The Great War, The Mede Empire, The Aldmeri Dominion, and the White Gold Concordant Options

[Destri Melarg]

To the reader

The Elder Scrolls have called me back with a story that I feel needs to be told. This time we shift our attention to the Fourth Era, and the events leading to the signing of the White Gold Concordant. Those of you who have played Skyrim will find a number of familiar figures herein. Those of you who haven’t played the game will get the chance to meet characters in their youth, a full quarter century before you encounter them in your own Skyrim adventure. As always I have tried to remain faithful to the lore and, as always, I am open to hearing any interpretation of the lore that contradicts my own.

That said, I have once again allowed myself two liberties:

- 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 games.

Now. Onward.

FOREWORD

4E 171

The main force of the army of the Aldmeri Dominion, more than fifty thousand strong, camps outside the village of Rimmen in the northeast corner of Elsweyr while making preparations for their invasion of Cyrodiil.

Under the command of Lord General Naarifin, they are a veteran force of elves who have spent decades training for the coming war. All read, write, and speak a common language. They stand uniform in culture, customs, and faith. Belief in the chain of command is unquestioned, for they have never lost an engagement on the field. Discipline and valor have been tested and tempered reuniting a fractured Dominion, before the march through Elsweyr’s No-Quin-al desert hardened them even further. They do not chafe at the fact that their mission is to simply harass the Empire. Instead they have chosen to embrace the opportunity to test themselves against the fading power of the age.

To the west a second force of nearly thirty thousand lands at the harbor of Falinesti in Valenwood. While smaller than the main army, Lady General Arannelya’s force has the support of an armada numbering more than two hundred ships. All are committed to the conquest of southern Hammerfell. Like their brethren, these mer have never known defeat. They are well provisioned and well equipped and they are all zealots to the cause.

These arrivals take place beyond the knowledge of the Empire, which is little more than a shadow of its former self. Emperor Titus Mede II wears the name of his more famous, and most believe more capable, forebear. He is untested in the three years that he has sat upon the Ruby Throne. His inheritance consists of a treasury depleted due to the destruction of Morrowind and the secessions of Black Marsh, Elsweyr, and Valenwood. Imperial forces are scattered and in disarray, with entire armies deployed in Skyrim, High Rock, and Hammerfell. They are poorly equipped for the most part. Many soldiers have taken to providing their own weapons and armor, which are then painted to match the Imperial standard. Only a token force, led by the Fourth Legion under the provisional command of Legate Tullius, now guards the Imperial City.

The Blades no longer have the honor of protecting the Emperor. Their role has been increasingly marginalized since the Oblivion Crisis marked the end of the Septim Dynasty. They have retreated to strongholds scattered throughout Tamriel where they busy themselves filing intelligence reports on the Thalmor that are never read, even as they train for some further purpose only hinted at in their archives. Of late their intelligence sources within the Dominion have grown silent, prompting the Grandmaster to issue a mass recall of agents serving in enemy territory.

It is the thirteenth day of Frostfall.

PROLOGUE

In Bravil, at an inn called Silverhome-on-the-Water, two Altmer sat in quiet discussion. Gilgondorin faced the desk and the kitchen, presumably to be in a better position to berate the staff at the slightest provocation. Lathenil faced the front entrance, because that is what his particular brand of paranoia required.

“... the state of this place,” Gilgondorin was saying. “Here it is, nigh unto the tenth bell, and we’ve served exactly six plates. Six! It’s already Frostfall...”

“Maybe people are still at the guild for Witches Festival,” said Lathenil.

“... how am I supposed to keep the doors open through Evening Star if I have to pay to keep them open now?”

“I’ll order something to eat,” said Lathenil.

Gilgondorin stood and looked at the desk as if he could somehow will customers to it through sheer distemper. But Lathenil could see something behind the ill-humor... fear perhaps?

“I simply wasn’t hungry before.”

Gilgondorin gave him a sidelong glance before turning his attention back to the desk. “Your salad won’t warm the hearth through Saturalia. Besides, I never looked upon you as a customer...”

“That didn’t stop you from charging me.”

“Damn right it didn’t! Silverhome’s a business, eat for free at your own place.”

“And miss your engaging company?”

That one hit the mark. Gilgondorin smiled and returned to his seat. “Apologies, my friend. You see what this place is doing to me?”

“How long have you been here?”

Gilgondorin thought for a moment. “A few centuries, give or take. Why do you ask?”

“With respect,” said Lathenil, holding up his hands. “I humbly submit that sometimes it’s not just the place.”

The great bell sounded from the Temple of Mara, apprising all with ears the lateness of the hour. The tolling caused a lull in their conversation, which only accentuated the absence of patrons availing themselves of the pantry provisions. Gilgondorin nodded his resignation. The scowl left his face, replaced by the empty smile he reserved for his guests. Lathenil began to wonder if there was anything genuine about his friend.

“I’ve been monopolizing conversation,” said Gilgondorin. “Again, apologies. Please, tell me your news.”

Lathenil straightened and paused until after the tenth and final chime before he chose to speak. “Thank you. I would think that I could have gotten your attention earlier, inasmuch as my news could have a bearing on your financial woes.”

Now it was Gilgondorin’s turn to straighten. The smile turned authentic and broadened. “Do tell.”

“It seems a shame to subject a friend to such tirades when that friend’s next comment could hold the key to salvation.”

“It does, doesn’t it,” said Gilgondorin.

“It’s finished,” said Lathenil.

“What’s finished?” Lathenil’s silence made Gilgondorin pause. He bent his head to see if the answer was somehow printed on the table. Realization hit, and his head came up. “The book?”

Lathenil nodded.

“That’s incredible! Well done, my friend. Do you have a publisher lined up yet? I have a friend in the Imperial City...”

“I’ve made arrangements.”

“Oh.” Gilgondorin grew silent, then: “What was the title?”

Lathenil laughed. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“You are not the actor you think you are. Just admit that you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

Gilgondorin shook his head. “You finished your book.”

“No,” said Lathenil. “I finished my series.”

“Oh,” said Gilgondorin. “I seem to be doing an inordinant amount of apologizing to you today, old friend. I truly am sorry, but you have no idea how many acquaintances of mine have a book under quill. I never see any of them.” He went back to staring at the desk. “However, I fail to see how your news is my salvation.”

“I was thinking of investing the proceeds. In an inn, perhaps.”

“Perhaps.”

Lathenil smiled. “I would be the most silent of partners, and my small percentage would barely be missed amidst all the new revenue.”

“Your percentage?” Gilgondorin’s gaze came off the desk.

“My small percentage. No more than fifteen percent.”

“Five.”

“For filling your purse? I’ll knock it down to ten to meet you halfway, but don’t mistake me for a fool, Gilgondorin.”

“I meant no offence, Lathenil. You propose to provide new revenue, which comes with many new problems and decisions which need to be made. While the weight and risk of these decisions are left with me, you propose to stand silently behind me with your hand in my purse. I cannot go above seven percent.”

Lathenil shook his head. “A hand in our purse, you mean. You’ve just spent the entire night lamenting the lack of paying customers. I propose to end that and you cannot help but try to cheat me? Eight percent will allow us to still call each other friend a year from now.”

“Fine, if your investment is ample I will go to eight percent. And I am the fool, signing over a percentage of my business for the non-existent royalties of a book... books, that I have yet to see. When can I read them? And what are they about? You didn’t do something on the dragon break, I hope.”

“I wrote of a wound that has festered for two hundred years,” said Lathenil.

Gilgondorin lowered his head. “Save the metaphors for the page. I always knew there would come a day when your obsession unmade you.”

“Pardon?”

Gilgondorin’s voice faded to a whisper, barely audible even with the absence of customers in Silverhome. “You wrote of the Thalmor!”

“I wrote the truth,” said Lathenil.

“Yes... about the Thalmor! You wish to print treason and then mass produce it... as a series! The Thalmor exert a long reach, and we have both known mer who were black-hooded for less... or have you forgotten Rynandor?”

“Have I forgotten? You have grown fat and prosperous as an innkeeper while there are those of us who must live in hiding! ‘Silence is acquiescence’... do you remember that, Gilgondorin? You were sitting right next to me when Rynandor said it! Look at how the Thalmor have grown because good mer like you feign indifference.”

“First of all,” said Gilgondorin, “I am not that good a mer. Secondly I had Silverhome before anyone knew who the Thalmor were, and I truly am indifferent to events taking place an ocean away when there are bills right in front of me. And third, Rynandor was a fool... now he is a dead fool. The existence of Thalmor supremacy is far more important than the factors which led to it. That is a lesson you should have learned during the Night of Green Fire. I would hate to lose a friend because he chooses to be the lone mouse in the field when the bats are hunting.”

“But the Isles...”

“Are gone!” Gilgondorin stood. “Have you seen the maps? It is Alinor now, and the Thalmor rule Alinor.”

“You would have me forget home!”

All pretense of quiet conversation had been lost. The two mer were now yelling at each other. Luckily, there were scant few witnesses to take notice.

Gilgondorin slammed the table. “I would have you remember that, at one time, honorable mer sat in quiet inns like this one and conspired to stop the advance of Tiber Septim’s Empire. Where are those mer now? History only remembers the winners. Victory makes their cause righteous. I would prefer that you not become another forgotten mer in an inn. Particularly not this one!”

“The coming war will find it’s way here whether we call for it or not,” said Lathenil. “Or is it your supposition that, after annexing both Valenwood and Elsweyr, the Dominion would not choose to flex into Cyrodiil and beyond?”

“In the event that such a thing comes to pass perhaps they will choose to rest themselves at Silverhome.” Gilgondorin returned to his seat.

“I am serious!”

“As am I. You are in the ‘running an inn’ business now... or you will be when this new revenue you speak of seals our deal. You are no longer in the ‘kick the Thalmor out of the isles’ business. Their gold is the same as the Imperial’s.”

“But...”

“Would you turn away a fat purse because its owner worships the daedra? What about the Bosmer? Those fetchers literally eat each other! In this business you will find yourself serving soldiers and priests at one table and thieves and assassins at another. We don’t play favorites, and we don’t dabble in politics.”

Now it was Lathenil’s turn to stand. “Lathenil of Sunhold does not dabble! I thought you were a mer of worth, Gilgondorin. The Thalmor represent the threat of our age. I will meet that threat standing, not bent in supplication for the sake of my purse.” He started toward the door. “Good morrow to you!”

Gilgondorin grabbed his arm. “Please, don’t leave!”

Lathenil hesitated.

“Perhaps I spoke too hastily,” said Gilgondorin, recovering himself. “I have not forgotten the Isles, and I do care about the threat the Thalmor pose. But I am just a poor innkeeper, and little match for the might of the enemy.”

Lathenil grabbed his friend’s arm. “We all have a part to play and weapons to bring to bear! If Silverhome be yours perhaps we could use the place to convene meetings of those with goals aligned to ours.”

“And become yet another footnote of forgotten history?” asked Gilgondorin.

“Or perhaps we’ll be the epicenter of the rebellion that ended the Thalmor,” offered Lathenil.

“I regret all the times I dismissed your passions, my friend. I truly want to read your books. Why don’t you bring the manuscripts here? I can keep them in the safe. We both know that the Thalmor have eyes everywhere. If your treatise is half as eloquent as your arguments to me, the Thalmor will certainly seek them out to stop their publication.”

“Such a thing is not without risk, Gilgondorin. How much will your resolve fail should the lash become involved?”

“For both of our sakes I hope we never find out. But, for the sake of our friendship, I would be willing to chance it.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I would never place a friend in that position. Besides, I’ve already made arrangements. The manuscripts are gone. They are now beyond my reach and beyond the Thalmor’s. Whatever their eventual fate, I rest easy knowing that the Thalmor will not stop them from being read. That is why I came in here tonight. It was my intention to spend a quiet evening with you before I rejoin the fray.”

“The fray?” asked Gilgondorin. “You mean resume the hiding! Or is it your intention to meet trained soldiers with naught but a quill in your hand? The Lathenil of my acquaintance is a patriot, not a fool”

“I am a patriot,” said Lathenil, “but I also ran when the daedra felled the Crystal Tower.”

“That was two hundred years ago,” said Gilgondorin.

“Yes, and the only constant has been shame. I would sooner die tomorrow than live another two hundred years knowing that I ran a second time when my country needed me to stand and fight.”

Lathenil began to walk toward the door.

“Wait,” said Gilgondorin. “We should at least have a farewell drink together.”

“We have,” said Lathenil. “Don’t worry, my friend. I told you that I would be a silent partner. Everything is already in hand. You will receive my investment in Silverhome once the books are published. Instructions on the disbursement of my percentage will be given at that time.”

The opening door allowed a gust of Frostfall to come unbidden into Silverhome-on-the-Water. Lathenil passed into the night and closed the door behind him. Silence descended, Gilgondorin could not will himself to move.

“Unfortunate.”

Gilgondorin began to shake. “I did as you asked! You heard him, he doesn’t have the manuscripts!”

A column of air behind the desk began to shimmer before slowly coalescing into the slender form of a Thalmor Inquisitor.

“He would hardly tell you otherwise.”

She was tall, even by Altmeri standards. Her platinum hair stood back from a point in the center of her forehead. Below that point emerald eyes narrowed at Gilgondorin.

“Please, Lady Elenwen! Lathenil trusts me! He would have brought the manuscripts to me if he had them!”

She regarded him down the length of her nose and over a perpetually upturned chin. “Lathenil has spent two hundred years in exile. Such a thing does not leave one predisposed to trust. Besides, he would hardly choose to place his confidence in one such as you.”

“No Milady.” Gligondorin bowed in his chair.

“I suppose it matters not,” she said, moving past him toward the door. She left the scent of dragon’s tongue in her wake. “We will simply ask him when we pick him up at the gate.”

“Yes Milady.” Gilgondorin kept his eyes low.

She opened the door and the wind snapped against her long leather coat. The sound was akin to bat wings, and Gilgondorin reflexively huddled into a tighter ball.

“Your resolve would not have lasted against the lash,” she said. “Still, I see no reason why this inn should not remain in business during the occupation... provided you continue to show the necessary appreciation.”

She may as well have been speaking Gilgondorin’s mother tongue. He was calculating even as he looked up. “How much appreciation is necessary?”

Her coat and hair continued to flap in the wind. The scent of dragon’s tongue was almost unbearable. “The Aldmeri Dominion would be willing to honor the deal you made with Lathenil. You will receive an eight percent share. That will allow us to still call each other friend a year from now.”

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Oct 3 2014, 10:16 PM

[Grits]

Destri!!! I am overjoyed!

A whole paragraph in the foreword devoted to the Blades makes me hopeful. I am SUPER excited about this story!

Gilgondorin is still not an enthusiastic host I see. His conversation with Lathenil spoke volumes about their relationship and set up Gilgondorin’s betrayal very well.

Elenwen’s chilling entrance was so worthy of her!

“Your resolve would not have lasted against the lash,” she said. “Still, I see no reason why this inn should not remain in business during the occupation... provided you continue to show the necessary appreciation.”

Yikes! She’s terrifying. Even after the third read my palms are sweaty. Yet…

She may as well have been speaking Gilgondorin’s mother tongue. He was calculating even as he looked up. “How much appreciation is necessary?”

A mer who spends centuries reluctantly running his parents’ inn in “Tamriel’s cloaca” (his words for Bravil in Oblivion) would not be run off easily, even by Elenwen the pucker-producing Thalmor Inquisitor. I love how much character all three of these elves reveal in just one Prologue.

Destri’s back!! YAY!!!

[Destri Melarg]

First of all…

SubRosa - I've been giving your comments a great deal of thought and you were right. As I re-read the Foreword and Prologue I can see how I did build the Thalmor up to a certain degree. It was not my original intent, but I think I'm going to run with it. The truth of the matter will become apparent as the story unfolds. Thanks, as always, for spotting something that I either couldn't (or didn't want to) see myself.

Destri!!! I am overjoyed!

A whole paragraph in the foreword devoted to the Blades makes me hopeful. I am SUPER excited about this story!

Grits - Thank you so much. I love that Elenwen came across as 'pucker-producing.' If you liked that paragraph about the Blades then I hope you love this chapter!

_____

I.

DELPHINE

The view from the wall was the only thing she had missed these long years away from Cloud Ruler Temple, and it was the only thing that had not changed. The woman she was now bore little resemblance to the girl who had spent many watches on this wall through the cold dark nights. That girl used to amuse herself by watching the lamps of Bruma fade out like so many torchbugs far below. Back then duty was an honor, but that was before Blue River... before Falinesti. Now duty was a burden, one that was felt all the more for being recalled back to this place... this wall. Now even the air hung differently than it had before, and her armor felt heavier than she remembered. Only the White Gold Tower far to the south, still visible even through the icy mist that swirled around her, reaffirmed her purpose in this Empire.

“I knew I’d find you out here.”

The intrusion was jarring, but not unwelcome. She turned, “Brother Bolar.”

The Colovian stepped forward and stood beside her. “You’re the only one who calls me that, Sister Delphine. Please, it’s Acilius.”

His warmth was a welcome respite from the cold. Perhaps too welcome, she thought to herself. “I am not trying to keep you at arm’s length. Brother Bolar just seems to fit my tongue better.”

“It is an endearment then?”

“If that pleases you,” she said, then she caught herself and bit down on her lower lip.

He smiled. “It was my hope that such would please you, sister.”

A gust sent a chill through her. Or perhaps it was not the wind. In any event he saw it and made a move toward her. She flinched.

“We took the oath, brother.”

“The oath,” he said, “is broken each morning that Magnus finds us absent our post at the Emperor’s side. Look around you sister, the Blades are a remnant of the Septim Dynasty. Our oaths were given to the memory of better days and serve no purpose in the Empire of Titus Mede.”

“Which makes keeping them more important.”

“You truly believe that?”

“I do, Brother Bolar. Oaths are easily kept in brighter days. To be a Blade during the reign of the Septim’s was to be at the center of everything. A Blade quelled Dagoth Ur, and another helped Emperor Martin stop Dagon himself. Our portion is less noteworthy, but no less important. We may not protect the Emperor’s person, but we still serve as his eyes and ears.”

“A fine speech,” said Bolar. “I would expect such sentiment from a raw recruit, not from someone who has been in the field. The days of idealistic posturing are over. The Empire you speak of exists only in our dreams... and now it is time to wake up. We serve as eyes and ears to an Emperor who insists on living insensate. The Oculatus protects his person and they offer counsel, such that it is. The Emperor seems content with that.”

“Perhaps that is the portion of our mandate that compels us to protect the Emperor from himself.” said Delphine. “I am not blind to the reality facing us, Brother. I simply choose to engage that reality with my honor still intact. Perhaps you should look to your own.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “As always, I admire your idealism. Most would have been broken by the things you saw in Valenwood.” He stopped and turned his face into the swirling winds. Flecks of snow began to light upon his beard, aging him before Delphine’s eyes. When he next spoke the words struggled to find her through the wind. “It is a pity that duty compelled me to seek you out. The Chronicler has requested you.”

Delphine measured him. “You were testing me?”

“To a certain degree. I had to see how much of you returned to us,” said Bolar. “If it is any consolation, my advances toward you were sincere.”

He turned toward the main hall. Delphine suppressed a smile and followed. The only sound was the crunch of their boots in the snow. Through the open doors the rush of warmth from the hearth was like an embrace against the cold. Light reflected off hundreds of katanas hanging from the walls and rafters. Even though the wind continued to swirl the snow just a few paces behind her, the light from those katanas never wavered. It seemed to Delphine as if those swords were somehow imbued with the spirits of the fallen Blades who had wielded them, and that their piercing glare was both recrimination... and rebuke. As she shielded her eyes she was once again struck by the sheer weight of their charge, and the dim prospects of their success.

“Ah, Delphine!”

She would have known that voice anywhere and, for a moment at least, the weight was lifted. “Good day to you, Brother Esbern.”

He rose from his couch in front of the fireplace and crushed her in a firm embrace. If he caught any of Delphine’s discomfort, he never showed it. Upon releasing her, he motioned toward a chair near the fire. Before retaking his own seat he nodded to Bolar, who took his leave back out into the snow.

“As Chronicler I have been tasked with debriefing you,” said Esbern. “I thought the conversation would be better in front of a fire.”

Delphine’s eyes narrowed. “That was thoughtful. Thank you.”

“First, you are well? No problems leaving Valenwood?”

“I am, and no. No problems. There were a few checkpoints but nothing vexing.”

“Good.” Esbern leaned back on the couch. “The Grandmaster’s recall must have been a surprise.”

“It was,” she said. “I was not aware of any offence that should have warranted it. I am still not.”

“You believe your recall came as a result of poor performance?”

“What other reason?”

“Delphine,” said Esbern, “the Grandmaster issued a recall to all agents serving in the Dominion. You are one of the few to return.”

Delphine grew silent. “We were compromised?”

“Uncertain. Intelligence reports coming from the Dominion are scarce and unreliable. We believe the Thalmor have intercepted messages. The concern was to get you all out while we were still able. By the evidence we may have been too late.”

“How many agents?”

“Too many,” said Esbern.

“Do we know how this happened?”

“Complacency is how it happened, sister. For too long we have been content to watch a foe that constantly trains to fight us.”

“Does the Emperor know?”

“He does,” said Esbern.

Delphine waited for more but Esbern did not seem inclined to elaborate.

“You mentioned the checkpoints you had to negotiate to get out of Valenwood,” Esbern finally said. “Did you see anything that might suggest what the Thalmor are up to?”

“My surveillance was limited to patrol movements and Inquisitor deployments. Since Blue River I have been under increasing scrutiny. I was able to use that, but I don’t believe I was compromised.”

“Indeed,” said Esbern. “I read the report. Nasty business breaking into a Thalmor prison. I am sorry there were casualties. If it’s any consolation, the men you liberated were spirited from the country while the Thalmor kept watch on you. Our initial concerns came as a result of their debriefing. You saved their lives and, it seems, that their intelligence may have saved yours.”

“But how many others weren’t saved? The Emperor must be warned. If we’ve been rendered blind in the Dominion then the rest of the Empire is at risk. What if the Thalmor executed a purge to keep us from reporting those troop deployments? An invasion could be imminent!”

Esbern leaned back on the couch. He reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a slip of rolled parchment. He held onto it, pondering. That parchment seemed to glow in the light provided by a warm hearth and several hundred katanas. He made his decision and leaned forward. His eyes met Delphine’s, reflecting all the blades of those who had come before.

“This.” he said, “came by raven this morning. The Emperor received a message from the Aldmeri Dominion. We are to expect an envoy to arrive on or about the end of the month to discuss terms of diplomatic relations.”

“Terms of diplomatic relations?” asked Delphine. “From the Thalmor that sounds suspiciously like...”

“Surrender or die? Yes... it does.”

Delphine stood. “The Grandmaster?”

“On his way to the Imperial City.”

“Do you think they’ll listen to him?”

“Knowing what we do of the Thalmor,” said Esbern, “do you really think listening will be an issue once they’ve met an envoy face to face?”

Realization hit Delphine, and she deflated back into her chair. “We’re not ready.”

“No,” said Esbern.

Delphine spent the next few moments letting her mind work.

“I should go to Skyrim,” she said, breaking the silence. “They have less love for the elves than we do, and when have you known a Nord to turn down a good fight?”

“Delphine,” said Esbern.

“There may still be a fortnight before the envoy arrives, Esbern. That’s time enough to rally the support we need to repel an invasion.”

“Delphine!”

That got her attention. “What is it?”

“Blades are already in Skyrim. Even as we speak they ride toward King Istlad’s seat in Solitude. We’ve also sent Blades into Hammerfell and High Rock.”

“Who did you send?” asked Delphine. “Acilius is still here. I am still here.”

“Brother Acilius,” said Esbern, “volunteered for guard duty and, the last I checked, there are still Blades every bit as capable as you roaming the halls of Cloud Ruler Temple.”

“I didn't mean...”

Esbern raised his hand. “No need. I did not expect you to take the news lightly, nor do I expect you to be enamored of what I am going to say next.”

She took a deep breath. “Go ahead.”

“I am sending you to Bravil.”

“What’s in Bravil?” asked Delphine.

“Are you acquainted with Lathenil of Sunhold?”

“Only by reputation. Some in Valenwood refer to him as the skooma-elf.”

“He’s missing,” said Esbern. “We presume that the Thalmor finally caught up to him, but we are sending you to be sure.”

Delphine shook her head. “With all due respect, Bother Esbern, you cannot be serious.”

“Lathenil is a talented and under appreciated scholar. He’s recently completed a series of books about the Thalmor that we are seeing published. Win minds, Delphine. Do you remember that? If the Thalmor invade, the only advantage we have against them will be the local populace. We must steel their minds against the Thalmor, and it cannot be done soon enough...”

“I...”

“...The Chronicler is still speaking, sister!” Esbern’s voice was Akaviri steel. But, as suddenly as the storm raged, it was now broken. He slumped back, an old man resting on a couch in front of the fire. When he next spoke, his voice was hoarse, and weighed down by his years. “My affection does not grant you the leave to forget yourself. If you cannot honor that then that affection is a burden to both of us. Steel your mind, Delphine. Focus that passion. The days ahead will be the darkest we have ever known. Lathenil’s books might well be the difference between the Mede Empire, and the Third Aldmeri Dominion. I think that knowing his fate is the least we owe him.”

“Yes, Brother Esbern,” said Delphine.

“Good. We have prepared documents identifying you as a representative of the usurers that have underwritten Lathenil’s expenses during his exile. You know the routine; driven, professional, not austentatious. Make inquiries. Ascertain his fate if you can.”

Delphine nodded. “You told me that I would not be enamored with this. You knew that I would see what this really is.”

“This?”

“My dismissal.”

Esbern shook his head. “I assure you Delphine that ‘this’ is very near to the exact opposite of a dismissal.”

Realization hit. “These orders didn’t come from the Grandmaster.”

“No.”

“But why Esbern?”

“It is not your place to question orders, Sister Delphine.”

“I was taught to question everything!”

“Delphine.”

She stood. “Why Esbern? Is all that we have been to each other forfeit over such a simple question? Why are you sending me away? Stop playing spymaster and talk to me.”

“Because I don’t want you here!” said Esbern.

Silence fell hard between them. Their eyes met, and the tears forming in Delphine’s eyes were mirrored in Esbern’s. He broke contact and looked about the great hall.

“They built these walls to weather the ages,” he said. “I wonder what the Dragonguard would have made of the Thalmor.”

“You think they’re going to hit the Temple?”

Esbern nodded. “The Thalmor do not negotiate. They deceive and they intimidate. I want you nowhere near this Temple come the end of Frostfall. Bravil is far enough removed that you will be able to maneuver. Yet you will still be well located should the worst come to pass. Your chances of survival increase when left to your own devices. We need living Blades, Delphine. I am sure we will have an abundance of martyrs.”

“Brother Bolar?”

“Volunteered for guard duty,” said Esbern.

Delphine shrunk back into her chair. She couldn’t move. She felt cold even in front of the fire. “The fool.”

“In his defense, I suspect Bolar’s motivations had more to do with your proximity than any real desire to safeguard mortar and stone.”

“And now you’re sending me away. That makes him an even bigger fool.”

“Perhaps he is simply a man who has chosen the ground upon which to fight.” Esbern moved to the side of the hearth and grabbed a poker. “You should depart immediately, Sister Delphine.”

“Yes, Brother Esbern.” She stood. The tears began to fall of their own accord. “Take care of yourself, old man.”

Esbern turned and they embraced. “Talos guide you, my dear girl.”

She moved toward the doors and stopped. “Should the worst come to pass?” she asked. “Did you mean to say that there may be something worse than war with the Thalmor?”

“This war was foreseen long ago, Delphine,” he answered. “It is the continuance of a prophesy that began with the Simulacram and the Staff of Chaos. It was validated with the Warp in the West, the eruption of Red Mountain, and the fall of the Tribunal. The throne is absent a Dragonborn ruler and, according to the prophesy, the White Gold Tower will fall.”

“By the Thalmor?”

“One can only presume. Prophesy becomes apparent only after the fact. What is clear is what will happen next.”

Delphine shook her head.

“Civil war in Skyrim, and the World Eater awakens.”

“The World Eater? Alduin? You think a dragon is coming to devour the world?”

“So it is prophesied.”

“Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“Crazy or not, as Blades we must be prepared. The rest of the verse refers to the wheel turning on the next dragonborn.” He began to poke the fire. “Should the White Gold Tower fall, and should this Temple be silenced. I shall make my way to Skyrim if I am able.”

“I understand,” said Delphine.

“Good,” said Esbern. “Now go.”

She left the hall. The swirling snow through the open doors mirrored the turmoil in her heart. When she glanced back into the room her last image was Esbern stabbing into the fire, with the light of all those former Blades shining down upon him.

_____

The cold was bracing and set her mind to purpose. She turned from the great hall and made her way to the barracks. He volunteered for guard duty trumped all thoughts of Thalmor, wayward Altmer scholars, or dragon gods bent on world devouring.

He thought I would be here.

Inside the barracks she traded her armor for a nondescript dress, some fur lined boots, gloves, and a heavy woolen cloak. I cannot allow myself to become distracted, especially now. I took an oath! After much thought she decided not to part with her katana. Nothing is more important than protecting the Emperor, the Empire. She reached for the door and paused. I called him Acilius in front of Esbern. She left the barracks muttering to herself.

He was waiting for her at the stables, holding the reins of the dapple mare he had chosen for her. A thousand thoughts tumbled over themselves in her mind. Despite those fumblings the length of ground she covered between each step doubled. A single word carried through the snow to bridge the space between them, and it surprised her at how easily it flowed from the tongue.

“Acilius.”

He smiled. “What happened to ‘Brother Bol-...?’”

And then she was upon him.