maybe even more than that. Their armor and weapons are made of meteoric iron, a craft they stole from the Ayleids."

"An ironic twist of fate." Druvis folded his arms across his chest, grumbling. "This is bad."

"Yeah. No kidding." Rolan skimmed the letter again, frowning. At length, he sighed. "An army of daedra and undead roaming the countryside, and an awakened Immortal walking again. Could we have prevented this?"

Thalya reached out to squeeze his wrist. Her features were carved of granite. "It is pointless to dwell on that. It has happened. Now what matters is what we do with this news."

Rolan scowled at her. "What we do? You're not saying you're considering us going to Cyrodiil now, Thalya?"

"Not just Thalya." Rolan's surprised look turned upon Druvis next. The mer jerked his chin at the letter. "As much as I utterly loathe the thought of going to Cyrodiil, this thing is just about a portent of doom, isn't it? Sure, we might be safe here in Vvardenfell for a time, but nothing good could ever come of daedric armies allowed to roam free anywhere in the world. It was plenty bad in Cyrodiil before this news came in, but if the daedra are coming from the City in great enough force to threaten the Pact's main base camps…"

"You can't be serious, Druvis."

"I am. Left unchecked, those daedra will cause a lot of destruction — but more to the point, they're only the distraction. You shouldn't need me to tell you that it's the ones holding their leash that are the real threat, mister Templar."

"Fucking hell," growled Rolan, running a hand over his face. When he pulled his hand away, his features were set into a scowl that he leveled at both Dunmer. He jerked a thumb at himself. "I will not fight for Jorunn. I will not fight for the Pact. I will not…"

"This isn't about the Pact, Rolan," Thalya answered, standing up. Her eyes glowed with a renewed inner flame, and her voice was firm and unyielding. She was the fiery mountain that would not be swayed. "This is about answering the call to an existential threat."

"The kind of thing that you signed up for," Druvis added, coming to stand with her. The Dunmer folded his arms across his chest. "Again — I understand your loathing for the thought of fighting for the Pact. I still believe that they'd happily throw a thousand souls into the meat grinder just to stem the tide a little. The only comfort for me here is that in our hearts, we know who the real enemy is, and we know where to strike them."

Lightning and dark magic crackled like a bound storm from within the depths of his eyes. "And there are few out there who can trounce them quite as solidly as us."

Rolan's features slackened in shock. This was Druvis, who had already lost so much and endured so much pain under the Pact's banner. But then again, just as he said, they wouldn't be fighting for the Pact to handle this mission, would they? And they were right, both of them: this was an existential threat, at its heart. They knew how to fight daedra and they were good at it. Was it not their duty to help fight back?

The Earthborn rallied and sighed with a shake of his head. "Alright. You've convinced me. We need to act."

"That's a good man." Druvis nodded, then turned to Thalya. "We should start packing our things as soon as we can. Make sure he doesn't forget anything."

"I won't."

Another nod, and the Sorcerer took his leave. When he was gone, Thalya turned back to Rolan. Her eyes softened, the flame in them ebbing to a gentle smolder. "Are you well?"

"Not really." The Earthborn grunted, a hand on his head as he looked over the distressing letter again. "If I'd have acted sooner maybe this wouldn't have happened."

Thalya's mouth was set in a grim line. "I know this is difficult for you. I am sorry that you were put in this situation. But do not be so hard on yourself, you could not have known things would go this way."

"I didn't, no… but it's the kind of thing expected of me, isn't it?" The man gestured to himself. "I'm supposed to help when the world is going insane. Keep the dark side away. And when it's my inaction that lets evil run rampant…" A hero takes the blame.

He paused, looking down at the letter. "I also just hate the thought of going back to Cyrodiil. I hate the thought of having to go through the Pact in order to reach the Imperial City. We both know that Jorunn or his generals will insist on having Pact soldiers with us to complete our mission, if only because some of the Pact commanders still won't quite trust a Breton with a past they don't know anything about, claiming to be neutral. But I don't believe in this war, and if we're made to fight on behalf of the Pact with no choice in the matter, what am I expected to do?"

Thalya studied him with a thoughtful look. She took his jaw in her hand and angled him toward her to kiss him, and he returned the gesture thoughtlessly. After a moment, she pulled back to look him in the eye. "Be true to yourself. No matter what happens, remember these three things: who you are, where your strengths lie, and what you stand for. Align your actions with your heart, and embrace your unique strengths, and your trinity will be at its strongest."

A gentle pulsing of her flame, then. He could feel it in the depths of his soul, where a lingering spark of his own heart's flame was kindled with hers to embrace its other half. Rolan nodded and pressed his forehead to hers, blowing out a low, drawn out sigh. "I'll do my best."

Rolan sent a letter in advance to Jorunn about their decision to go to the Imperial City, before they began preparations for their trip. In that letter, he laid down his conditions for helping and accepting the Pact aid that he would doubtless require to succeed in this mission to Cyrodiil: he and his friends were not going to be fighting for the Pact, and cooperation with Pact forces would only go so far as was required in order to investigate and terminate the threat posed by the daedric forces in the Imperial City. They would not join Pact forces in any large-scale combat actions across Cyrodiil; their mission focus remained on the Imperial City. Once in the City, they must be resourced and empowered to operate independently, without hindrance from Pact command structure. His friends proofread the letter and gave their agreement — none of them wanted any involvement with the Three Banners War.

Once the letter was sent out, the travel preparations began. Weapons were sharpened and charged, armor was given quick repairs and adjustments to replace worn fittings and straps. Their horses were readied for travel with them. Despite being shaken by the loss of its former lord, House Dren was still strong and stable thanks to Sam's work, and it was not difficult to secure provisions and supplies from the Vivec markets. The real difficulty for Rolan came from having to break the news to Droplet.

"Where you goin', Unca Wo?" asked the little black-scaled Argonian, looking up at him with bold, coppery eyes from her seat on his lap.

"Far away. To the mainland, Droplet. To the west where the Imperials live." He stroked her back gently, smiling sadly at her. It was hard to leave her, when he'd promised to protect her and help raise her. Looking at her was like looking at Rus-Meht again. Rolan bent his head to kiss Droplet on the forehead. "We'll be back as soon as we can, I promise. But we're needed to help save many lives. Do you understand?"

The little Argonian girl stared up at him and gave the shallowest bob of her head. She got up and stood on his lap to hug him around his neck, which Rolan returned. "Come back soon, Unca Wo."

"I will. I promise. You behave well for Tel and Sam, alright?"

"Just Sam, actually."

Rolan perked up at the sound of Tel's voice. The woman was leaning against the doorway to his room, one foot crossed over the other. "Tel? What do you mean?"

The woman smiled in his direction. "Isn't it obvious? I'm coming with you."

He gaped at her for a moment. "But what about the Dren Estate? What about Droplet?"

"Sam can handle the Estate. As you well know, she is a highly capable woman." Tel came over and stroked her hand along Droplet's head, making the Argonian coo and close her eyes in delight. "And Droplet is in good hands here. Sam and I have had one of the Argonian servants around lately, a Bright-Throat who was responsible for tending to the younglings in her old tribe. She's infatuated with our little Droplet, I think, and since she'd never been able to have her own hatchlings, I think she'd appreciate the responsibility of helping here."

Rolan shut his mouth and grew somber. "Are you sure that you're willing to put yourself in danger with us, Tel? The Imperial City is like nothing we've encountered yet. The daedra and Worm Cult infest the place, and it'll all be urban combat. It's perilous. You might die — your dog might die — we might all die."

He didn't doubt Tel's devotion or abilities. The truth was that Rolan didn't want to put so many of his friends at risk. Tel, however, gave only a shrug. "We've done plenty of perilous things, Hircine and I both. I insist on coming — you know I won't be a liability. I can handle myself, and somebody has to make sure you all come back in one piece."

The man looked Tel over, looking for something to say that might dissuade her from joining, but he found that he wanted her to come as well. He didn't have the heart to push away her help, and he knew she had plenty to offer them on this mission. At length, he shook his head. "Alright, sure. Then I'd be happy to have you along."

Tel grinned. "Excellent. My bags are packed and ready to go."

"Already? That was fast."

Her smile only grew wider. "Started getting them ready the moment I heard you were heading out. Sam and Hircine helped."

The day after that, preparations were completed. Sam was there to see them off in the courtyard when they went out, with Droplet in her arms, giving them each an embrace and a wish of good luck. While Tel's bear dog Hircine frisked about Thalya's mount and Druvis argued with his horse for stamping restlessly, Rolan put on a brave face for Droplet and gave her a kiss and a fond head pat before turning away and swinging himself up onto his horse. The black mare gave a grunt under his weight. Then he set his heels against her flanks and joined his friends riding out the entryway.

It would have been a simple matter to reach Cyrodiil with help from the Mages Guild, but the guild chapter in Vivec did not yet have approval to open a portal to the mainland. Having discussed their options, the group made for the seaport and looked for the first ship heading to the mainland. They had the good fortune of securing passage on board a Hlaalu trading cog setting course for Ebonheart, where an official Mages Guild portal mage could send them to the Northern Morrowind Pact base camp in Cyrodiil. They were anchors aweigh within a few hours.

Later, after the rest of his company had gone belowdecks for the night, Rolan stood on the rear deck of the ship and watched as Vivec sunk into the horizon astern, squinting until he could no longer make out even the tip of the massive Palace Canton. He turned his gaze to port, where the dark, cold blue waters of the Inner Sea stretched to hazy invisibility; and then to starboard, where the coast of Vvardenfell receded as the ship navigated toward deeper waters. Within moments, it seemed, the island was little more than a looming blue-gray coastline that floated on the water's surface like a distant bank of fog. Evening fell upon them, and volcanic ash clouds crept across the sky until the light of the setting sun was stifled, casting a shroud on the seascape.

Somehow, this was the moment that felt more final to Rolan, more than his departure from the Dren Estate had been. Cliff darters wheeled overhead, following their cog with shrieks. He shivered as a cold sea wind blew past, bringing with it the salty tang of brine. You've committed to this course. No turning back now.

He wondered what he'd gotten himself into. Nothing came to mind of his old friends' tales of the Imperial City, except perhaps that Imperial necromancer he'd befriended in his old timeline, Sicarius. The man had never really told him the whole story of whatever he'd witnessed in the Imperial City, and Rolan found himself wishing he had. He found himself wishing for a lot of things, in fact, but nothing more than the simple desire to have his old Pact friends here to guide and support him.

Gods, but how I miss them. Soothed by the gentle rocking motions of the deck beneath his feet, Rolan found himself casting his mind's eye back to his old timeline, to his old friends who he'd had with him in a life where everything seemed simpler and happier. He didn't have Meridia's crystal shard with him, having left it in the Dren Estate for safekeeping, but he could rely on his memory still.

If Brinsingr were here, he'd be telling me to leave my worries behind and enjoy the quiet while it lasts — probably with a bottle of mead. Tarveth would tell me to focus, to find my center and steel my resolve for the mission to come. Gimbles would probably let me know that everything would be alright and that he would be here for me no matter what, and make sure I'd get back home safe.

A little whine brought him out of his reverie, and Rolan turned. Hircine stood by his side, nosing up under his hand with a little snort — no doubt Tel had sent the bear-dog to check on him. The man sighed as he obliged the hound's request and ruffled his ears. "I'm okay, boy. Promise."

Pointless to dwell on the past when it was the present that demanded his attention, he thought — it would only cause him more consternation regarding his situation. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if he really would be good enough for whatever they'd face in the Imperial City; he wasn't like Brin, Tarv, or Gim. He had his strengths, certainly, but he'd always looked to his Pact friends as paragons of what heroes should be, and in times like these it was easy to doubt himself when he saw just how different he was. Could he be strong like them, and able to meet the demands of the situation as they changed?

I will have to be. The thought was firm and resolute in his mind. In the gloom of the evening seascape, illuminated by the orangey light of the cog's stern lantern that bobbed with the sea, Rolan made a promise to himself. He would be flexible, and he would embody his old Pact friends in a way such that he may apply their strengths to whatever trials lay before him.

Rolan glanced up at the heavens, where the stars managed the barest twinkle through the gloom of the volcanic ash clouds. If you're listening to me, Lorkhan, then please heed me: Let me be as hardy as Brin, as focused as Tarv, and as unwavering as Gim. They may be beyond my reach, but they live on in me, and I will make them proud.

A/N: There's chapter 1 down. If you've read this far, then know this: True Strength is a complete story. There will be 10 chapters, and I will post them at regular intervals as I get a chance to edit them for FFN publishing. So, with a little patience, you'll get to see the rest of the story. For now, I will figure out what's a good interval to post the other chapters. Until next time!