Chapter 3: The Eyes of the Dragonborn
A'zzmar walked briskly through the labyrinthine lower decks of the Forerunner, her tail twitching irritably behind her. The past three months had been arduous, she disliked being at sea. The long voyage was made somewhat tolerable by the fact that the Emperor's flagship was so enormous that the rise and fall of the waves was barely noticeable. But now the creaking and groaning of the floor beneath her feet and the walls around her reminded her that this deck was below the waterline. The very thought of it was enough to make her fur bristle.
She didn't even know why she was on this ship, on this campaign. As Viceroy, she was the highest ranking official in the Empire, aside from the Emperor himself. She should be back in the Imperial City, overseeing the administration in the Emperor's absence. Then again, the Dragonborn should still be back in Tamriel himself. A'zzmar had protested vigorously when the Emperor announced he would lead the campaign personally. Surely, she had argued, there were enough generals who were more than competent enough to lead this invasion. But the Emperor had been adamant, and when the Emperor was adamant, there was only so much protesting that would be tolerated. He would lead, and A'zzmar had assumed she would rule in his stead while he was gone.
Then the Dragonborn had announced that he would not only be taking the Blades Militant with him, he would be taking the entire order. Every single member of the Imperial Court was a member of the Blades, A'zzmar herself was the granddaughter of J'zzargo, one of the Dragonborn's original companions. With the entire order now in the middle of the Eltheric Ocean en-route to conquer a foreign continent, Tamriel itself was in the hands of low ranking bureaucrats, provincial governors, feudal lords, and the handful of dragons the Emperor had not bothered to take along. It made no sense to A'zzmar. She whole-heartedly supported the campaign, but Tamriel was still their home. To uproot the foundation that the entire Imperial government was built upon seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. There were still factions that opposed the Dragonborn's rule. Small factions, underground factions whose resistance had mostly been curtailed to propaganda and minor acts of vandalism. But in the absence of the Emperor, his inner circle, and the Empire's best generals, mages, dragons, warriors, and administrators, those factions might create an opportunity for themselves. A'zzmar feared that even as the Empire conquered new territory abroad, it risked losing some at home.
Still, her loyalty to the Dragonborn Emperor was absolute. She might not understand why he did what he did, but neither did anyone else. Who could truly comprehend the mind of a god-like being? And so A'zzmar buried her doubts and performed her duties as she always had, with precision and total faith in the Emperor's grand design.
She heard a door open behind her and a familiar scent filled her nostrils. A'zzmar stifled a throaty growl as heavy footsteps hurried to catch up to her. Ivar, Captain of the Blades Militant, slowed and fell into step next to her. He carried himself proudly, shoulders straight and broad, armor polished to an impeccable shine, his helmet carried in the crook of one arm, his other hand perpetually on the hilt of his sword. Ivar was the grandson of Vilkas, and was as fierce and skilled a warrior as his grandfather had been. A'zzmar loathed him. Like her, Ivar was one of the Emperor's inner circle, a small handful of individuals who enjoyed virtually unfettered access to the Dragonborn. They all competed with each other to curry favor with their lord and advance their stations. Unlike the others, Ivar somehow managed to maintain the façade of grace and camaraderie as he played the game. A smile was always on his face, a warm and genuine smile, so utterly convincing that A'zzmar sometimes wondered if he actually was as guileless as he appeared. He was looking at her with that smile right now, and A'zzmar had to stifle another growl.
"A'zzmar," Ivar greeted her with a friendly nod.
"Ivar," she replied coolly. She continued to stare straight ahead as they walked.
"Take it you heard the signal earlier?" Ivar asked in one of those frustratingly genuine attempts to make casual conversation.
"Obviously," A'zzmar said with an annoyed twitch of her whiskers. "It was fairly impossible not to hear it."
"Indeed it was. Exciting, isn't it? A new world, almost within our grasp."
"A'zzmar will not be considering it 'in our grasp' until our army has ground the natives into dust," she replied, this time not bothering to hide the snarl that underlie her words. Ivar scoffed and chuckled.
"The natives," he said with disdain, "Probably little more than tribesmen in huts with stone-tipped spears. Even if they're not, they might as well be. What power could they possibly have that could stand against all this?" Ivar gestured around the grand hall they were walking in. A'zzmar took a moment to glance up at one of the towering dwemer Centurions that lined both sides of the hall. Monstrous, deadly, waiting only for the hint of a threat or the word of their master to spring to life and rain down destruction. A'zzmar had to agree with Ivar, however grudgingly, it seemed impossible that whatever enemies awaited them could hope to match their strength. Still, she was ever the pragmatist. War was not won until the final foe lay dead or bent the knee.
"Besides," Ivar continued, "We have our Emperor. There's nothing in the world more dangerous than him." That was a statement A'zzmar also had to agree with. Ivar's voice had fallen to a hush as the pair stopped in front of the door of the Dragonborn's quarters. It was a plain, unadorned wooden door that would have seemed completely common if not for the two men who stood in front of it. Scarlet cloaks completely covered their armor, and strange, ornate masks hid their faces. They were two of what the Emperor's court had come to call simply 'the Nine.' No one knew who they were, what their faces looked like behind those masks, or what they were capable of, only that they were ever at the Emperor's side. A'zzmar felt Ivar stand a little straighter beside her, and her own muscles tensed involuntarily. She was afraid, Ivar was afraid, fear was the appropriate response in this situation. Neither of them spoke, they just tried not to whither under the gaze of the two mysterious guardsmen who regarded them through the narrow eye slits of those strange masks. She knew the other seven were nearby, hiding in the shadows. She could not see them, could not smell them, if she reached out with her magic, she knew she would not sense them. The Nine were like black holes in the fabric of existence. But she knew they were there all the same, and that they were watching. For several, painfully drawn out seconds, the only sound was the creaking of the Forerunner around them. Then as if on cue, the two guards spoke in unison:
"Dovakiin will see you now." Their voices were hollow and had an otherworldly quality about them. They sent shivers down A'zzmar's spine and her tail thrashed in agitation. She stole a quick glance at Ivar, who was swallowing a visible lump in his throat as he nodded. Sweat was beginning to bead on his brow. He was as terrified as A'zzmar, at least she could take solace in that. They steeled themselves as the door opened and they stepped into the Emperor's chambers.
The door immediately slammed shut behind them. The room was small, hardly befitting an Emperor. And dark, so dark that A'zzmar could hold her hand in front of her face and not see it. She was khajit, her kind could see in the dark as easily as in the sunlight, but in here she could see nothing. She could hear Ivar's breathing quicken next to her, and she stepped a little closer to him. All animosity between them melted away. It would resume again as soon as they left this place, but for the moment they were equals, allies united by fear in the presence of the Dragonborn Emperor.
A small orb of light materialized in the center of the room and hovered at eye level. It was a simple enchantment, one that should have illuminated a room twice the size of the Emperor's cabin. But the light from the orb was pale and weak, barely enough to hold back the darkness that was still roiling in the corners of the room, just enough to make the walls visible. A'zzmar's breathe caught in her throat and she heard a small moan of lust emanate from Ivar. The walls of the cabin were covered with the Dragonborn's spoils of war. Armor, weapons, artifacts, tomes, all of which seemed to shimmer and pulse with an inner power and life all their own. Most of these objects had once been considered nothing more than superstitious legends, until the Dragonborn plunged the depths of the earth, rent the Veil aside, and pulled them into the light of reality. Any one of these mystical treasures in the hands of a single skilled warrior or mage would be enough to turn entire armies to flight.
And the Dragonborn didn't even need them anymore.
These objects of power that gods and men craved had been relegated to little more than museum pieces, doomed to hang on the Emperor's walls to serve as a reminder of his power to all those who came before him. There were only two objects in this room that were likely to ever again see the light of day. The Emperor's armor that he had worn when he faced Alduin, and his sword, Soulcatcher, with which he had struck the beast down. A'zzmar felt her gaze being drawn to the small altar where the legendary artifacts were displayed. They were beautiful, both wrought from pure ebony and engraved with silvery runes. What enchantments the Ebony Mail and Soulcatcher were imbued with, no one knew for certain, but there were rumors. The armor was said to render its wearer virtually invisible, and would kill any mortal who touched it, save for the Emperor. The sword, true to its name, was believed to trap the souls of its victims within its blade, bestowing their strength and knowledge to its wielder. Some said that the sword also whispered secrets to its master, secrets from beyond the Veil…
"My friends," the voice shocked A'zzmar out of her trance. It was a soft and quiet voice, barely above a whisper, but it hit her like a physical force of nature. She gasped and had to fight not to stumble backwards, and next to her, Ivar waged a similar battle. She cast her eyes about the small cabin and saw nothing, then she blinked and he was there. The Dragonborn seemed to materialize out of thin air, like a shadow suddenly made flesh. A'zzmar and Ivar immediately dropped to one knee and bowed their heads.
"My emperor," Ivar choked out.
"Lord Dovakiin," A'zzmar said with awe. It was always like this. She had seen the Emperor hundreds of times in her life, but the overwhelming feelings of awe and adoration never lessened. If anything, they became even more profound.
"Rise," the Emperor said, again in a whisper with the force of mighty wind. When A'zzmar stood it felt as though hundreds of pounds of weight rested on her shoulders. She tore her eyes from the floor and looked at him. The Dragonborn wore a long black cloak with the hood up, veiling his face behind an impenetrable shadow. He stood in the middle of the room near the orb of light he had conjured, running his fingers over its luminescent surface. How could the light not illuminate at least some of his face when he was standing so close to it? "What do you wish to say to me?" the Emperor asked. A'zzmar had to shake her head to clear it, Ivar found his voice first.
"Lord Emperor, the signal has gone up. Our advance ships have sighted land."
"I know." Of course the Emperor knew. Ivar apparently hadn't thought any further than that.
"We believe," A'zzmar began slowly, "That the entire fleet will be in sight of the coast in three days, four at the most." The Emperor didn't reply, he seemed completely focused on the orb of light that was mere inches from his shrouded face. A'zzmar and Ivar exchanged glances in the silence.
"What are your orders, my lord?" Ivar asked, "How should the fleet deploy?"
"Turn to the south," the Dragonborn said nonchalantly, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. "After seven days, turn again to the east, and sail true for another three. That is where we will make landfall." Ivar's brow furrowed.
"My lord," he stammered, "Our ships have not scouted that far south yet. We do not know what is there, what the terrain is."
"There is a city, and the terrain is acceptable."
"A city?" A'zzmar asked, her whiskers twitching. Ivar looked at her and shrugged.
"Yes," the Dragonborn said, "One of the grand cities of this new world, with high walls of stone, protected by many brave men and women with fire and their hearts and steel in their hands." A'zzmar thought she heard the Emperor chuckle. "A king dwells there, a hero of great renown." He swept his hand through the orb of light, the energy seemed to crackle and shudder as his fingers passed through it. "They shall be the first to fall." Something in the Emperor's voice made A'zzmar feel cold.
"How…" she began, the hooded face snapped toward her and she fell silent. She could feel the hidden eyes of the Emperor boring into her. Ivar took a step backward and lowered his gaze as the Emperor walked slowly toward them. A'zzmar was rooted to the ground, unable to look away from the shadow that obscured her master's face. The Dragonborn stopped barely a foot from her and held his arms out to his sides.
"Do you think these walls of wood and steel contain me?" he asked, every word fell on A'zzmar's skull like a hammer. "Do you think the eyes of the Dragonborn are blind?" The Emperor threw back the hood of his cloak and A'zzmar shuddered as his face filled her vision. That face, over a century old, did not look a day over thirty. It was framed by hair the color of spun gold that fell to the Dragonborn's shoulders, his cheeks were covered by a fine stubble of the same color. It was a brave face, a handsome face for a human, a normal face, in no way extraordinary from any other.
But those eyes…
Such a shade of blue did not exist anywhere else in the physical world. They were colder than the highest mountain peak, so cold that they burned like fire in her veins. Harder than any steel, deeper than the ocean beneath their feet. Those eyes passed straight through A'zzmar, filled her up and left her feeling empty. Her strength left her and she felt her body collapsing even as her consciousness rose above it all. She saw herself prostrated at the Emperor's feet, Ivar prone next to her, the Dragonborn Emperor standing above them both, shining like a star in the middle of a void that drew everything into itself. A'zzmar felt herself rising up, up, up, and still those blue eyes gazed into hers for all eternity.
A soft hand on her shoulder sent her crashing back into herself. Her throat was dry and she was gasping for breath, curled up into a ball on the floor of the cabin.
"Stand up," the Emperor said softly. This time his whisper did not strike her, it coddled her and made her feel warm and safe. A'zzmar stumbled to her feet, only vaguely aware of Ivar doing the same next to her. His eyes were wide, his face flushed and drenched with sweat that plastered his fair hair to his skull. The Dragonborn was standing back in the center of the room, holding the orb of light in the palm of his hand, those eyes once again blessedly shrouded in the darkness of his hood. "You will pass the word to the fleet," he said, "South for seven days, then east for three." The Emperor turned and faded back into the shadows.
"Yes, Lord Dovakiin," Ivar said. He bowed deeply and backed up toward the door, not daring to show his back. A'zzmar followed suit, her hand scraped along the wood of the door until it found the latch.
"Denerim," the Emperor's voice whispered from the shadows, A'zzmar and Ivar paused. "The city is called Denerim." The orb of light flickered and died.