Interregnum, 854 of the Second Era Options

[Destri Melarg]

To the Reader

This story takes place over the course of one year, 854 of the Second Era. It details the end of interregnum and the founding of the Septim line of Emperors. Inspiration for this story is drawn from two sources. The first is a one line entry in the timeline for the Second Era:

2E 854 - The Emperor was assassinated by a High Rock nightblade who also burned the Imperial Palace to the ground and attempted to kill General Talos.

I have come to believe that history is merely the propaganda of the winning side. This entry tells you what happened, but it doesn’t tell you how or why it happened. I have attempted to address those questions in this story.

For the second source of inspiration I express no embarrassment in saying that the form is blatantly lifted from my favorite of the in-game books, Carlovac Townway’s remarkable 2920: The Last Year of the First Era

Some of the characters you will encounter in this story have been lifted from the in-game books. Others are the product of the author’s imagination. I do not claim to have mastered the lore so if I stray too far from it, please don’t hesitate to call me on it. That said, there are a few ‘liberties’ that I have taken in this story which I feel I must draw to your attention:

- Tamriel is a much larger place than the game world. A day’s journey in game takes a week (weather and terrain permitting) in the story.
- Cities are larger and far more populated than they are in the game.

My deepest gratitude goes out to RemkoNL, mALX, Acadian, hauteecole rider, Winter Wolf, SubRosa, and treydog for their steadfast support of this story. Without you I doubt that it would exist.

As always any comments, criticisms, or suggestions are most welcome.

* * *

Table of Contents

Book One: Morning Star
Book Two: Sun's Dawn
Book Three: First Seed

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Aug 14 2010, 12:15 AM

[Destri Melarg]

It seemed odd that a Tsaesci would have a Breton name and title, so I looked him up too.

I had the same reaction when I first read about Renald, but everything about him leads to the conclusion that he is, indeed, Tsaesci (or at least can be interpreted as one). That was good news to me, because I really wanted to write a portion of this story from the point of view of a Tsaesci.

_____

3rd Morning Star
Direnni Tower, Isle of Balfiera
Dusk


Word of her arrival came with the morning tide and caused an explosion of activity throughout the Tower. Maids dusted and then re-dusted the furniture. Cooks raided the larder; anything not of the finest quality was bundled for the servants to eat . . . or the dogs. Stewards found the best wines from the cellar. Grooms brushed and re-brushed the horses. The usually hushed voices were alive with joy and anticipation. The Lady Varla was coming home.

The High King dispatched a galleon to ferry her sister across the Iliac Bay. Lattia was not surprised. She retrieved Mallari from the stables and rode down to the dock with the porters. One of the grooms rode Varla’s White, Rielle. A day’s trip from Sentinel aboard a warship and surrounded by sailors. . . Varla’s dream come true, Lattia thought.

She reached the dock with the sun setting in front of her. The ship was still out in the Bay. The evening chill had begun. It was a comfort to Lattia and reminded her that she was no longer in Oblivion. You ask too much Aran, she thought. She cursed Clavicus Vile for the price he had extracted from her, and she cursed herself for agreeing to it.

The ship docked and taciturn Emero, Varla’s bodyguard, emerged and walked down the gangplank holding a green silk cloak. He wore a flowing blue velvet robe. His stiff mane was whiter than Lattia remembered, and his pointed ears sagged under the weight of heavy gold earrings. Seeing him brought back the memories of countless lessons under that stern gaze of his before he chose to leave with Varla. The old sorcerer still looks formidable. Lattia dismounted, Mallari walked over to where Rielle stood near the docks. The two horses nipped playfully at each other.

Varla Direnni wore a green silk brocaded dress that clung to her in the twilight. She is still so beautiful, Lattia thought. She felt a fleeting moment of jealousy toward her sister. The Captain of the ship escorted Varla to the gangplank. His head barely came up to her breast. As he kissed her hand she said something that made him laugh. She sashayed down to the dock, maintaining her elegant posture despite the swaying of the ship. Emero draped the cloak over her golden shoulders. She whispered something to him, he nodded and bowed. She turned her attention to Lattia.

“Little sister. . .” she walked over and took Lattia’s hands in hers. She smelled of Lavender. She held Lattia’s arms out to the side so as better to inspect her, “still pining for the Daedra?”

“Older sister. . .” said Lattia, “still conducting business from your bedroom?”

Neither of them could hold the stare for long. Varla was the first to laugh. Lattia pulled her sister close and held her, laughing.

“It hurts that you think I would lie so far beneath me,” said Varla, “besides, on a ship they call it a stateroom.”

“I’m sure you lie in accordance with your station.” They parted, this time it was Lattia’s turn to hold her sister’s arms out to the side. “You look wonderful.”

“You’re too kind. All night aboard that rat-infested tub I’m surprised I don’t look like one of the sailors.” She frowned and touched Lattia’s face. “You look pale, what has he had you doing?”

Lattia ignored the question. “What were you telling Emero just now?”

“I told him to keep his eye on the crew. Some of the things they say would make Sanguine blush. The fool’s are likely to go through my undergarments while I’m gone.”

Lattia looked at the porters still milling around the dock, conspicuous in their inactivity. “You’re not staying?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m bound for Wayrest, then on to the Imperial City. I just stopped in to see you . . . and Aran. Where is he by the way?”

“Waiting in the Tower, I brought your horse.” Lattia pointed to the two horses waiting near the dock.

Varla grinned and for a moment Lattia saw the little girl who stood up for her when Aran’s teasing became too rough. “Rielle! Oh, sister, you think of everything.”

Emero appeared at Varla’s side, his face as inscrutable as ever. Lattia had not seen him move from the docks. He bowed before he spoke.

“Begging pardons, Mistress,” he said, “the Captain wishes to know how long we plan to stay.”

“Where are your manners, Emero? Say hello to my sister.”

Emero bowed even lower. “My apologies,” he turned to Lattia, “greetings, Milady. You are as beautiful as I remember.”

“Greetings Emero,” said Lattia, “it is good to see you again.”

“I have heard that you are quite the mage. I congratulate you.”

“Your teaching had much to do with it.”

Varla was bored. “Tell the Captain we plan to stay until my business here is complete.” She winked at Lattia. “Tell him that the ship was placed at my disposal and that it will come and go at my choosing. If he has a problem with that tell him to take it up with his Majesty.”

“Very good, Mistress.” Emero’s smile was so brief that it could hardly have been counted as one, but Lattia knew that he relished passing on the message. He turned on his heel and made his way back to the ship. Varla locked onto Lattia’s arm and steered her toward the waiting horses.

“You deflected my question earlier,” Varla said, “I asked why you were so pale.”

They mounted the horses. Lattia reached forward and stroked Mallari’s neck. “I guess I’m just tired.”

“We both know better than that, but I’m too happy to push it. Keep your secret for now, but you will tell me before I leave. Now, let me tell you about the Court of Hammerfell.”

Lattia didn’t care much for gossip, but she was glad for the change of subject. The two rode toward the stables, their silhouettes fading into the shadow of the black stone tower.

_____

The three of them sat at the large table in the middle of the tower and dined on lettuce and leek salad topped with a pungent red wine vinaigrette. A savory venison stew with carrots and onions followed. For the main course there was braised lamb, roasted potatoes brushed with garlic, and topped with diced tomatoes that had dried in the afternoon sun. Desert was a large covered pot made of ice that when opened produced a bounty of fresh strawberries, grapes and sliced apples coated with a thin brush of orange juice and moon sugar. Conversation was light, and laughter was abundant. Lattia couldn’t remember a dinner more enjoyable.

When they had eaten their fill they repaired to the solar in the tower’s upper level. Aran poured the wine. “So, what news?” he asked.

Varla lounged in her chair, twirling her cup of wine between thumb and forefinger. “High King Thassad sends his regards.”

Aran snorted, “He can keep his regards. It’s his troops that I’m interested in, will they stand with us?”

“Thassad has problems of his own, dear brother. Even if he wanted to support us I doubt that he could raise half of his country for battle. This business of Crowns and Forebears will lead to civil war. It just shows what happens when you build your seat of power in the stronghold of your enemies. I know Emero must be glad we’ve put the place behind us. He was getting tired of tasting my food.”

“I care nothing for Hammerfell’s petty squabbles or your servant's weak stomach, we need his troops,” said Aran, “did you tell him that I can deliver High Rock?”

“Can you?”

Lattia took a long drink from her cup. Aran stood, scowling.

“You doubt me?”

Varla remained silent. She returned Aran’s stare with one of her own. She truly fears nothing, thought Lattia with admiration. Aran’s temper was a thing to behold but, as usual with Varla, he was the first to blink.

“Cuhlecain played into our hands at Sancre Tor,” he said, returning to his seat. “When the snow-men turned cloak, they united the whole of High Rock against him. I hear even now that the Witchmen are plotting their revenge. With Hammerfell and High Rock we could meet them on the field and squash the Alessian resurgence forever.”

“You would need a host of twice that to contend with Cuhlecain’s forces.” Said Varla. She turned to Lattia and started to laugh. “Meridia’s summoning day is soon; perhaps Lattia can pull an army of Aurorans from the basement to help you.”

Lattia blushed and remained silent. Aran rose so swiftly that half of his wine spilled on the floor.

“Do not mock me, Varla!”

Varla put on the smile that Lattia had seen her wear for the ship’s Captain.

“I’m sorry, Aran,” she said, “It was not my intention.” She rose from her chair and gracefully crossed the room. She laid her arm across her brother’s shoulder and gently guided him back into his chair. Her gaze found Lattia’s, and she winked.

“Cuhlecain is nothing but an up-jumped hedge knight from Falkreath,” she said in soothing tones. “Consider this: If the rumors are correct and they recovered the Amulet of Kings from Sancre Tor, why does he not wear it?”

She rose and returned to her seat. “Because he can not,” she said. “The Nords believe that the hero of Sancre Tor, this General Talos, is of dragon blood . . . he is the threat.”

“Dragon blood? Ridiculous.” Said Aran.

“Whether he is or not is irrelevant. What matters is that the Nords believe that he is. I tell you, brother, right now you can do more with a simple push in the proper place than with all the armies of Tamriel.”

Aran reflected on his sisters words. Varla took a sip of her wine and laid her head back in her chair. Through half-closed eyes she watched her brother intently. Lattia was grateful for the silence, and she was grateful for not having been asked to contribute to the discussion.

Aran broke the silence. “Where would you push?”

Varla opened her eyes. “There are many places one could. For me, I would concentrate on this General Talos. He is aided by a battlemage, a very good one if the rumors are correct.” She smiled, “I think I can move him.”

“Then you should leave on the morning tide.” Aran said.

“That was my intention.” Varla replied.

“It was good to see you again, Varla.”

“And you, Aran.”

He got up and walked to the door. He stopped. “This battlemage, what is his name?” He asked.

“Zurin Arctus.” Varla said.

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Mar 31 2010, 04:35 PM