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]

Cloud Ruler Temple! *happy sigh* The shining katanas made me think of the familiar Blades at the end of the Third Era whose swords must now hang there.

“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.”

I love your portrayal of Delphine. I can see the unbending future Grandmaster that so frustrated my Dragonborn characters, but there’s still something left of the girl whose duty once was an honor and not a burden. Her rush to Acilius at the end makes my heart break for her.