White-Gold Tower, The Imperial City

  Spring

  Year 17 of the Fourth Era (4E17)

  (One hundred and eighty five years earlier)

  The streets were lined with tens of thousands of people, roaring, cheering and filling the air with so much noise that it was a physical assault that shook the buildings around them. No other city in all of the world boasted such a population, drawn from every corner of what had once been the Septim Empire and as such, over a million beings called it home. Men and elves, Khajiit and Argonians. Even rarer and more esoteric beings such as handfuls of Tsaesci from faraway Akavir could be found if one knew where to look. Today however, they were all united by a single cause in celebration.

  The city, and potentially the Empire had a brighter future, one represented by the steady tramping march of a military procession along the Via Talosia. From the enormous length of the Pons Akatoshae bridge that connected the city to the western bank of the Rumae, along the arterial highway cutting through the Talos Plaza district, the parade marched in perfect step. Drums thudded in a pulsing beat, cornicens echoed haunting notes, and a thousand throats were chanting a marching song that somehow made itself heard over the enormous crowds that had gathered to watch.

  Kaius didn’t know it at the time, but this would be the last he, or anyone else in the Empire would see such a sight. The Legions of the Septim Empire had been powerful and true legends in their own right, but like the dynasty that had founded them, they were fading into history. For over four hundred years, the men, mer and beastfolk who had served in the Septim Legions had fought, bled, and died to maintain peace in the Empire, but such an Empire no longer existed. The Septims were dead, the last of the Dragonblood Emperor’s sacrificing himself to stop Mehrunes Dagon’s invasion seventeen years before, and the Empire that had been forged by Tiber Septim, the man who would become the god Talos, was falling apart at the seams.

  Morrowind had burned during the Red Year, Vvardenfell was consumed in lava and ash from the largest volcanic eruption in history, and Blackmarsh and seceded in the years that followed. Then, just to compound the difficulties of the Dunmer, Houses Dres and the Telvanni had been practically annihilated, not by the aftermath of Red Mountain erupting, but by the Argonians. Invading to right the wrongs of thousands of years of Dunmeri Slavery, a war almost as apocalyptic as the Oblivion Crisis began with the deaths of thousands. Only the Redoran’s, the largest and most powerful of the Dunmer Great Houses had weathered the Crisis and protected their kin with an army almost an equal to that of the Legions, and yet the Argonians were even more powerful. Since the Crisis had ended there had been rumours and stories, but there was truth behind the tales of how the daedra had failed to invade Blackmarsh.

  Indeed, if the stories were true, then the Argonians had counter invaded Oblivion to such an extent that Mehrunes Dagon was forced to close off Portals to stop the Deadlands falling to the Argonians and their God-Trees of the Hist. Whatever the truth of the stories and the events of the war, it didn’t matter. The Argonian military was unlike anything the provinces had fielded since the Three Banners war, or the Akaviri Invasions, and it unleashed thousands of years of racial hatred upon the Dunmer.

  The War of Ash raged while the rest of the Empire slipped further over the brink, the Dunmer and Argonians grinding each other into the volcanic wastes of southern Morrowind, while the Empire and the Legions did their best to stymie the fighting. Their best however would prove to be insufficient, and even the combined efforts of the XIII, XV, and XVI Legions failed to put an end to the war. All three legions were decimated further, the XV Silvanica and the XVI Venatoris left utterly depleted; nothing more than Legions in name only.

  Elsweyr was next, seceding from the Empire and becoming an independent kingdom once more under its societal and spiritual leadership of The Mane. Orsinium too suffered heavily in the post-Crisis years, as it was burned to the ground yet again by the Bretons and Redguards, leaving the tough orchish peoples to scatter and fragment into tribes throughout northern Tamriel. Not even the Altmer of the Summerset Isles were immune to the devolving situation, with insurgency and civil unrest splintered the High Elves into semi-warring families and noble houses. Where Mehrunes Dagon and his limitless armies of daedra had failed, the mortal races were succeeding, tearing the Empire apart like a pack of wild dogs fighting over a slab of rotting meat.

  It was not to say that the Elder Council and the rulers of the provinces had simply let it happen. Even as blood was shed, diplomats and statesmen of all races did what they could to slow or even reverse the decay. For ten years they had almost succeeded, especially under the guidance of Potentate Ocato. At least, until the death of the Altmer councillor undid everything. No one really knew who was responsible, especially in the power vacuum left at the end of the Septim Dynasty, but rumours were rampant. Disenfranchised nobles from High Rock, the dozens of claimants desperately trying to have their tenuous links to the Septims recognised, Altmer Supremacists, or even the last remnants of the Mythic Dawn were all blamed in one form or another. It didn’t matter though. Instead a pretender was placed on the throne, the provinces of the Empire were breaking away one by one, and the threat of war between the increasing number of independent nations was growing by the day.

  The Legions; the elite fighting force of Tamriel, were decaying just as their Empire was. Short of manpower, time, resources and everything else but potential enemies, they were slowly being ground down. Already the alchemical, magical and physical training regimens that had produced the greatest soldiers the world had ever seen, were being increasingly chipped away. Rare alchemical ingredients from Blackmarsh were no longer crossing over the borders, the expertise of Altmer magicka was remaining in the Summerset Isles, and increasingly pressed for time, the training of new recruits was becoming shorter with each fresh body pressed into Legionary Plate. The elite Legionaries of the Septims would be no more, and while their descendants would be far more numerous, they would never match the power of the Legions of the Tiber Reformation.

  But for now, such worries, and concerns were distant in the future and unknown to those in the present. A thousand Legionaries; the elite creme of Legio II Dovahae, were marching through the Imperial City, and the city was welcoming their presence. From his position in the enormous doorway of White-Gold Tower, Kaius watched, smiling and remembering a time when he too wore Legion plate, instead of the toga of a councillor.

  Almost twenty years ago, he had witnessed a similar sight where all twenty Legions had marched in honour for the would-be Emperor Martin Septim during the height of the Crisis. That sight had been powerful, and yet, somehow this was even greater, despite only a pair of five hundred strong Castas taking part. A mere tenth of the second Legion’s fighting strength, but it was more than enough. Covering a few hundred metres of the via Talosia in a long column five ranks wide and two hundred deep, it was flanked on either side by an entire cohort’s worth of mounted Extraordinarii maintaining a gap between the throngs of Imperial citizens and the marching formations. The two Castas couldn’t have appeared any more perfect if they had tried.

  It was a truly glorious sight, made even more so by the fact the spring time air was filled with the scents and sight of hundreds of thousands of flowers and rose petals being cast from the rooftops and the windows of the buildings lining the via Talosia. The very air itself was the smell of flowers, and being tinted by the sheer quantity present, the deep red colour symbolising the strength and power of the Ruby Throne, and the destroyed Chim el adaba; the Amulet of Kings. Many of the Legionaries had found themselves marching with rose petals fluttering off armour, sticking to cloaks or in horsehair helmet plumes. Others had even found themselves wearing impromptu garlands from members of the crowd who risked being trampled by the escorting Extraordinarii to place the flowers around several legionary’s necks.

  This parade, this triumph… was unofficial, only somewhat planned, and in several cases entirely denounced by many in the highest positions of power. For seven years the Stormcrown Interregnum had been further tearing the Empire apart, factions had formed and there were many who opposed this event. Violently so. Cyrodiil especially was technically in the midst of a civil war between many of the Counties. Some Counts, like Kaius, were standing alongside him in the crowd of dignitaries and their supporters at the doors to White-Gold Tower, watching the men and women of the II Legio march towards them. There were others though who were not present only because they didn’t have the military might to stop it.

  “Well, here he comes.” Muttered one of the Counts standing beside Kaius with a snort of amusement. “He certainly does know how to make an entrance.”

  “And his troops polish up nicely too.” Replied another, his toga a stark white and black of the heraldry of County Kvatch. “You could be forgiven for believing that they have saved the world with such a triumph.”

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  “Are you saying that the Second hasn’t? They certainly saved Kvatch, that’s for sure.”

  Kaius’s tone was good naturedly mocking to his fellow Count, Savlian Matius, Count of Kvatch. There was blood shared between the two men, as Savlian had once been nothing more than a captain of Kvatch’s city guard when the Daedra had razed the city to the ground. Like Kaius, he was one of the many novus nobilitae; ‘New Nobility’ raised to positions of authority in the wake of the Crisis. He, like Kaius, knew all too well that it had been the Second Legion that had fought to reclaim Kvatch from the daedra. Afterall, they both had been there, covered in the blood and ash of a city murdered by daedra, and fighting alongside many of the same legionaries who were marching up the street towards them.

  Many people had died during Dagon’s invasion, and the numbers would be impossible to accurately determine. Most estimates in the years since the Oblivion Crisis were that around one in every five had died, and leaders and rulers had not been immune. Those, like Kaius’s and Savlian’s Counties had died to blades and the fires of the chaos of the daedric invasion, and new men and women had been elevated to their positions. Counts, Dukes, Barons, Jarls, Sapiarchs, Kings and even the Dunmer Tribunal of Living Gods had all died, suffered, or vanished in the Crisis. Others had risen to take their place though. It truly had been a time of new beginnings and of great opportunities, but also one of intrigue and political maneuvering.

  “The Empire would have welcomed you, Kaius. It could have been your name that the crowd is chanting.”

  For a moment, Kaius felt the burning need within him and crushed it aside. He knew that the opportunities extended far beyond those around him. There had been numerous times, in the months of scheming and plotting that had led to this very moment, that Kaius had resisted the temptation. His was a name known throughout Tamriel, as the ‘Hero of Kvatch’ and ‘Champion of Cyrodiil.’ With his power base, the title of Count and the legitimacy it provided, he could have very easily been the one placed upon the throne, but he had resisted, just like he was resisting it now as he turned to look at one of his closest friends.

  He didn’t even need to look to know that among all of his fellow Counts, that the one who had spoken shared the same, powerful hunger for power that he did. There was no doubt in his mind that most of those present had been resisting the urge to claim power for themselves in the lead up to this event, but none shared Kaius’s particular hunger quite like Janus Hassildor. At the moment, having recently fed that very morning, the vampire Count of Skingrad with his Porphyric Hemophilia strain of vampirism was able to stand outside during the day in the tenuous safety of White-Gold’s shadow. For the moment he looked almost entirely human, but the Count’s eyes glowed unnaturally, giving him a strange, feline-like appearance as he stood at White-Gold’s entrance.

  "Keeping a throne warm is not for me Janus. I have enough to handle running my County. Besides that, how long do you expect I would have remained on the throne before Viconia shoved me off it?"

  There were a series of laughs from the assembled Counts but there was some hesitation from them all. Not a single one among their number were unfamiliar with Kaius's wife, and none had any illusions to her personality, or personal motivations.

  "Have you heard the stories that the Thulian's have been propagating?" Savlian commented after the handful of chuckles had ceased. "Apparently our soon-to-be Emperor is the 'Bandit-King' of Sutch, and a leader of an army of outlaws."

  "Terentius and his ilk have always been shit at propaganda. A bandit?” Kaius snorted loudly and forcefully. “That's a fine way to describe an Imperial Legate. I also wouldn't like to be in their shoes, once the Legionaries of the Second find out they've been branded criminals. It doesn't matter though. Thules has been deposed, Titus will be Emperor, and there will be stability again.”

  "Are we sure about this?"

  The first Count who spoke; Corvus Umbranox flushed slightly as his peers turned and looked at him. For years, the Count of Anvil had been a mystery, having vanished and remained unknown for over a decade until his strange reemergence shortly after the Oblivion Crisis ended. He and his wife, Millona Umbranox stood together, hands entwined and were among several of the main ‘conspirators’ of this event which made his expression all the more amusing for his fellow Counts.

  "This is hardly the time to be second-guessing your life decisions, Corvus." While sharp enough to cut silk, Janus Hassildor’s voice was filled with humour and teasing from the shadows.

  "I'm not, but we are about to make a Legion commander the most powerful man in Tamriel. That sort of thing does warrant some level of concern."

  Kaius understood Corvus’s reasoning and he doubted that there was a single one of them in the dozens around him who weren’t wracked with concerns and fears. What they were doing was technically treason and usurping the ‘rightful’ ruler of the Empire. Although to describe Thules ‘the Gibbering’ as a ‘rightful ruler’ was using the term very, very loosely. The ex-Battlemage and head of the Imperial Battlecollege was a puppet ruler, put onto the Ruby throne by a coalition of nobles from across the splintering Empire to further their own ends. The irony that at this very moment all the assembled members of the opposing alliance were technically doing the same thing, was not lost on any of them.

  “I trust Titus.” Shrugging under his own blue and yellow toga marked with his county's heraldry, Kaius kept a smile on his face to hide his own trepidation. "If it's a choice between watching the Empire burn for the second time in twenty years, or putting a legionary on the throne, I'll pick the legionary every time."

  His eyes fell back upon the armoured figure moving through the triumphal arch built in front of White-Gold Tower to commemorate the end of the Oblivion Crisis and all those who had died in the conflict. It was a glorious sight, seeing a veteran Legate who had fought at the Siege of Kvatch and Kaius couldn’t help but smirk a little at how Titus was doing his best not to limp. At forty-three years of age, he wasn't as young as he was when the two of them had first met, and the old injury Titus had sustained during the crisis had been haunting him a bit more with every passing year.

  From Centurion leading the assault cohort during the siege of Kvatch, to Legate maintaining order in western Cyrodiil, Titus had already come far in his years serving the Empire. He was however about to ascend beyond any of his wildest dreams, supported by an alliance of nobles across the breadth of the Empire. Counties Anvil, Kvatch, Skingrad, Glenvar, and Chorrol from Cyrodiil, the Holds of Skyrim, the Kingdoms of Wayrest, Daggerfall and Sentinel, House Redoran and even both the Crowns and Forebears from Hammerfell had joined together in support for the famous Legion Commander. Only the ‘Thulians;’ the coalition and puppet masters of the current ‘Emperor Thules’ remained, but the likes of Counties Bravil, Leyawiin, Cheydinhal and Bruma, the Druidic circles of Valenwood and the devastated remnants of Houses Dres and Indoril wouldn’t be able to hold off for long. Especially not as the Legions themselves were more than likely to support one of their own sitting on the Ruby Throne.

  There would be blood in their futures, and Kaius knew that Titus would have a rocky road ahead of him even with the support of a majority of the remaining Empire, but for the moment he smiled as Titus passed through the Triumphal arch and looked directly at him and him alone. They had fought together at Kvatch, and the two of them had formed a strong friendship in the years since the Crisis, and so it amused Kaius immensely that he could see Titus was nervous.

  "Come on." Being the first to step forward, Kaius began moving down the steps to meet his friend and the soon-to-be first Emperor of the Mede Dynasty. "Let us all go give him the Ruby Crown to wear."

  Seated in the snow, Kaius could feel the weight of the years since the moment that he had helped Legate Titus Mede, become Emperor Titus Mede I. So much had happened. The birth and deaths of his children, the siege and destruction of his county and home by the Terentius dynasty from Bravil, Viconia’s return to the Underdark, and his mantling of the Black Blade in service to the Medes. The Concordat War alone, despite lasting less than five years, felt longer and weighed upon him more than the previous two centuries, but for now there was peace at the Throat of the World’s peak.

  "The story of Alduin's defeat had already turned into legend when Jurgen Venzaan came to the Monahven.” Paarthurnax said as the silence following Kaius’s retelling stretched onwards with the afternoon sun. “His Zii, like yours, was broken and wounded. The Nordic Tongues, despite their mastery of the Thu’um had fallen to the deyra-slaves of the Chimer, and the dwiin… metal of the Dwemer. Jurgen was seeking mindoraan how the strength of their su’um’s had not been enough, and that search would bring him here. During his journeys he had heard stories of the dragons who had turned from my zeymah’s tyranny, and he thought that I might have the answers he sought."

  "And was the Wind-Caller successful in his search?"

  "No. I did not have what he was seeking, but he surprised me. He created the answer himself, and in doing so answered a question I had never thought to ask. Fin Miraad do fin Thu'um; The Way of the Voice. For weeks, perhaps even months, we sat upon the mountain, talking and listening and meditating on understanding the thu’um and our natures. He discovered something that called to the both of us. A way to lahney… exist. A way to control ourselves and our paar… our desires. It was not I who taught him the way; it was he who showed me the path that I had already been following."

  "I have never lost my desire for power or to rule, and no matter how hard I may try, I cannot remove it from myself. I'd be sooner able to give up my need for air. I, like the dragons it seems, must dominate. There is no escaping it, and the only way to truly survive is to direct my efforts and desires elsewhere."

  "Where have you directed yours, dovahsos?"

  "Internally, within my own mind and soul, and towards dominating my curse. I refuse to allow myself to become an animal again, like so many other vampires." The grin that slowly spread across his face was practically inhuman. "That, and I find it easier to direct it towards those who make themselves my enemy."

  "Like my zeymah?"

  Kaius shook his head. "Alduin? He is an enemy, but not really my enemy. He threatens the world and I just happen to live in it. As shit and broken as it is, I don't want to see it come to an end."

  "Then what do you do to your hokoron… your enemies?"

  "I viik... destroy them..."