Chapter 1:
His eyes opened slowly, stinging in the early morning light. It was cold. He pulled his thin white sheets closer to his body, trying to block out the bitter northern wind. He had always hated the cold, scorning how it sucked comfort out of one's body like an invisible and malevolent leech.
Turning on his side, he looked angrily at his surroundings, as if they were to blame for his premature waking. The simple wooden floors and the green banners hanging by the wooden pillars spanning the room seemed to taunt him. Once again he tried to close his eyes and block out the wretched light…
Light. It was bright out. His eyes flung open, their startlingly pale gold gleaming in the sun of the morning. He had overslept. He had overslept by a lot.
In a sort of sporadic motion, he tossed the blankets off of himself, and fell onto the floor. He winced as his forehead slammed onto the ground, but forced himself up as quickly as he could. Frantically looking around, he located his disheveled robe and slipped it on. He could not bother to follow protocol and make his bed, so he simply ran out of the barracks. On his way, he passed a mirror.
He looked like crap. His reddish brown hair was a tangled mess, and though it was relatively short, it still managed to get into his eyes. Though his skin was normally relatively fair, it looked downright pasty compared to the dark bags under his eyes. The robe he wore was navy blue, and wrinkled beyond belief. The captains would not stand for this.
Upon his entering of the main hall, the twenty or so men and women who were gathered in a circle became silent. They had clearly been in the middle of a conference, and he had just interrupted it.
One man in particular looked incredibly scornful. He, like all the others, was wearing the same kind of blue robe, but even compared to the others his was particularly clean. His short blonde hair was stiff and straw like, and his blue eyes were squinted in disgust.
"Ah," he said, his voice soft but scrutinizing. "Beras, how nice of you to join us." There were a few moments of silence before he spoke again. "Although, it would have been nicer if you were here on time."
Beras shuffled uncomfortably, trying to smooth out his clothes. "Yes, uh," he said, his voice low and quiet. "You see, I-"
The blonde man held up his hand to silence him. "I don't want to hear any excuses out of you. The only thing that can be said is what has been said to you before. You're lazy, stupid, irresponsible," he said, holding up a finger with each word in his list. "Unskilled, unfit-"
"Give him a break, Widmur," a girl spoke up, flipping her long black hair to the side. "Yelling at him isn't going to help. You've already proven that." She stood up and walked over to Beras, looking him in the eyes. "The question is, what will?"
After a few seconds of silence, Beras stammered, "Uh, was that a, uh, rhetorical question? Or was I actually supposed to, uh, answer?"
She rolled her eyes and turned around, walking back to her seat. "At least sit down and listen to the rest of what we are discussing. Don't say anything."
Widmur cleared his throat. "Captain Ceolwe, we can't tolerate this behavior from him anymore! It's outrageous. We're Blades. Do you even know what that means?"
Again, Ceolwe rolled her eyes. "Not this again. I don't want to hear it," she said. "I'll talk to him in private later, if I find it necessary."
Awkwardly, Beras sat down in an empty seat between two other men. On the table was a map of Tamriel and its provinces: High Rock, Hammerfell, Skyrim, Morrowind, Black Marsh, Elsweyr, Valenwood, the Summerset Isles, and Cyrodiil.
Small flags were placed all across it, representing which nation controlled what areas. Little green flags covered all of Morrowind and Black Marsh, for the young nation of Argonia had taken the land of their former enslavers. Black flags showed the territories where the Thalmor, agents of the Aldmeri Dominion, had taken captive. They spanned the entirety of Valenwood, Elsweyr, and the Summerset Isles, and had begun moving into the southern parts of Hammerfell and Cyrodiil around the city of Anvil.
The Captain cleared her throat. "Once the squad we dispatched to Anvil returns with the Daedric weapons, we should have the advantage we need to take back the Cortens Mountains. Any questions?"
Slowly, Beras raised his hand.
"Not you," Ceolwe said harshly. No one else seemed to be confused about anything, so she stood up. "Excellent. Back to training. Beras, clean up after the horses, and try not to get in anyone's way."
Horses aren't so bad, Beras thought as he brushed twigs and bits of hay out of a silver one's hair. They were certainly more affectionate than people, and appreciated him for who he was. They didn't care that he couldn't swing a sword for his life and always forgot he could block with his shield. They were perfectly happy with his ability to brush their fur and the fact that he brought them lumps of sugar that he stole from the kitchens.
But his fellow Blades didn't see him that way. They hardly considered him as part of their group, just someone who was there by default. This was partially true, which made the accusations all the more unbearable.
Four years previously, the Aldmeri Dominion first invaded Anvil, where he had been living with his mother and two sisters. His father had died six years previously, when Beras was only twelve, killed by bandits on the road. A great man, he had always tried his hardest to bring home something, despite their painfully obvious lack of gold.
The day he died, the entire family had been waiting in silence outside the gates long into the night. It had been hours since he was supposed to be home, but no signs of him had shown up. It was around two in the morning on the 19th of Last Seed when the guards turned up with his body, stripped bare of all valuables. The estimated value of the property his life was taken for was less than twenty Septims.
So six years later, days after Beras had turned eighteen, the town was invaded. Fires burned everything to the ground; the houses, the shops, even the old chapel. He had been just outside the city when the attack was launched, helping out at the stables for a few extra coins. It seemed that was the only useful thing he could do: tend to the horses.
Even though he knew his sisters and mother were still in the city, all he could do was watch. He wasn't able to move, paralyzed by fear. The screaming, the light of the fire, were images that would never cease to haunt him. And he could never forgive himself for abandoning his family to their deaths, simply because he was a coward.
The Blades had shown up too late to save the city. The majority of its citizens had already been killed or taken as slaves. However, one woman, far too old to be fighting, had found him hiding in the hills. Beautiful white hair and kind eyes. Her name was Gretta, and she had died shortly after the incident, but it was she who was to blame for his initiation into the organization.
A man about Beras' age burst into the stables, causing him to jump as he was broken from his train of thought. He looked panicked. "Get to the gates," he said. "Now." Without another word, he left.
Beras stood up, and rushed out into the open. Every other member of the Blades it seemed was rushing out to look over the edge of the fortress. Fortunately, he was one of the first to get there. His eyes opened wide in horror.
Below them stood two elves, a man and a woman, both wearing the black and gold robes of the Thalmor. They looked up and shouted, "We come in peace!"
"That's a lie if I ever heard one," said a voice, but Beras was unable to identify the speaker.
"What do you want?" Ceolwe had stepped up to the edge. "We aren't letting you in, if that's what it is."
The Thalmor woman looked disgusted. "As if we would need your permission. You humans think yourselves our equals, but you may as well ask a dog permission to take its bone."
Someone coughed behind Beras. He turned around to see a Dunmer, who mumbled quietly to himself, "They always assume we're all human…"
The woman's companion cleared his throat. "We simply wish to leave you a gift," he said, pulling a large parcel out of his robes. "And a warning. We'll place it by your gate so you may pick it up once we've left. Don't think this is the last you'll see of us." Without another word, they left.
Ceolwe walked casually down the steps and opened the gate. Someone from the crowd spoke up. "Wait! It could be a trap."
As if she didn't hear him, the Captain lifted the parcel and opened it. Her face turned white immediately, and she dropped it. Something large and somewhat round rolled out.
The head of Captain Tennsa.