When he woke up, it was with a pounding headache, his missing memories aching like a lost reality.
He sat up on the hard bed, rubbing at his eyes and temples. He appeared to be in the Imperial Prison, though he couldn't quite figure out why he was there. Or, more urgently, who he was.
It was a cell made from cold stone, the floor dried, hard-packed dirt. A single window hung high above him, letting the smallest stream of sunlight in the room. The walls were stacked bricks, the air tasting sour in his mouth.
A voice grabbed his attention, filled with cold tones and faked interest. "Hm," it started, considering. He went over to the bars of his cell, revealing the crooked teeth and red eyes of a Dunmer staring back at him. "Pale skin, snotty expression. You're a Breton!"
He held up his hands to his face dubiously. He was?
The male continued, gently clacking his grown-out fingernails against the metal bars. "Masters of magicka, right?" He offered a shrug, not liking where this was going, but the Dark Elf paid him no mind. "Hmph," he snorted. "Nothing but a bunch of stuck-up snobs with cheap parlor tricks if you ask me."
He tilted his head, confused. "Um, listen-"
The male immediately cut him off, shooting a vicious glare to his cell. "No, you listen." He raised his eyebrows but contented. "Let's see you try your magicka in here, hm? Go ahead, make your bars disappear." The Dunmer paused, insistent clacking stopping at the motion of his fingers. "No? What's the matter, little Breton?"
He felt his face flush. "There's really no need-"
The Dark Elf's voice rose over his weak defense. "Not so powerful now, are you?" The prisoner cackled and wheezed, the sound supposed to be laughing. He winced, allowing the other to continue with his mad rant. "You're not getting out of here 'till they throw your body into the lake."
He felt his eyes widen at that. The Dunmer took a look at him and started laughing louder. "Oh, that's right! You're going to die in here, Breton. You're going to die!" He shook his head rapidly as the Dunmer gloated at him from afar.
Finally, he huffed, gathering up his voice."I don't know who you are, but if all you're going to do is ramble on like a madman, could you at least do it a little quieter?" He made to turn on his heel and sulk back to the lumpy bed when a sudden group of voices echoed through the halls.
He paused, trying to hear what they were saying, when the Dark Elf choose to speak again. "Hey, you hear that?" His features were split into a toothy grin. "The guards are coming... for you!" The male went deeper into his cell, bringing his cruel laughter past his line of sight.
He sighed with relief, but his hands twitched nervously on their own accord. What if he was right? The footsteps seemed to be growing louder.
Looking for a place to hide, he caught snippets of the conversation. An elderly voice rose above the others.
"They're dead, aren't they?" It asked, crestfallen tone carrying over the halls. He couldn't hear much past that, only able to conclude that there were no suitable hiding places in his confinement. He could only gaze miserably as the group appeared at his cell, and stopped there.
"My job is to get you to safety," one woman was finishing as they paused outside his bars. He looked them over, noting the strange armor and unorthodox blades. If one thing was for sure, it was that these people weren't Imperial soldiers- the thought made his heart bounce with a bit more happiness.
The feeling didn't stay as a particularly tough looking guard caught sight of him. Dark eyes observed him under a bronze helmet. "What's this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off-limits." It was the woman, apparently in charge.
He went completely still in his position beside the prison bed. Another guard, obviously male, spoke up. "Usual mix-up with the watch, I-" she dismissed him.
"Nevermind." She addressed the Breton, hands reaching out to unlock the gate. "Stand back, prisoner. We won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way." His eyes widened even more at that, slowly backing up.
"Over by the window," the male supplied, same harsh tones. "Stay out of the way and you won't get hurt." He nodded, scrambling to the back. After a few more warnings, the gate lock clicked, door opening.
The three marched forward at the captain's command, the male still warning him to stay where he was. Before they got far, however, a fourth member made himself known.
"You," it said, and he recognized the elderly voice from before. "I've seen you." He moved away from his guards' shelter, opting to approach the prisoner.
The man was as old as his weary voice, features defined with wrinkles, shining silver hair cascading down his shoulders. He wore a regal purple and red robe, the collar white fur and gold encrusted cloth. A glimmering ruby amulet hung on his neck, displayed proudly on his chest.
His eyes twinkled as he stared at the Breton, speaking again. "You are the one from my dreams," he said, taking a deep breath as if each word drained him of a little more strength. His whole demeanor was melancholy in total, shoulders drooping slightly. "Then the stars were right. Gods give me strength."
The prisoner spoke, considering. "What's going on?"
The female guard fidgeted behind them, but said nothing as the other man replied. "Assassins attacked my sons, and I'm next. My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell."
Something in his bright blue irises said it wasn't by mere fate. "Why am I in jail?" He questioned. He wanted to ask who he was, but the genuine smile that graced the man's chapped lips stopped any further words.
"Perhaps the Gods have placed you hear so that we may meet," he proposed. "As for what you have done, it does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for."
And what exactly would he be remembered for? His next question came out cautiously. "Who are you?"
"I am your emperor, Uriel Septim. By the grace of the Gods, I serve Tamriel as her ruler. You are a citizen of Tamriel, and you, too, shall serve her in your own way." The prisoner looked at the man in shock, feeling like he should kneel, but the king only smiled softly at him.
"What," he swallowed, looking at Uriel. "What should I do?"
The smile faded slightly, simply a ghost on his lips. "You will find your own path. Take care; there will be blood and death before the end."
Before he could reply, the female spoke up behind them, standing near the right wall. "Please, sire, we must keep moving." It was almost a plea, and the emperor nodded.
He couldn't quite see what she did, but the bricks slid open to reveal a hidden passage. He gaped as Uriel stepped in, biding him another look before descending into the tunnel. The last Blade, a male that had remained silent so far, stayed back with the captain as the other guard followed their ruler.
"Better not close this one." At the male's dubious look, she explained. "There's no way to open it from the other side." She then stepped through, leaving the last guard to deal with him.
After a hard look, he finally gave a little shrug, metal armor clinking slightly. "Looks like it's your lucky day," he said, smooth voice and dark skin revealing that he was a Redguard. Then, as if not rude enough, he added, "Just stay out of our way." The Breton nodded, letting him go first. After a deep breath, his feet picked up and he followed after the four.
The dirt eventually gave out to bricks, leading down a path of stairs. The air was decisively cooler, making him shiver as he followed the other four. The guard in front of him occasionally warned him to stay back a few times, but he was slightly kinder than the others with the orders, so the prisoner didn't mind too much. He was observing the new architecture, noting the ancient feel of the area when the captain yelled.
"Close up left!" She said, the sound of the three drawing their swords filling the large room. "Protect the emperor!"
Uriel went to his side as robed figures spilled into the room, conjuring armor and weapons as they ran to the three head on. The king murmured to himself quietly. "Worse is yet to come," he whispered, seemingly accepting of a horrid fate. The Breton looked at his king with a worried expression, and, upon coming out of the slight reverie, met the expression with a reassuring smile.
"Do not worry," he spoke, reverently. "My Blades are strong, even in small numbers. You will be safe from harm with them." He nodded, shooting back his own small grin.
Suddenly, one of the males gave a warning exclamation. "The captain's down!" He yelled, causing the prisoner to look over. Sure enough, she had been struck from one of the robed assassins, body sprawled over the steps. The Redguard Blade hurried over to dispatch the enemy, the two continuing on with the remaining until they lay dead on the floor. They two spoke to each other in hushed tones for a while, too quiet to make out.
Finally, the Redguard made his way over, panting slightly as he sheathed his sword. "Are you alright?"
Uriel's blue eyes were grave. "Captain Renault?"
He shook his head. "She's dead. I'm sorry, sire, but we have to keep moving."
"I'll take point. Let's move," the other called, getting up from his kneeling position beside Renault's body. He led the four down more stairs, the prisoner being careful to step around any corpses. The group paused at a gate, where the now leading male guard held out his hand.
He addressed the Breton. "Stay here, prisoner. Don't try to follow us." Ignoring his quizzical look, he went to unlock the gate.
Uriel went over to him, whispering to his ear. "Here you must find your own path. But we will cross paths before the end, I am sure of it." He only nodded, slight panic squirming in his chest as the three left him through the gate, locking it behind them.
He sighed a long sigh, alone with only dead bodies to keep him company. Part of him thought of returning to the cell, but the idea was quickly dismissed at the reminder of Uriel's words; we will cross paths before the end, I am sure of it.
The prisoner put his back to the cold stone wall and slid down slowly, landing hard on his backside. Hands absent-mindedly fiddled with his sack cloth pants, eyes searching for an escape route.
He was contemplating taking a nap when the opposite wall began shaking. The Breton stood up with a jolt as the bricks burst forth, rats spilling out with glee. They came towards him immediately, pink noses quivering, and he had to fight the urge to run away screaming.
He quickly grabbed Renault's blade, fighting down the guilt of taking from the dead- but this had to qualify as important, right? He held it up to himself in a protective position, one of the vermin throwing itself at the block and crumbling. He shuddered from a mix of cold and disgust as he cut through another rat, relief washing over as the rest got the message and scampered away.
"Great," he muttered, staring at the retrieved blade. Upon closer inspection it appeared to be a katana, polished bronze stained with red. He felt a little guilty at that, hurriedly wiping the rat blood on his dirt-encrusted pants. It smeared slightly, but he managed to get most of the substance off.
Eyeing the newly-made tunnel, he hurriedly grabbed some potions from the fallen assassins, assuring himself that it wasn't dishonorable if they had died doing evil deeds. He downed a few of the tiny pink bottles, finding any tiredness slip away and be replaced by energy. The last one had a different effect, warming up his inside and tugging at his gut. It was strange, but he shoved the thought to the back of his mind and regarded the passage.
The Breton was indeed small, easily slipping through the tiny entrance. It was partly due to his natural physique, but there was a certain sick skinniness to himself that he would have to fix later. When he was through, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the change of lighting, trying to get a feel for the tunnel.
It was extremely dark, musty smell clinging to the underground walls. Decaying columns limply held the ceiling above his head, a broken well shoved in the corner. He didn't quite know how that got there but he walked over to it, not really knowing why.
Halfway through he stopped, noticing a skeleton on the opposite side. Changing directions, the Breton went over to where it was rotting. He picked up a rusty iron dagger, the feel of it light in his shaking hands. He also took notice of a bag in the skeleton's ribs, glowing lightly with magicka.
His fingers fished it out of the sea of decayed bones, opening it up and peeking an eye through. Finding only darkness, he shoved the dagger inside, getting an idea. On a whim, he took a nearby shield and put that in as well, gaping when the entrance expanded appropriately. The shield disappeared shortly after, the bag going back to its original shape.
He did the same with a nearby bow and some arrows, but not before attempting to shoot the bucket hanging over the old well. After some misplaced tries he gave up, standing. The prisoner didn't really know how he would be getting any of the items back, but he ditched the thought and went over to the far door.
A fairly fresher body lay by the wooden frame, almost as if it were a warning, mangled and tinged bluer than a Dunmer. He hesitantly poked at it, finally gathering enough courage to look for a sort of key. He found it soon enough with minimal shuffling. Giving the goblin one last glance, he unlocked the door, toting the bag and katana along.
"I think that was all of them," he told the other two, sliding his katana back in its sheath. "Let me take a look around." The prisoner watched, crouched behind a broken pillar, as the Blade started examining the room.
Uriel Septim stood next to his other guard, shoulders set and eyes searching. "Have you seen the prisoner?" He finally asked the Blade, voice teetering on defeat.
The Redguard was immediately on high alert, also searching, but not with quite the same intent. "Do you think he followed us?" He replied nervously. "How could he?"
"Oh, I know he did," the king confirmed, and the Breton smiled to himself silently. The other guard came back, apparently finding the are clear.
"Let's continue, sire," he spoke, waving a hand over his shoulder. Uriel only shook his head.
"Not yet," he answered. "Let me a rest for a moment." The male contented, if not a bit reluctantly.
The Breton held his breath, waiting for them to continue on. The other Blades seemed to share his anxiety, as it wasn't long before he urged the emperor again. "Your Majesty, we need to keep moving."
Uriel denied again. "Let me rest a moment longer." The prisoner realized he was waiting for him to show.
With a deep breath, grip tightening under around the hilt of the taken katana, he jumped down from the ledge. Only wincing slightly at the contact with bare feet, he steadied himself. The guards yelped, taking out their swords.
"Dammit, it's that prisoner again!" The male yelled, briskly walking over. "Kill him; he must be working with assassins!"
The look in their eyes was slightly vicious and wholly deterring, and he backed up against the wall. The katana suddenly felt heavy in his hands as they advanced.
A sudden shout made the Blades pause, the tone frustrated and bordering on rage. "No! Stop it!"
They obeyed feet away from him. In a much calmer tone, Uriel continued. "He is not one of them. He can help us. He must help us."
"As you wish, sire," the Redguard replied, sheathing his sword without a second thought. The other male simply opted to stay where he was, katana ready, features pulled in a scowl.
"Come closer," Uriel requested, and it was a request, made with kind eyes and a soft smile. "I'd prefer not to have to shout." The prisoner's eyes darted towards his guards, still slightly quivering. The Redguard noticed this, backing up generously, and the other male put down his blade.
Uriel noticed, too. "Do not be afraid," he assured. "My guardians will not harm you." The Breton sent a tiny nod his way, hurrying to the emperor's side.
Once he was there, the king continued in a slighter tone. "They cannot understand why I trust you," he told the Breton. "They've not seen what I've seen. How can I explain? Listen," he ordered, and the prisoner did. "You know the Nine? How They guide our fates with an invisible hand?"
The words seemed to poke something in the back of his mind, but all he could offer was a shrug. Uriel didn't seem discouraged. "I've served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens. The skies are marked with numberless sparks, each a fire, and every one a sign. I know these stars well, and I wonder... which sign marked your birth?"
He have another hopeless shrug. "To be honest, I don't know." Uriel nodded, eyes slightly glazed over, thinking deeply.
"The signs I read show the end of my path," he continued. "My death, a necessary end, will come when it will come." He breathed in deeply. "My dreams grant me no opinions of success, you must understand. Their compass ventures not beyond the doors of death. But in your face, I behold the sun's companion. The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness. With such hope, and with the promise of your aid, my heart must be satisfied."
He furrowed his eyebrows, not getting a lick of sense out of the words. He changed the direction of the conversation. "Where are we going?"
"I go to my grave. A tongue shriller than all the music calls me. You shall follow me yet for a while, then we must part."
The first sentence rang out in his mind, reverberating through his thoughts. "You..." The emperor waited. "You're going to die?" The little upturn of the corners of his mouth told it all. "But," he faltered. "But aren't you afraid to die?"
The ripe smile turned into something sweeter on his ruler's face, something almost thankful. "No trophies of my triumphs precede me. But I have lived well, and my ghost shall rest easy. Men are but flesh and blood. They know their doom, but not the hour. In this I am blessed to see the hour of my death. To face my apportioned fate, then fall."
He stared at Uriel, wonder in his eyes. "You're pretty amazing," he blurted, face growing hot. "Um, sorry," he murmured, but Uriel only laughed.
"Your words are kind," he thanked the Breton. One of his Blades cleared his throat.
"Sire, we need to go now," he warned. The king nodded, quickly addressing the prisoner.
"Come with us. Your destiny is bound up with mine, and the fate of Tamriel itself." At his consenting nod, the emperor continued through the hallway after his Blade.
The other one, the Redguard, went over to him. "Here, carry this torch and stick close." He held out the wedge of wood, lighting it with a flick of his fingers and handing it over.
"What's your name?" He wondered as they went through.
"Baurus," he answered, alert. "The other Blade is Glenroy." He was about to ask more, but Baurus continued. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you," he started, looking straight into his eyes. The Breton dimly noted his irises were brown.
"You were only doing your job," he told him. "Besides, I'm just a prisoner rotting in jail. I could be evil and all." To be honest, he didn't know what his moral standing was, but he didn't feel evil. Was that enough?
"I doubt it," Baurus told him, looking forward. "And in any case, I apologize." He was about to reply when Glenroy called at them to stop.
"Hold up," he ordered. It was the largest room they had been in by far, a huge column separating deprecate stairways and the ceiling looming above. It was also the perfect position for an ambush, blind spots making up most of the space. "I don't like the look of this. Let me take a look."
The Blade descended the steps on the left, going down beyond the prisoner's position at the back. The uneasy feeling in the Breton's gut didn't disappear until he came back. "Looks clear," he confirmed, waving them over. "Come on. We're almost through to the sewers."
They followed, being lead to another gate. Glenroy tried it, giving out a curse shortly after. "Dammit! The gate is barred from the other side!" The room became darker all of a sudden, and he found himself looking into the shadows. "A trap!"
Baurus mentioned the side passage they passed. The other male nodded. "Worth a try. Let's go!" His pace became quicker as they made their way to the passage. It was small, the group barely fitting in together, and he found himself pushed to the front beside the emperor with a knowing look from Baurus.
One thing became apparent as they entered; it was a dead end. The Redguard said as much to his comrade. "What's your call, sir?"
The other looked on the verge of panic. "I don't know," Glenroy admitted. "I don't see any good options here."
"Hey," he spoke up, loosing some steam when everyone stared simultaneously. "Thinking thoroughly and being honest is better than leading people blindly through battle, wouldn't you say?"
Glenroy blinked, then smiled at him appreciatively. Just as he was warming up to the guard, the expression switched to terror. "They're behind us!"
Sure enough, he could hear the shimmering sound of conjured armor and flashes of magicka. "Stay here, sire," Glenroy warned, running down the corridor to face the battle. Baurus shot a worried look at him, telling him to protect the emperor with his life before following.
They stayed alone in the room, the Breton tense and holding his katana at the ready for a while. He eventually tuned to the king, who hadn't said a word since. "It's going to be fine," he assured, sparing a glance to the older man.
He received the warmest eyes in return. "Yes, it will, my friend. But I'm afraid I can go no further." He was given a panicked look, but continued all the same. "You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants." He opened his mouth to speak, but was waved off. "He must not have the Amulet of Kings!"
The emperor tore his glimmering necklace off his throat, taking one of the prisoner's grubby hands into his own pure one. He tried to protest, but trailed off weakly as the ruby jewel was placed in his palm.
Uriel closed his fingers around the necklace, looking dead straight into his eyes, never letting go. The sounds of battle still echoed through the halls. "Take the amulet," he said, but the Breton didn't see much choice. "Give it to Jauffre. He alone knows where to find my last son." The prisoner didn't dare question, rapt attention focused on the regal man in front of him. "Find him, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion."
He let his gaze fall to their joined hands, the jewel of the amulet glimmering though the cracks of his fingers, golden chain hanging limply. His voice was too small, too weak. "Your amulet? Then this- this is goodbye?"
A last smile. "This is where my journey ends, yes. For you, though, the road is long and dangerous."
He had just met this man, but he felt himself tearing up. This was the first person that had showed him kindness, the savior from his imprisonment. "With all of my heart, farewell."
A slight reassuring squeeze through his fingers. "Stand true, my friend. May your heart be your guide and the gods grant you strength."
He swallowed. "I won't forget you." The emperor nodded.
"I know you won't. Remember me, and remember my words. This burden is now yours alone. You hold our future in our hands."
He wanted to say that he didn't want it. He didn't know his name, much less what to do with the fate of the world. Despite his best wishes, he found himself nodding. "I think I understand. I'll," he faltered. "I'll take it from here."
"Then go. Take with you my blessings and the hope of the empire." And as the battle raged on outside, Uriel Septim's hands left his as the blade of a hidden assassin struck his heart.