It was another large room, but unlike the other rooms in the subterranean structure, this room was occupied. It was at that solitary figure that the three women directed their attention as it walked slowly with head bow in front of a long altar that ran almost the entire length of the rectangular room. The floor was bare polished stone arranged in a diamond pattern of squares measuring two feet across, in alternate colors of sea green and gray. The alter was a larger version of what had greeted Clesa, Sharn and Gwenyfe upon entering the structure, and the three women recognized the arrangement of stones, the dried flowers, and the dark colored candles. Many figures stood upon the altar, some of them familiar, some of them foreign. Behind the altar there was a hearth set into the rear wall. A chair and side table sat in front of the hearth, and a bed and cabinet set off to one side. A larger table sat on the opposite side but, like it's smaller brother near the hearth, it only had one chair.
The three women looked at each other finally, as the figure, which appeared to be a man of advanced age, continued to walk, oblivious to the fact that he had company.
"That is no draugr, nor spirit neither," Gwenyfe said quietly, "at first glance I had thought it might be one or the other."
"He is either blind of deaf or both," Sharn said, "Your voice surly carried to Dawnstar when you cried bad harvest."
"He certainly looks old enough to be both," Clesa said, "his clothing and armor do at least."
"Do not startle him, he is likely to die of fright," Gwenyfe said.
The three women simply waited until the man's path reached its end and he turned around.
He had taken three slow steps before his eyes fixed upon the trio that stood in his doorway.
"Can a week have passed so quickly?" the man said in a quiet voice, his face becoming confused.
"We did not mean to intrude," Sharn said in as quiet a tone as she could manage, "we did not know this structure was occupied."
The man was dressed in what was at one time quite costly clothing and armor. But that time was well in the past, as far in the past as this man's own youth. Both his clothes and his armor were of a design not seen in Tamriel for over two-hundred years, though neither showed the decay that would be normal for something so old.
"I do not recognize any of you. Have we met before?"
"No, sir, we have not. My name is Gwenyfe Siobrach, This is my sister Sharn, and our friend Clesa.
The man studied each of the woman in turn, but his eyes lingered on Clesa.
"Clesa," he said simply.
"Clesa Narula, sir," she replied with a slight bow, "havā dī lēḍī tuhānū asīsa dēvē atē tuhānū surakhi'ata rakhē."
The man's aged face had broken into a smile at the first sounds of Clesa's native tongue.
"Here, lady, here is your Goddess," the man said as he moved to one of the figures on the altar, which appeared to be a carved image of a goshawk.
Several cushions, similar to the ones at the altar near the entrance, lay in front of the altar, but Clesa took no note of them as she knelt on the bare stone in front of the shrine to Tava and touched her bowed forehead with the first two fingers of her right hand.
"And you, lady, here is one you may recognize," he said to Gwenyfe as he moved to a figure of a woman standing tall, her arms folded in front of her, the sleeves of her flowing robes draped in front of her.
"This must certainly be a shrine to Namira," Gwenyfe said as she looked at the figure.
"And this," he said to Sharn as he moved to the other end of the altar before stopping in front of a figure of a powerful Orc, his arms raised above him as he prepared to bring the sword those two hands held down to deliver a death blow, "this shrine to Mauloch, which took many years to acquire, you will certainly recognize this."
Sharn took a moment to consider the familiar figure before scanning the rest of the figures. Many were shrines that could be found anywhere in Skyrim; shrines to Mara, or Akatosh, or Stendarr, or Julianos. Several were much more rare, and a few were completely foreign to the three women.
What was nowhere in sight was a fragment of Wuuthrad.
"This is an impressive collection of shrines, sir, truly. It must have taken quite some time to acquire it. Would your collection extend to other items that are equally rare, and hard to acquire?" Gwenyfe asked.
"This collection was begun by my son, and I still consider it to be his, even though he resides now in Sovngarde. But I continue to maintain it, and to expand it when possible. Expand upon it, and pray for my son's return."
"You pray for your son to return from Sovngarde?" Clesa asked.
"I perform the traditions of the festival, as my son did when he prayed for my return. But I have not been successful, not as he was."
The three women were all silent for a moment. It was Sharn who found her voice first.
"Do you say that your son prayed for you to return to him from Sovngarde, and that you did so?"
"Yes. He performed the Proving Ritual, asking that I pass judgement on him, and calling me to return to do so."
The looks that the three women gave to each other displayed clearly how fantastical the tale was that this man told.
"What is your name, sir?" Gwenyfe asked.
"My name is Uriel Septim."
"Twenty years, by mortal reckoning, after I had entered the banquet hall in Sovngarde my son Uriel traveled to this Akavir temple and began the Proving Ritual. It took three months for him to complete it. I returned to this world much the same as right before I had left it."
"Gods, that was over three-hundred years ago," Gwenyfe said, "you have been here ever since?"
"Yes. It was in this very room I returned. It was in this room I greeted my son Uriel, and then later my daughters Morihatha and Eloisa. None of them had any real memory of me; they were all very young when I was killed on the battlefield of Ionith. It was my death in Akavir, my blood soaking the land there, that made it possible for the Proving Ritual, which is generally only open to the Akavir themselves, possible. Ugaridge uncovered an account of such a thing happening previously in the second era. Uriel began to research it in earnest upon ascending the throne. The council had stripped him of all power, save the Imperial Veto, but he could still command mages and scholars, and this he did; directing them to bring him all they could learn about the Ritual. There were no temples in Cyrodiil that would serve, but one was discovered in Skyrim, this one."
"And so he dedicated himself to summoning a father that he barely remembered, to receive his judgement." Clesa said.
"My judgement, yes. But also my counsel. He was stripped of power, and all his attempts to regain it were blocked. It was for that reason that he called me to his side. It was that goal that drove the four of us: to reclaim that which the council had stolen."
"And you succeeded," Sharn said, "yet you remained in the land of the living. For an unnaturally long time."
"I age, as you can see for yourself, but slowly, as long as I remain inside these walls. Were I to venture outside for any length of time I would turn to dust."
"So this structure which keeps you alive is also your prison," Clesa said.
"In a manner of speaking. It is my prison, but it is also my only hope of seeing my son again."
"You wish to see him so much that you imprison yourself for hundreds of years?"
"I do not expect you to understand. I loved my children, but was away from them far too often. My last thoughts as my life flowed out of me on that battlefield were of them. It was as if the Gods themselves rewarded me when I returned. They were grown by then, but they were still my children."
The had been walking slowly towards the hearth as he recounted his story, and the old man sat in the solitary chair there as he began to weep silently.
"But they died, one by one," he said after regaining his composure, "Uriel, Eloisa, and finally Hata. And once again I was alone. It is not right that a father should outlive his children. But no matter what I try, none of my efforts have succeeded."
"You have been trying to bring your son back for three-hundred years?" Gwenyfe asked.
"Not only Uriel. I have made such attempts with all my children. But all has been for nothing. Except for the villagers that bring me supplies, I am alone."
"I could not do what you have done," Sharn said, "I would step out into the sunlight and return to dust, and the banquet hall of heroes, if I were you."
"I think it daily," he replied, "but then I think that this may be the day that I succeed, that this may be the day that I see my children again."
"But then they would also be imprisoned as you are."
"Not immediately. Not for some time. But eventually yes, should they live as long as I have lived."
It was only then that Gwenyfe recalled what it was the brought the three of them to this place.
"Your Imperial Majesty, we ventured to this place because we were informed that a fragment of Wuuthrad resided here. Do you have such a thing? It would be a fragment of the battleaxe that belonged to Ysgramor, a portion of blade or handle. Does this sound in any way familiar?"
"I am sorry child, there is nothing like that here. I have been over every inch of this place times beyond counting. I am sure you can imagine. Nothing like that is here."
"How can this be?" Sharn said as she looked at Clesa, "you said it would be here."
"I said a fragment was reported to be here. I did not say so with certainty. I read what was recorded by another. It reported part of a great weapon of the first of men now lost to history. The first of men is Ysgramor. His weapon was Wuuthrad."
"That was all it said, in exactly those words?" Sharn asked, her voice echoing from the nearby stone.
"It was in the ancient language of Atmora," Clesa said, "it read, osa historialle menetettyä suurta miesten valtakuntaa."
The ancient Emperor smiled gently before he spoke.
"I am sorry, child, whoever translated that report was mistaken. Osa historialle menetettyä suurta miesten valtakuntaa means, part of a great empire of men lost to history."
"Part of a great empire..."
"The report of which you speak refers, I believe, to me. The villagers that have been supplying me, and have done so for centuries, passing the duty from father to son, and mother to daughter, are sworn to say nothing. But it is not realistic to expect that such a secret will be kept for so long."
"Then our mission was for nothing," Sharn said.
"Not for nothing," Clesa said, "we gained much. We met Emperor Uriel Septim V. It is a great honor, and I shall hold it so in my heart through this life and into the next."
The Redguard warrior knelt beside the chair where the former Emperor of Tamriel sat and bowed her head to him.
"Our hearts are as one, then," Gwenyfe said as she also knelt to the old man who had sequestered himself from the world for hundreds of years in the hope of seeing his beloved children one more time, "your children look upon you from Sovngarde, and long for the day that you will join them there."
Sharn did not kneel, nor bow, but her voice grew softer as she spoke.
"You have been separated from your children long enough, Uriel Septim V. The sun outside shines, the breeze carries the fragrance of summer. It is as good a day as any to walk outside, and see your children again."
The old Emperor sat quietly for a moment, as the tears fell down his creased cheeks. When he looked up again, his face was smiling.
"I had never thought of it like that."