One Night with the Emperor - Chapter One

One Night with the Emperor

Chapter One – Memories

    Red eyes stared back at me from the depths of the mirror. Nervousness gnawed at my insides. Could this be the right thing to do? Am I being selfish? Should I wait until everything settles down?

    Will I even be alive when everything settles down?

    Oops, missed a spot. I pushed my long, wet black hair over my shoulder and scrubbed at another miniscule spot of dirt, or mud, or dried blood from my arm. It nearly blended into my skin. Another worry surfaced in my heart. I’m an elf. A Dunmer. Is that enough to ruin any chances?

    But what if I don’t try? Will I be able to face almost certain death tomorrow? Will failing myself tonight dissolve my resolve for tomorrow? Can I look death in the face and fight if I do not know?

    I could see his face tomorrow morning. “So, how did your thing go?”

    “I, uh, couldn’t do it. I’m not courageous enough.”

    “You? Abiyomi? The Hero of Kvatch not courageous enough? You’re the most courageous person I know!”

    “Yeah, well, not for that. I know, I know. I risked thousands of lives just to find out I’m not courageous enough.”

    I lowered my forehead to the edge of the stone basin and closed my eyes.

    Dibella, mother of love and beauty, your child needs you. I do not know if I act within your bounds. Answers elude me on my own. I do not need my answer. I need your answer.

    Memories flickered through my mind.

***

    I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. A Dunmer crashed into me on the streets of the Imperial City. She dropped some things. A necklace, two rings, and three gems. I stood, picking up the items. Before I could call after her, an Imperial guard rounded the corner. Turns out she was a thief. All of the evidence stood against me, no matter what I could say. They threw me in prison, despite my minor nobility ranking. Being the master of Battlehorn Castle has no effect when a high-ranking noble has been robbed.

***

    Emperor Uriel Septim VII and three Blades escaped the Imperial City through my cell. They let me escape with them. Emperor Uriel gave me the Amulet of Kings and told me to find Jauffre. An assassin jumped through the wall before I could react. Baurus and I the only survivors.

***

    But why these memories? These memories have nothing to do with my internal battle now… Or do they? What memories followed those first few?

***

    Finding Jauffre in Weynon Priory after a long week of running along the roads. Knowing I needed a horse and not being able to afford one. Finding out that Jauffre is the Grandmaster of the Blades. He took the Amulet and sent me on my way to Kvatch to find the bastard son of Emperor Uriel. An Imperial by the name of Martin. One of the other Priors gave me a horse to speed my travel. Still, it would take me a week of pushing the horse as far as it could go to get to Kvatch.

***

    Seeing that first Oblivion gate as I slipped past it and into the ruins of Kvatch. The smoking blood of those first scamps on my sword. Their claws and fireballs marking my shield. The rain that poured, helping to keep the fires from raging. Finding my way into the ruins of Akatosh’s chapel.

    In there, I met Martin for the first time. He was exhausted, scared, and confused; as was I. Never before had I been used so obviously as a hand of the Nine. As I expected, he didn’t believe me when I told him he’s the Emperor’s son, not really. And he refused to abandon the rest of the civilians. He gained my respect with those simple stubborn words.

    So I went and did what any self-respecting warrior would do; I threw myself headfirst into Death’s path. I went into the Oblivion gate that blocked Kvatch’s gates. Tried to find the men that Captain Savlian sent into the gate and, if at all possible, close the gate.

    Only one man of all the ones Savlian sent in survived. I saved him from the scamps, and sent him back through the gate. I didn’t expect to live. Not in that hell. That place will forever be the landscape of my nightmares. But I did survive. The sigil stone hummed in my hand.

    With the gate closed, I helped Savlian rescue the civilians trapped inside of the chapel of Akatosh. Martin’s grey eyes met mine as they filed out. He didn’t know what to think. I didn’t either.

    Under Savlian’s direction, we routed out the rest of the daedra from Kvatch. I spearheaded all of the attacks. Count Kvatch didn’t survive the initial daedra invasion. I brought his signet ring to Savlian.

    When we returned to the camp the survivors made at the base of the hill Kvatch sat on, we were met with cheers and applause. Despite my pleas against it on the way to camp, Savlian and the rest of the surviving soldiers told stories of my closing the Oblivion gate single-handedly and of my key part in breaking the siege. The people named me the Hero of Kvatch.

    Exhaustion set in. An Altmer lady brought me a large bowl of thin soup. I don’t remember anything after that. Not until I woke in my under-armor outfit, stiff and sore, with my mismatch armor piled neatly next to me, all washed off.

    I worked through a few of my warm-up routines, trying to ease the stiffness. That Altmer lady brought me a potion to ease the soreness and some bread and cheese for breakfast. Martin sat by one of the fires, bread and cheese in his hands.

    We left about an hour or two later. My horse carried what supplies we managed to get around and we walked. At first, it was awkward. We both just suffered through a nightmare. Heavy knowledge weighed on Martin’s shoulders.

    A group of bandits ambushed us. I tried to protect Martin, but he didn’t really need it. His spells took out most of the bandits. Of course, I had to make up for lost face and killed the last few as dramatically as I could. Valiant calls and overdramatic sword-swings and all.

    It broke the ice between us. The three weeks it took to get to Weynon Priory turned into healing for both of us. He told me about the terror of Kvatch under attack by the daedric siege engine. I told him about the hell inside the Oblivion gate.

    We survived several more bandit attacks. With each one, we learned how to fight significantly better together, as we’re both fast learners. I would charge right into the midst of them and Martin would fling spells around me. It was actually quite fun to fight with him.

    The nights we made camp, I taught him a few knife tricks. Just in case a bandit or assassin got too close and he ran out of magicka. In return, he taught me a few spells. A minor self-healing spell, how to control the fireball spell I already knew, as well as how to throw ice magic, and send electricity into my enemy through my sword. All minor spells, but still handy. Especially the healing spell.

    In the days before we reached Weynon Priory, we even learned how to make each other laugh. I can’t say I would have minded if time stopped and left us there. Traveling together along the roads, fighting bandits, goblins, and highwaymen. Talking, laughing, healing.

    By the time we reached Weynon Priory, we were good friends. We believed Martin would take the Amulet, relight the Dragonfires, and this nightmare would be over. Tamriel would have a new Emperor. He told me he would hire me on as one of his personal guards, Blades or no.

    While said in all good fun, behind that I could see that he meant it. He really would like to hire me on as one of his personal guards, even though I wasn’t a member of the Blades. I, of course, accepted in the most dramatic way possible, attempting to give a speech, giving Martin my sword, and kneeling in front of him so he could “knight” me. He did it, knighting me in his best “emperor” voice next to our campfire.

    We both knew that there isn’t a way around the Blades to become one of the Emperor’s personal guards. I knew he would at least try. Maybe I should try to become a Blade. I might actually like it. But would the Blades accept me, an elf, into their ranks?