And so Viconia and I found ourselves with little to do but wander the walls, repairing our equipment and replacing some of the worst pieces with whatever we could find in the dusty vaults and armouries within Cloud Ruler. During the days that followed we found ourselves welcomed by the normally stern members of the Emperor’s bodyguards/spies and it wasn’t long before we both found ourselves being drawn into their training sessions to learn how to wield our new swords. Other times I would find myself within the fortress’s smithy with Ferrum, the Blade responsible for maintaining, repairing and forging new equipment for the order’s members. The aging Redguard had been wielding a smithing hammer since before he could properly lift one and seemed to have the same level of skill in the art of metal as what the rest of the order had with the blades that came from the heart of his forge. Between him and his young Dunmer apprentice they beat and blasted the metal, forging gleaming swords by folding over the same piece of metal hundreds, if not thousands of times over and over again depending on the quality of the materials at hand. Each blade would take months to forge and the only real tradition the order had was that each member would have their own unique blade to call their own. To this regard the main hall was lined with hundreds of swords, each locked to the wooden beams and decorating the ceiling and walls with overlapping edges that still gleamed with sharpness despite the years they had sat still since the death of their wielders.

  Between Ferrum’s skill with the hammer and the collection of materials and pre-forged equipment within the fortress, both Viconia and I had ensured that we were outfitted the best we could be. Thick tunics and under layers of cloth would soften the impacts of any blows, and new suits of chainmail forged from a mithril-steel alloy were found that required only minor adjustments to fit us perfectly. My increased strength allowed me to feel comfortable in thicker layers of armour, and after our expedition into Oblivion I now felt more comfortable relying on additional protection as well as the greater agility afforded to me by the vampiric curse. Eschewing a helmet for a combination of mask, coif and hood I could still wield a bow with deadly accuracy but now I appeared more in kin to a Legion archer preparing for a major battle than the light armoured form of a forester. A breastplate of steel with the overlapping protection of a gorget and pauldrons covered my torso and a combination of rerebrace and vambraces for my arms covered my arms. My hands were left free of any gauntlets, instead being covered in the supple grey-black gloves made from minotaur leather. The same material made up most of the underlying padding between the shifting chainmail and cloth tunic and pants after finding several pelts within the depths of the fortress. They had been stored for a long time judging by the potency of the wards within the rooms, but between myself and a female Blade named Jena who seemed considerably skilled as a seamstress and tailor they were soon turned into comfortable clothing.

  My lower torso was covered by a set of metal faulds, the bands connected to the bottom of my breastplate with leather straps and buckles and covering down to mid-thigh. Mail chausses were strapped under this to cover the rest of my body not covered by the hauberk. Even despite the nature of the chainmail I soon found myself practicing moving stealthily through the fortress, learning how the materials moved and slid against the skin and cloth. It wasn’t long before I realised that I could glide about without raising anything more than a whisper of sound to betray my presence. Through a combination of my own natural skill gained from a lifetime of hunting and the curse thundering its way in my veins I was just as stealthy in my new suit of armour as what I was in a cloak and minotaur leather tunic.

  During the evenings, and more often than not I would find myself spending time with Martin. Both of us felt like outsiders in this group and I appeared to be the only individual that he could converse freely with. The Blades treated him with utter subservience, and other than Jauffre who spent his waking hours organising the thousands of threads of the Empire’s spy network there was no one else for him to simply have a conversation with. Viconia was the only other outsider in this group, but she seemed to prefer her own space unless it involved training with the other Blades in the use of her new sword and definitely wasn’t one for conversation.

  Martin and I would spend the evening hours wandering the parapets, or seated near the fire within the great hall and always constantly aware of the pair of fully armoured Blades that seemed to hover like shadows in our vicinity. After losing the Emperor and three other heirs to the throne they were not taking any chances even as their numbers gradually increased with every passing day.

  “Nothing seems to bother them much,” Martin commented to me as we walked the battlements one evening, casting a weary eye over his eternal protectors. “and I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to it.”

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  “A lot has changed in a few weeks.” I replied, feeling the breeze over what parts of my skin weren’t covered in armour and furs. “Just a month ago I was a deserter, doomed to a death by beating or being hung, and you were nothing more than a robed priest of Akatosh.”

  “Don’t remind me.” The level of melancholy seemed to grip him from time to time, not that I blamed him for it. Both of us were remarkably similar ages despite the uncertainty of exactly what year and month I was born and that too gave us both a sense of familiarity. “So much has happened since then, and it makes me wonder what is in store for both of us.”

  “Blood and fire.” I murmured as I remembered the Emperor’s words before his death but not quietly enough as the words made him nod sombrely.

  “That is for sure. There is no way that they can simply walk me down there,” he gestured to the far off gleam of lights of the Imperial City. “stick a crown on my head and that’ll be the end of it all. There is something darker at play here than simply trying to stir unrest in the Empire.”

  “Has Jauffre or the others found out anything more?”

  He shook his head. “Not much, and I’ve been doing my own reading into the matter.” I listened more intently to his words now, knowing that behind the soft spoken exterior there was an incredibly keen mind that absorbed all knowledge put in front of it. This, combined with the fact that the Fortress-monastery of the Blades had a library rivalling the Arcane University in breadth and sheer knowledge ensured that while I spent the day training in the art of the sword, Martin was devouring every scrap of knowledge available.

  “As far as any of us can tell, the coronation of the Emperor renews some ancient pact or ritual that involves the Amulet of Kings and the Dragonfires in the Temple of the One. Everything that I have ever known of magicka and daedra has always stated that what occurred to Kvatch was an impossibility. Portals of that scale and size and the conjuration of beasts from Oblivion for such periods of time has never occurred in all recorded history. I know that the destruction of the Septim line and the dimming of the Dragonfires has something to do with it.”

  “Something will come up.”

  “Indeed it will. Have you seen Jauffre?” There was a sense of awe in Martin’s voice as he thought of the Grandmaster of the Blades. “He has barely slept and eats at his desk but from there you can almost see the invisible ties binding him to the heart of the Empire. At his whim entire kingdoms could fall and it is almost terrifying watching the sheer power and control the Blades can exert on every corner of Tamriel.”

  He motioned to the far away lights and the darkened shadow of White Gold Tower. “The Elder Council may rule in the Emperor’s name and think they have power but it truly is the Emperor who rules all. Without the Blades however, that power is built on a foundation of sand.”

  “They are loyal though.”

  There was a dark humourless laugh. “Indeed they are. Not that I think I will ever get used to the Blades saluting me and hailing me as Martin Septim to the end of my days.”

  Leaning against the stone embrasures he looked out over the darkened slopes and stared at the lights of Bruma. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I know I would be dead by now if it weren’t for you and Viconia. You both really do have my thanks.”

  My own smile was grim in the light but he didn’t seem to notice. “But everyone expects me to suddenly know what to do. How to behave. They want an Emperor to tell them what to do, and I don’t have the faintest idea…”

  “You’ll be fine.” I reassured him and he turned to stare at me with heavy eyes. “You will be. There’s a lot of strength in you. It took balls to stand beside Viconia and me at the Priory. And from what I hear you were the only one who kept his head when the daedra started coming ove rhte wall of Kvatch. Without you and what you did a lot more people would be dead. You certainly didn’t waver in the face of Oblivion or a group of insane assassins, and so you won’t have a problem with this.”

  “How do you deal with it?”

  “The killing or the uncertainty?” I laughed.

  “Both.”

  It was my turn to become grim and I looked at him very seriously. “I have been trained since I joined the legion to fight and to kill. What happened at the Priory and Kvatch were far from the first times I found myself with my sword soaked in gore.”

  “Doesn’t that play on your mind though?”

  “I’d be lying if I said that there weren’t nights that I have awoken believing I was in some battle or expecting to find myself in Aetherius. That has been my role in life for almost longer than I can clearly remember. But that is what is expected of those who serve the Legion. We are not the calm soft-skinned beings of the cities and civilisation. We are the killers, the slayers and murderers who sole duty is to destroy those who threaten stability and peace no matter what form they take. Sure, in peace the legionaries may build roads and aqueducts, help repair homes after storms and earthquakes but there is no beating of swords into ploughs. When the whistle blows and formations are called we don our armour and draw swords without hesitation.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever understand why you deserted.” Martin replied after a time.

  “That beginning to make two of us.” I replied honestly.