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Chapter Text

Verdant grass rustled across a quiet landscape. The midday sun scattered across Cyrodiil, the fields ready for a fresh set of seeds. In a far corner of the province, a farmer let his cattle loose for the day. There he found more than he bargained for. 

“Damn it, another Sanguine debaucher passed out in my fields!” the farmer exclaimed. He stomped closer to an unconscious man stretched across the grass. “Huh? Wait, those robes...” 

Martin’s eyes shot open, his heart in his ears. Sanguine? Was he in the world he once called home, the dark tunnels of daedric cults? Yet the sun seemed to shine bright. So much so it churned his stomach. He groaned and tried to lean on his elbows. His muscles folded beneath him. “Ah...where am I?” he mumbled, his voice weak. 

“You’re in my damn field, pretty boy. Do I need to call your noble daddy to come get you?” 

“Father...” Martin gasped, the weight of the world on his chest. He tried to paw his face, but his arms wouldn’t move. The Amulet of Kings was gone. “The amulet! Where is...wait...” 

Shattered in the clash with Oblivion, Martin’s last memory was his lover’s forlorn gaze, an emerald ring on his finger. He tried to kick his legs, but nothing came of it. Paralyzed, the only thing at his disposal was his personality. “I am sorry, but the last I recall I was in the Imperial City during the daedric attack...” 

“What? The Oblivion Crisis? That was two years ago. The Emperor’s son sacrificed himself to end it. Can’t remember his name, though. The Imperial City is far from here! Ha, this corner of Cyrodiil may as well be a part of Hammerfell.” 

Martin bit his lip. He toyed with telling the truth, but it seemed too dangerous as a paralyzed man. He concocted a fib. “Ah, yes, I remember seeing a flash of light, during...the attack of the Daedra. I think perhaps I was caught in the blast and sent to another plane of existence for a time.” 

“Hm, like Aetherius?” 

“Perhaps. I am unsure. I have no place to ask this of you, but I am paralyzed from the incident. If you contact the Elder Council, tell them Martin is here...a son of...Chancellor Platonus. They will reward you handsomely.”

“Good grief! You’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll help you into my cottage, get my wife to make you tea.”

“Thank you for your hospitality.” 

A few hours after waking, Martin was propped into a chair, a wool blanket wrapped around him. His wrists flexed, the only part of his body willing to cooperate. An elder woman pushed a fresh herbal tea to his lips. He sipped, his brow furrowed. 

“Thank you, madam,” he said. “I think I was caught somewhere for the past few years...a lost soul, perhaps. I cannot remember.” 

“I have heard such stories. Many who disappeared during the Oblivion Crisis have reappeared since its end. Strangely, others have disappeared as well.” 

“Disappeared? What do you mean?” 

“The Champion of Cyrodiil himself! He vanished before claiming his honor from the Elder Council. Or so I heard.” 

Martin chewed his inner cheek, the figure of a stalwart Dumner man in his vision. Crimson double buns, onyx skin, a piercing gaze of fire, and a soft smile. On cold nights in a desolate corner of Cloud Ruler Temple, he let his locks loose to the small of his back, his lips warm against Martin’s neck.

“Ah, that is unfortunate...” Martin mumbled. 

“Isn’t it?” the woman replied. She waved her hand. “Don’t pay it any mind. You should rest until someone from the Imperial City comes for you.” 

Time slipped away, Martin asleep in a chair by the window. Commotion from outside woke him. He groaned and flexed his fingers. He sighed. While something, it wasn’t enough to save the sitting duck he’d become. His mind wandered to his journeys as an heir and truth-seeker. Was it truly behind him? Or was he cast to a time before any of it happened?

The door slammed open. Armor clinked and clattered as boots stomped against the floor. Martin winced, the ruckus too much for his migraine. A group of Blades crowded into the small cottage, their gasps sharp. A familiar voice echoed off the walls.

“Your Majesty!” Baurus exclaimed. “Your Majesty, the Blades heard the call and came as fast as we could!” 

The elder farming couple dropped their jaws. Martin exhaled, his skin flush with embarrassment. “I awoke in this kind man’s field. Please compensate him for his hospitality.” 

“Of course, of course! When High Chancellor Ocato heard the news he was hopeful, but a bit cautious. Now we can present you to him, have you claim the Ruby Throne as you were meant to!” 

Getting from the farmer’s chair to a covered carriage was a blur. Martin exhaled and opened his eyes. A half-dozen Blades stared at him, curious and hopeful. He winced. “Is Jauffre with us?” 

“He decided to stay in the Imperial City and ensure order was maintained within the palace until your return. Some do not yet believe it is truly you. To be honest, we were a bit cautious ourselves, but we had no reason to be!” Baurus replied with glee. 

“I...Veloth?” 

“He returned to Vvardenfell after the end of the Oblivion Crisis. He kept in touch, writing that he assisted House Telvanni in eliminating the daedra there. After that, he wrote a final time to tell us he’d retired to his Telvanni tower in Sadrith Mora. Haven’t heard from him since.” 

“I...see.” 

“I’m sure if we send word of your return, he’ll come. He grieved your death as we all did.” 

Martin frowned. Overwhelmed, the flexed his fingers. “We shall discuss sending word to him once we return to the palace.” 

Time fractured again. The next time Martin was conscious he was in a royal canopy bed, floor to ceiling windows letting in early moonlight. Healers surrounded him, their hands alight with restoration magic. He flexed his elbow and shoulders, then his neck. He exhaled in relief. 

“Thank you, kind healers,” he said. “I’m unsure what affliction caused me such a severe paralysis.” 

Jauffre nodded from the corner, his arms crossed. He smiled and approached the bedside. “Your Majesty, I am overjoyed at your return. The Blades will serve you as always. When you are well we will formally crown you upon the Ruby Throne and your reign as Emperor Martin Septim will begin. However, the High Chancellor Ocato has already recognized your claim, so you may begin delegating as soon as you wish.” 

“Veloth. Is there any way of contacting him?” 

“He retired to Vvardenfell last I heard. If you wish to issue him a formal summons, we will send a member of the Blades to retrieve him.”

“I will do so. I know his life must be much different in these past two years since my disappearance. But I would still like to speak with him.” 

“Your Majesty, from what I can glean he is a hermit. Your assumed death fell on him more severely than any of the Blades. Call for him and give him a newfound purpose. A man such as him rotting away in some far flung tower, it’s tragic.” 

Martin issued a formal summons in his bed-ridden state. The Blades said the journey to Sadrith Mora and back would likely take a moon, but they would try to make haste. Wondering about Veloth’s life far from the world left Martin awake at night. He’d never stepped foot on Vvardenfell, let alone one of its most remote corners. He recalled the stories they shared on quiet, wintry nights, hidden from the calamity ahead of them. Martin hoped things could continue on as they should have long ago. He wasn’t certain they would.

-0-

After extensive healing Martin recovered from paralysis. While still uneasy, he walked with a ruby cane, one unearthed in old Septim vaults. Jauffree told him which ancestor held it last, but Martin’s was too fogged to recall it. Two weeks after awaking in a farmer’s field, a coronation crowned him. With some of his Blades out on a mission to retrieve his lost lover, it seemed forlorn. The people of Cyrodiil didn’t share his sentiments. They rejoiced, a week of celebration covering the Imperial City in garland. 

In their short time together, Veloth was more than a lover. He was a companion, his closest confidant. A far-cry from the debauchery of Sanguine, it was a true gift from Mara. Their nights, soft, yet fiery, practiced a pure form of intimacy, one his past self never dreamt of. He wondered if he would ever share it with another again. Jauffre claimed Veloth was a grief-stricken hermit. Was it true? Even so, it didn’t mean they could reunite as if nothing had happened. Martin lost two years as a dead man, only resurrected by esoteric happenstance he didn’t yet understand. Life had moved on without him.

-0-

A moon after his reappearance, the Elder Council called Martin to their chamber, eager to discuss the Empire’s future. Crowned in a gilded circlet and regal robes, he took his place at the head of the roundtable. He leaned his cane against the arm of the throne, his chest uneasy. He never had a chance to learn the proper ways of rule before he disappeared. That didn’t stop anyone from looking to him for guidance. 

“Please brief me on the happenings within Tamriel these past two years,” Martin told the Elder Council. “Afterward we can discuss the Empire’s next steps.” 

Hours passed of reports and anecdotes. Martin lost track in the early afternoon, his body aching. Not yet recovered from the strange circumstances of his return, he grew tired. He was about to dismiss council for the day when the chamber doors swung open. He made eye-contact with a familiar face, that of his lost lover. Not a day different, Veloth rushed around the room, shoving a cautious guard into the wall. 

Martin’s breath hitched. He stood and a tight embrace soon followed. Veloth, the stalwart man that once fought by his side, trembled and wept. His emotions echoed off the high ceiling, the council gawking at the display. Martin paid it no mind. He hummed into Veloth’s ear and scratched his scalp, his thick crimson locks tangled from the wind. 

Veloth’s fading grief trickled down his cheeks. Martin wiped them away. Perhaps one life hadn’t moved on without him. For him, that was enough to stay hopeful. 

-0-

Retired to the Emperor’s chambers for the day, Martin shut the door behind him and Veloth. They stared at each other in awe, the grand suite around them glimmering in the sunset. Martin exhaled and leaned on his cane. What was there to say to a man he shared his bed with two years ago? A man with tears still in his eyes? 

“I’m sorry for summoning you in such a formal way. I know life is different now, I...” Martin paused. He walked to a sofa near the fireplace and sat, his muscles aflame. “I only wished to speak with you. I wish I could’ve made the journey to you, but the healers say to give it more time.” 

Veloth joined him on the sofa. “Something brought you back. Your body is still adjusting to this plane of existence. You went somewhere else.”

“I cannot say where to. The last memory I have is of you.” 

“I have kept to myself these past years. I remain a member of House Telvanni, but I was nothing more than a hermit. I can’t even say I pursued knowledge in my isolation, as is traditional for Telvanni masters. I...completely lost my sense of time. I hadn’t realized it had been so long since...” 

“Veloth, I do not wish to waste your time. You already underwent a long journey to come here. My sense of time is skewed. To me I last saw you not long ago. I still offer you what I did before. I understand if you cannot take it.” 

“Martin, I am with you every step of the way.” 

“Are you sure? Do not feel obligated-” 

“I’ve been wearing this ring of yours for two years,” Veloth interjected, his voice weak. “In all my lifetimes I’ve never felt the way I did with you. I could not move past what we shared. I fell into a deep grief that consumed me. I was bitter. I spent so long fighting for good, first as the Nerevarine, then as the Champion of Cyrodiil. I felt as though there was no place for my happiness in this world...not after it snatched you from me.” 

Martin bit his lip, tears in his eyes. “I still want your hand as I once requested it.” 

“And I still want yours.” 

“You’ll have me, Veloth? I am Emperor through and through. You will be my consort.” 

“Yes.” 

Their lips met, the warmth familiar, yet foreign. The night slipped away in quiet conversation. Veloth pulled the buns from his hair, allowing Martin the honor of brushing through long, thick locks. He took joy in it until they exhausted themselves.

-0-

Within a week preparations for a wedding ceremony were made. Fifteen days after Veloth’s return to Cyrodiil, wedding robes fell over him, laced with the finest silver and gold adornments. For a man living as a hermit a moon prior, life accelerated faster than his mind kept up with. Despite the change, he was happier for it. 

Except for a few bumps in the road, Martin’s life continued onward as it was expected to. He was Emperor, he had taken the consort of his dreams, and the people remained eager for his prosperous reign. He still didn’t know why he returned, or what it meant for him, but he remained steadfast. 

A gazebo in the Imperial Gardens laced with garland awaited a royal wedding. Crowded with onlookers, Martin stepped next to a smiling priest. He chewed on his cheek. Once a priest himself, now he stood as a man of the highest power. How did destiny lay this path for him? Why did it take so long to see it for what it was? 

The audience quieted. Veloth joined him underneath the gazebo, his hair a cascade along his shoulders and waist. Two small braids framed his face, folding in to single braid along his back. Threads of gold sparkled through crimson locks, his onyx skin contrasting with the silk of white robes. He smiled, the fierce flames of warrior’s gaze long gone. Martin exhaled, his breath trembling. Never had he seen a man so ethereal, as if a saint upon the earth. A saint which held out his hand. 

The ceremony proceeded as a traditional royal union would. They sealed their bond among companions and citizens alike, their support eager, yet curious. Veloth was not the first Dunmer consort in Imperial history, but he was the first man. The combination was met with criticism from the outside world, but the priest blessed their bond nonetheless. 

After festivities, the couple retired to their chambers near the top of the White-Gold Tower. Martin leaned his cane against a bedpost and sat atop the sheets. He was exhilarated, yet exhausted. Veloth poured them cups of water and joined him. They sipped in silence. 

Martin studied the ring around his finger, a sapphire cradled by two rubies. A design of Dunmer origin, he had yet to ask where Veloth procured it. It was a surprise for him to be gifted it at their ceremony. His advisors had already arranged a ring for Veloth to present, as the ceremony was on such short notice. 

Veloth noticed his careful gaze. He cradled Martin’s fingers with his own. “Do you like this ring, dear?” 

“It’s beautiful. I appreciate that it’s a design of your heritage. It’s far better than what my advisors set aside,” Martin said. 

“I brought it with me from Vvardenfell. I haven’t travelled without it in some years. My father gave it to my mother when they wed at the Temple in Vivec. Afterward my parents spent a time in Winterhold to study magic, where I was born. They returned to Vvardenfell when I was an infant.” 

“I see. That made you an outlander in the eyes of the Nerevar Prophecy.” 

“Yes, though I struggled to make sense of that at first. I never knew a life beyond Vvardenfell, not until Emperor Uriel summoned me.” 

Martin finished his cup, his gaze pensive. “Do you think my father saw our future together?” 

“He might have,” Veloth said with a nod. “He wouldn’t have spoke of it if he had, though. He wouldn’t have wanted to stress us with it. It came to pass in its own right.” 

Moonlight scattered across soft sheets. Veloth cradled Martin’s hand and placed a kiss on his forehead. They enjoyed the silence after a hectic day. Veloth closed his eyes and hummed. Static rumbled beneath them, eager for a thicker, brighter spark. 

“Are you tired?” Veloth asked. 

Martin sighed. “Quite.” 

“At dawn, then.” 

“Ah, you already know.” 

“Of course. I have long dreamt of you, yearned for you. Mara blessed me with your return, my dearest companion.” 

A blush spread across Martin’s cheeks. He feigned a cough and turned his head. “Your words make me impatient. Though I have no right to be. It seems to me we last shared our bed only a few moons ago.” 

“With you by my side, I have wealth beyond measure. I can wait.” 

Settled into bed, Veloth curled into Martin’s chest as fingers carded through his hair. The overwhelming world beyond them faded for a short while, their thoughts tangled together in a deeper desire. 

-0-

Dawn painted soft hues over silhouettes of passion. Veloth gasped into a pillow, his throat rasp with pleasure. A hand wrapped around his lover’s shoulder, the other holding tight to the headboard of their canopy bed. 

Desperate desire coursed through their movements. After two years of grief and a month of bewilderment and confusion, their emotions pierced every touch. Veloth had never been one to beg over anything, not in any lifetime. Yet, his first morning married, he pleaded for pleasure, for an inseparable connection. Even if a part him wished to deny it as a dream, he couldn’t any longer. Not with their limbs intertwined. 

Veloth huffed and scratched Martin’s scalp, their rhythm unrelenting. Martin may have regretted his time in service to Sanguine, but a piece of it pushed through for the first time since they met. While intimate, it went beyond their soft nights in snowy mountains. 

Martin collapsed into Veloth’s arms. His breathing labored in the crook of Veloth’s neck, their skin slick with sweat. Veloth licked his lip and pet Martin’s shoulder and upper arm. “I never knew you could fuck me so passionately,” Veloth said. 

“I may have long left Sanguine behind, but what I learned during that time I’ll not soon forget,” Martin replied. 

“Well, you honor Dibella with it now.” 

“I suppose. I...don’t know what came over me. I wanted you to feel...I wanted you to know without a doubt that I am here with you.” 

“You succeeded, dear.” Veloth paused. He smirked. “Ah, the guards and servants most certainly heard that.” 

Martin flushed. “Oh by the nine...” 

“Don’t distress over it too much. Though, it has me thinking...” 

“What about?” 

“Now that we’re married, I would love to take you to my homeland. For you to see where I grew up, my abode in Sadrith Mora, to introduce you to my ancestors, namely my parents. I know this isn’t something we can really afford ourselves at the moment, so perhaps in a few years.” 

Martin smiled. “I will see that we have the chance. I want to see your homeland, Veloth. The land you saved as Nerevarine. Not only that, I should honor your parents alongside you. You gave me one of their rings, a significance I do not take lightly.” 

“Thank you, Martin.” 

Chapter Text

Whispers echoed with every step Veloth took in the Imperial Palace. A Dunmer man as consort to the last Septim, it seemed a strange union. He brushed their words off his shoulders. It wasn’t for them to understand. 

In the few months after marriage, Veloth took his role as Martin’s closest confidant and right-hand advisor. Attending council together, they hatched reform after reform during hazy summer nights. Veloth also convened with the Blades to strengthen their order and support communities still recovering from the Oblivion Crisis. 

Martin recovered from his paralysis, forgoing the cane after some time. He still didn’t feel himself, nor did he know what it meant to be Emperor. One that returned under mysterious circumstances, no less. The whirlwind around him kept him from dwelling on it. 

A humid breeze during Sun’s Height brushed through open windows. Veloth stood on the terrace of his chambers and watched constellations shift. He chewed on his cheek and adjusted his intricate set of ruby robes. Hectic days brewed a heavy dose of homesickness in his chest. It left him conflicted. The man who lived there was a hermit locked in a desolate tower. Returning to that life put the fear of death into him. Even so, he missed the quiet of the world’s farthest shores. 

One of the chamber’s double-doors opened. Veloth turned as Martin joined him on the terrace. They kissed a greeting, Veloth wrapping his arms around Martin’s neck. “There you are, my sweetheart,” Veloth mumbled with a smile. 

Martin smiled with a lighthearted sigh. “My meeting with High Chancellor Ocato carried on a bit longer than usual. We finished a few reforms for restoration of the Imperial City’s damaged sections.” 

“Much needed. How about a bath?” 

“Hm. Why not indulge a little first?” 

“I like the sound of that.” 

Tantalizing touches faded time. Lost in themselves, the demands beyond the double-doors dissipated. Early marriage manifested a deep infatuation with each other, the physical among the most potent. They eased into a steady rhythm, intimacy and pleasure intermingled. Veloth cupped Martin’s jaw and pulled him in for a long, winded kiss. Banging startled them out of their affections. They stared at each other, unsure of what to do. 

The banging continued. “Your Majesty!” Baurus yelled through the doors. “The Blades require your immediate council.” 

Veloth sighed. He winced as the weight of his lover pulled away from him. Martin exhaled with furrowed brows. “I’m sorry, my love.” 

“No need, dear. I’ll accompany you.” 

Dressed in loose robes, they descended the stairs, leaving the quiet behind. They entered a smaller council room on the third floor of the palace, high ranked members of the Blades crowded into the space. Martin took a seat at the head of the long table, Veloth next to him. The others joined, the atmosphere still at the midnight hour.

“What is so urgent at this time of night?” Veloth asked. He brushed loose stands of his unstyled hair away from his brow. Irritation bubbled in his throat, but he swallowed it. Despite his peace being cut short, he knew better than to question it. The Blades always had a reason.

“We intercepted a man acting strange in the Imperial City. Asking odd questions about the Emperor and his consort. We captured and interrogated him. He claims to be a member of House Telvanni and seeks to gain power within the group by murdering Master Veloth,” Jauffre replied. 

Veloth loosened his crossed arms in shock. “What?” 

“He is being held within the Imperial Prison. We presumed you would like to do the questioning yourself, Your Highness. Perhaps you will be familiar with him.” 

“I know every member of House Telvanni on Vvardenfell. I cannot say the same for any that may have moved to the mainland. But, yes, I will question this fiend for myself. Thank you for intercepting him.” 

Martin crinkled his brow in concern. “What would motivate an act like this?” 

“Usually it would be to gain the highest rank in the house, archmagister. Once one reaches the rank of magister, they may challenge the archmagister for the seat. Most commonly it’s a duel to the death. Might makes right in House Telvanni. The most powerful mage becomes leader by proving their prowess.” 

“But that is not your current position within the house.” 

“No. That makes this perplexing. I hold the title of Master. I wasn’t even playing the part the past few years, I had no mouth speaking for me at council. I was a hermit that refused a role in decision-making.” 

Jauffre nodded. “We shall increase security in the palace and the city until this is resolved. The Blades will accompany you when you question the suspect, Master Veloth.” 

“Thank you,” Veloth replied. “I will handle this. I may have left Sadrith Mora, but it’s still where I spent many years of my life. I earned my status in House Telvanni and Vvardenfell. I’ll not tolerate this nonsense from my kin.” 

Veloth paced next to the large windows in his chambers. His mind raced, calculating every nuance an unknown situation afforded him. Preoccupied, he walked the length of the wall instead of bathing with his husband. Threats against royalty was nothing knew. Telvanni murdering each other wasn’t either. Even so, something about this was amiss. It rumbled deep in Veloth’s bones. 

Martin left the bath and ran fingers through his damp hair. Veloth huffed when they made eye-contact. “I should be having sex with my husband, not puzzling out a damn death threat,” he vexed. 

“I admit, I thought my life was the one we’d have to worry about,” Martin said. 

“So did I. I never suspected someone would be wild enough to make an attempt against the Nerevarine. It doesn’t matter that he’d never be successful in a million years. The mere thought is enough.” 

“I worry about you, Veloth.” 

“I understand. I worry about you, too.” Veloth sighed and crossed his arms. “I admit, I sometimes long for the far shores of Sadrith Mora, the quiet that is. I’d love to share it with you, if only for a day.” 

Martin nodded, his smile soft. He cupped Veloth’s cheeks. They kissed. “I would love to. We’ll see to it. For now let’s rest.” 

Arms held Veloth tight to Martin’s chest. His heartbeat uneven, he gnawed on his lingering past. A Telvanni master turned Imperial consort. An eccentric match, Veloth had assumed it wouldn’t be much issue going forward. How wrong he was. 

-0-

Leather and gold Telvanni robes strode through the Imperial Palace. Onlookers gawked and whispered among themselves, the display a show of intimidation. Veloth meant it to be, just not for them. In white marble halls, his onyx skin and crimson gaze were alien and unfamiliar. A passing council member questioned Martin’s motives in the open: what convinced the final heir of the Septims to wed a Telvanni wizard? 

Never mind my rank in the Blades, Veloth thought to himself, his tongue bitter. Or my service to Emperor Uriel. 

Guards and members of the Blades escorted Veloth to the Imperial Prison. They entered and turned the corner upon a spare cell, a ragged Dunmer man within. He leaned on the wall with his arms crossed. He noticed Veloth and scoffed. “There you are, Telvanni trash.” 

Veloth clicked his tongue. “Yes, quite. A little birdie told me you wish to kill me.” 

“Of course!” the Dunmer replied. “Morrowind would be better without your lot. To think your house weaseled its way onto the Imperial Throne.”

“My guard said you posed as a member of House Telvanni.”

“It was only a cover.”  

“You have thirty seconds to tell me of your accomplices or I’ll rip the flesh from your bones and force you to eat it.”

“Hmph.” 

Veloth scoffed and snapped his fingers. A flame atronach appeared in the cell. The Dunmer yelped. Veloth turned, his face placid. Before he stepped a confession seared through the air, the stench of burnt flesh. 

“Trebonius Artorius!” he yelled. “The arch-mage of Vvardenfell’s Mage’s Guild. We were instructed to kill all of Vvardenfell’s Telvanni masters.” 

Veloth halted. He narrowed his gaze. “Thank you.” He turned to the guards. “Kill him.” 

-0-

The door to Martin’s office swung open without a knock. Veloth huffed, anxiety stirring his blood. His kin were masters in their own right. But could they defend against an onslaught of mages when caught off guard? 

“Martin, dear, I must return to Vvardenfell,” Veloth said. 

Martin dropped the quill in his hand. “What has happened?” 

“The man who threatened my life says he was instructed by the arch-mage of the Mage’s Guild to kill all of the Telvanni masters.” 

“Why?”

“I am unsure. I must return to Sadrith Mora and warn my fellows. Though I fear I may be too late.”

“Allow me to accompany you.” 

Veloth shook his head. “No, sweetheart, there’s no need to trouble yourself. I will go and handle my kin.” 

“The archmage is an Imperial sanctioned by the guild here in Cyrodiil, correct?” Martin argued. “What if there is a greater conspiracy at hand?” 

“I want you safe above all else.” 

“Morrowind is part of my empire. Please, Veloth. I must keep order after the Oblivion Crisis. It won’t bode well for a war among mages to ignite under my reign.” 

Veloth sighed and nodded. By the afternoon they were on the long road, the future fogged ahead of them. While Veloth worried, a stroke of warmth sank into his heart. He had a fierce companion, one that wouldn’t let him walk his path alone. 

-0-

Veloth cursed himself. He should’ve been more careful with what he wished for. 

The journey to Vvardenfell went quicker than expected. Once their fleet docked in Vivec for supplies, rumours were abound. Sadrith Mora. Something happened at Sadrith Mora. 

The seas swayed during the final leg to Sadrith Mora. Veloth rocked with the rhythm, his eyes scanning the horizon. Smoke hazed the air. Veloth braced himself, his stomach gnarling in his throat. A soft touch cupped his shoulder. He turned and was met with his husband’s quiet reassurance. 

The Emperor’s ship docked at Wolverine Hall, the Imperial base of operations in Sadrith Mora. Guards, troops, and Blades bustled in order to make way for the royal couple. Once inside the hall, an Imperial officer approached them with a bow. 

“Your Majesty, we have carried out your orders as requested,” he said. 

“What orders?” Martin asked, his brow furrowed. 

“The execution of all Telvanni council members. The house no longer has a presence on Sadrith Mora. The Imperial Legion went alongside the Mages Guild to eliminate the remaining members on Vvardenfell.” 

“I never ordered that!” Martin exclaimed. “Are you mad!?”

Veloth clenched his fists. Tears blazed along his cheeks, his head aflame with his heartbeat. While eccentric and cutthroat, the members of House Telvanni had been his kin for over a century. Neloth kept him company during his darkest days, not that he realized it. He bit back a choked sob. 

“Get out!” he finally exclaimed. “Get off my island.” 

The room startled. The Imperial Officer shrank. “What do you mean, Your Highness?” 

“If you don’t get off my damn island, I will wring you out with your entrails, N’wah!” Veloth seethed. “I want no one here except for my entourage, those who arrived with me. Are we clear?” 

The hall looked to Martin for guidance. He exhaled, his face sorrowful. He nodded. The room emptied of everyone except for those from the Imperial City. Veloth stepped into a corner and wept, his hand over his mouth stifle the noise. 

Martin stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder. He combed gentle fingers through Veloth’s hair. Veloth wiped his face with his sleeve. “I need to bury my kin.”

“Of course, my love. What you need, you will get. We will discuss revenge later.” 

The island was a ghost town, a shell of its former self. An eerie wind pulsed through quiet streets. Veloth walked the road, Martin and their entourage behind him. He braced himself. The corpses of his kin were in their towers. He grew ill at the thought, his head light. 

“Allow me to return to my home first, brew myself a potion to calm my nerves,” Veloth said. “I feel a bit weak.” 

The group nodded, their support silent. They followed him through desolate roads to the far shores of Sadrith Mora, a lone mushroom tower facing the sea. He exhaled at the sight, its roots untouched. “Tel Daaneri,” he said to Martin. “The home I created...I named it after my father.” 

Veloth approached the door. He loosened the mystical binding guarding it. It ceased, allowing him entrance. He stepped into his foyer. His heart collapsed into his knees. Neloth’s corpse laid face down a few paces beyond the door. A fresh set of grief pummeled him. He sat next to him and turned him around, his face at ease. Veloth sniffled and held Neloth’s torso in his arms, his head tucked against his chest. 

“Neloth, you crazy old bat,” he mumbled. “You were like a father to me. A maniacal madman, but still... How they’d get the better of you?” 

The corpse coughed. Veloth startled and dropped Neloth’s body onto the floor. Neloth grimaced with an annoyed grumble. He rubbed his head and opened his eyes. They stared at each other. “Oh, Veloth, it’s you. Get me a cup of canis root tea.” 

Veloth clenched his teeth. “You were damn dead on my foyer floor! What are you doing here in the first place?” 

“What was I...Oh, yes. Those damn Imperials ambushed during the night. I escaped Tel Naga and came here to hide. I heard someone tampering with the door so I used a paralysis spell to play dead.” 

“You damn...I should feed you to cliff racers.” 

“Oh, Veloth, did you think those men would get the better of me? They had you holding me like an Emperor’s whore.” 

Veloth chuckled. “Well, you’re definitely the Neloth I’ve always known.” 

They stood. Neloth brushed dust off his robes. “I have reason to believe I am the only survivor. Though I have to ask what you’re doing here. You left some months ago and never returned. I had to use divinations to see where you went. You married the Emperor! How adorable.” 

Veloth sighed at the sarcastic tone. “Whoever attacked Sadrith Mora sent an assassin after me as well. They claimed they were ordered to eliminate House Telvanni.” 

“Hmph. When I find them I will torture them. I’ll quite enjoy it.” 

“So will I...” Veloth paused. “Wait, you spied on me while I was away?” 

“Call it what you will.” Neloth shrugged. “I wanted to see what happened to you. Knowing you weren’t going to return made things around here a bit...dull. You are like the son I never wanted, but is nice to have around.” 

“That is certainly the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. It only took a hundred years.” 

“Don’t get used to it, boy.” 

Chapter Text

The scent of a fresh brew wafted through Veloth’s den. He sat in the largest chair by the window, the sunset shimmering over the sea. He sighed. Not long ago he was a hermit without purpose. That man and his current self shared in their never ending burden of grief. Death crawled through every crevice, lingered in every corner. He shamed himself for his longing. He only wanted to show his husband his homeland. Why must it be like this? 

Neloth hummed from another chair. “Hm. You are the only one that knows how to brew a proper cup of canis root tea, Veloth.” 

Martin sighed next to Veloth. “Someone forged orders on my behalf and our subordinates believed them. I’m ashamed. My rule should be stronger than this.” 

“This isn’t your fault, dear. They targeted me too,” Veloth replied, his voice soft. 

“All this needless death ails me.” 

“Telvanni Masters should be stronger than this,” Neloth interjected. “They fell so easily! Perhaps the house needed a cleansing.” 

Veloth exhaled, his chest aching. “Whatever the reason, our kin are gone. What will you do now, Neloth?” 

“Continue on with whatever I was doing before I was rudely interrupted.” 

“This island is vacant. I even ordered the Imperials at Wolverine Hall to leave.” 

“Fantastic! I was waiting for those damn-” 

“Return to the Imperial City with me, Neloth.” 

Neloth halted. He raised a brow in Veloth’s direction. He flicked his eyes as if annoyed at the suggestion. “Don’t be obscene. I’ve never been to the mainland.” 

“We’re some of the last surviving members of our house. I will find whoever is behind this and I will kill them. If you wish to hunt them down with me, join me in the Imperial Palace. I will make you my right hand.” 

“Your right hand?” Neloth scoffed. “I am your superior by several hundred years!” 

“And I am the Nerevarine! Have you so soon forgotten?” Veloth snapped. He huffed and shook his head. “It’s just semantics. This will create a power shift on Vvardenfell, there is nothing we can do about that. Houses Hlallu and Redoran will come and sweep up our lands, it’s inevitable. The best you and I can do is strategize how to rebuild our house.” 

“Perhaps the power shift was the point,” Martin mused. 

Neloth swirled tea around his cup. “I want to torture them when we find them.” 

“I’ll allow you the honors,” Veloth replied. 

“Once the house is rebuilt, I want the role of archmagister with Tel Naga as the center of Telvanni power.” 

“Neloth you outlasted everyone. The title is yours by might alone. Such is our way.” 

“Yes, yes. I will reluctantly accompany you, Veloth. I expect new knowledge to be bestowed upon me as payment for my presence.” 

Veloth laughed. “We’ll tear through that arcane library together. I haven’t had the chance yet.” 

“Well then. Let’s be off in the morning.” 

-0-

Stars glimmered over the open ocean. Veloth exhaled and crawled into bed, the soft scent of plants accompanying his hollowed heart. He laid on his side and stared out the window, the world quiet. The sheets rustled next to him. Martin wrapped his arms around Veloth and buried his nose in his hair. 

“This is a beautiful home, Veloth,” Martin mumbled into his ear. 

Veloth nodded. “Master Aryon taught me how to cultivate my tower. He was a younger master, the youngest when I met him, but still a few hundred years older than me. He took me in and served as my patron for many decades. That is until Neloth took an interest in me and I became his assistant. Master Ayron lives in Tel Vos on mainland Vvardenfell. I have hope he escaped this mess, but...” 

“There are others beyond Sadrith Mora?” 

“Yes. Mostly on this side of Red Mountain, but there was a few free floaters and isolationists in other areas. It would be fruitless to search for them. If they managed to escape, we wouldn’t be able to find any trace of them.” 

“You have my support. I will hunt down whoever is responsible.” 

“Thank you.” Veloth sighed. He threw his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m a bit restless. I’m going to brew a cup of tea. Would you like some?” 

“Of course.” 

Martin leaned against a pillow, his breaths weary. Frustration and sorrow coarsed his blood. How could this be? Was it his fault for being a bastard Emperor, a man many knew, yet few understood? Someone bold enough to forge his name conspired an attack and his subordinates believed it. Was this an ill omen? He shivered at the thought. 

A hardback on the nightstand next to him caught his attention. To pass the time he picked it up, the scent of ink intoxicating. Martin smiled and skid his thumb across the pages. He shared a passion for knowledge and wisdom with Veloth, one that kept them talking throughout long nights in Cloud Ruler 
Temple. The front cover opened, Martin eager to know what esoteric texts a Telvanni tower had to offer. A hand-written title bled across the front page: 

My life with Martin.

Martin’s skin heated. He flipped the page.  Taut handwriting lined the parchment: 

???? 3E 433

Prologue 

Scholars will soon write Emperor Martin Septim was the bastard son of Uriel VII, hidden away for reasons unknown. That this secret son saved us all from Oblivion. While I’m sure this holds some sort of intrigue, that is the least of what Martin was. 

Martin was a friend. A humble priest of Akastosh. A farmer’s son threaded to a greater destiny. A man of valor, of hope and strength. I could go on with the praises, but the Imperials will surely take that mantle for me. No, to me, Martin was a companion. A deeply cherished one. 

I’m not sure what to say this early on after his death. All I know is that he requested that I scribe our story. It’s one only I can tell. No scholar or high council member inking their scrolls will ever know Martin as I did. Because of what he means to me, I must be honest with my words. This is not the Martin others have seen. I don’t care if they believe it or not. I’m holding true for him and him only. What I am able to write with trembling hands lies before anyone that comes across this. 

-Grandmaster Veloth of the Blades. Champion of Cyrodiil. Master Wizard of House Telvanni. Nerevarine. 

Martin bit his lip until it bled. Reborn into a whirlwind, he hadn’t taken the time to ponder Veloth’s emotions, how the past years had weighed on him. They shared mutual affection long before their final battle against Oblivion, their hopes to wed among them. Martin had been able to awake from a long rest to the world that waited for him. Veloth had to crawl through thorns to get there. 

Unease stirred Martin’s stomach. He shouldn’t read on, yet it compelled him. His role as a spouse was pushed aside by everyone despite his dismay. He wouldn’t allow himself to slip into it. Even if was a slow crawl, Martin was determined to be an attentive husband. He flipped the page. 

???? 4E 1

I don’t know the days anymore. I know the Fourth Era is upon us, Martin brought a close to the third when he shut the Oblivion gates. Even now I am in awe of what I witnessed him do. More so I am in grief. I lost my lover to a god. And they say they aren’t jealous of mortals...

Martin sparked something in me. Something almost...human. I now understand their brevity, the way they flux with their shortened lifespans. As a master of House Telvanni, as Nerevarine, the flow of time is lost to me. The waters threw me ashore long ago. Now I’m stuck watching the currents of the world pass me by. Forever. 

Not until the gods snatched Martin from me did I understand the desperation of men. Their dreams end so quickly, a snuff in the candlestick. So did mine. 

I look in the mirror and remind myself of how different my race is from his. I must’ve been alien to him, exotic even among my fellow kin. Yet he found that endearing. He yearned for it. And I yearned for him the same, a human several lifetimes younger, yet wiser beyond my years. I still can’t believe it some days.

The book shut. Martin placed it back on the nightstand, his chest trembling. How little did he know of the man he married? It intimidated, yet intrigued him. Lifetimes of secrets and forgotten stories, all buried underneath a stalwart figure. Despite all, he was still prone to loneliness and grief. 

Veloth returned with two fresh cups of tea. He set Martin’s on the table nearest his side of the bed. The book caught his attention. He sighed. “I wrote our story, thinking it was finished. It’s a mess, more a blubbering man’s thoughts than anything, but little did I know it wasn’t over yet.” 

“There’s much about you I still don’t know, Veloth,” Martin said. “Our time together hasn’t been long enough for you to recall everything to me.” 

“I understand. It certainly highlights the differences between us, our races that is.” Veloth walked to his side and the bed and crawled underneath the sheets, his saucer in his lap. “House Telvanni always teased me for being a bleeding heart. I make a good member of the house, an isolationist wizard with a craving for knowledge. But I could never be archmagister. I’m not brutal enough.” 

Martin furrowed his brow. “Because of the duels?” 

“Yes. This isn’t the first time I’ve walked into a dead Telvanni master’s home.” 

“How do you mean?” 

Veloth sipped tea. His tongue seared as the flaming liquid slid down his throat. “Do you see that Dwemer shock centurion in the corner?” 

“Yes.” Martin frowned. “Was it from the dead master?”

“It was a gift. He also gave me a ring, not the marriage kind, just a simple enchanted one. I keep it with my parents’ heirlooms. His name was Baladas Demnevanni. He was my first lover.” 

Martin’s brows lifted. He knew they’d both been involved with others before meeting each other, but neither had elected to talk about it in detail. Martin’s daedric tampering cost him his first. “What happened?” 

“Baladas and I got to know each other when I was lower ranked in the house. I was sent all over tending to tasks, busy work to prove my abilities. You’re never going to get anything out a Telvanni unless you offer something in return. I assisted him in his Dwemer research in exchange for lessons in mysticism. After I retrieved a rare ring from a ruin far into the ashlands, he took a liking to me. I reciprocated, having admired him for his wisdom and way of life. 

“Of course the relationship was completely unbalanced, given he was a master far beyond me. But he cared for me enough to share his home in Gnisis with me. I lived with him for about ten years, helping him with Dwemer research. It was an odd pairing. Was it true, romantic love? No, we never expected that of one another. It was more of a mutual companionship. We shared goals and desires. We were just too isolationist at the time to ever wed or settle down.”

Martin bit his lip and stared at the still Dwemer machine in the corner. “He...died?”

Veloth nodded. “I left to buy us some rare books in Vivec. When I returned a week later he was dead in our lab, executed by the Morag Tong. I fond the writ on the floor next to his corpse.” 

It was quiet. Martin stared at the tea in his lap, his stomach in knots. Veloth shook his head. “I was plagued with guilt for years. If I hadn’t left for Vivec, I would have been there when the Morag Tong showed up. Just by the bodies left behind I could tell they showed up with an army. The pay must’ve been damn high.” 

“What happened after?” 

“I buried him and wandered for a few months. I visited Tel Vos. Master Aryon saw the grief in me and named himself my patron. Out of all Telvanni masters, he was the most open-minded and compassionate.  At the time the others would have saw my grief as weakness and killed me. I worked as his apprentice for several decades. We were close friends. He had a wife he loved dearly. I hope they made it out...” 

Veloth sighed and finished his tea in one large gulp. “Master Aryon visited me when I returned after the Oblivion Crisis. He was the only one I told about you, what we shared. I told him of my desire to completely isolate myself from the world. He didn’t blame me, but instead promised a visit from time to time.” 

Martin nodded. “I want to hear everything you wish to share with me, Veloth. The good, bad, ugly. If you must grieve over anyone you’ve ever lost, I want to be your shoulder to lean on.” 

“I must say the same for you, Martin. Though our lived years are different, you’ve experienced your own grief.”

“That I have.” 

“The Sermon’s of Vivec preach that death does not diminish. Though many have left this plane, they carry on into the next. Through worship of our ancestors, us Dunmer commune with them. At times of great need, sometimes they reach for us first.”

“That’s interesting. Please teach me more. I love to learn about your homeland.” 

Veloth smiled, his expression solemn. “Of course, dear. There’s somewhere we’ll go at dawn.” 

-0-

The ancestral flames flickered at dawn. Veloth stood in one of Sadrith Mora’s tombs, his fallen kin laid to rest in its deepest depths. He found a burial mound down the stairs in a room of its own. Dried flora decorated an altar, murals painted on the walls. 

Martin trailed behind him. The practices of the Dunmer were foreign and unfamiliar, almost alien. The books he devoured painted a vivid picture, but nothing compared to seeing it for himself. He took note of the traditions and prayers seeping into the walls. Veloth’s funerary robes, a meld between crimson and yellow, trailed on the floor. A sash of ancient motifs wrapped around his neck, full of detailed, aged embroidery. He closed the door behind them. A single mound of skulls and bones rested alone. Martin bit his lip. Never had he lingered so close to death in such a somber, yet peaceful way. He had grown used to it being accompanied by destruction and mayhem. 

“This is my familial burial mound,” Veloth said. “Well, one of them. It’s my most recent relatives, my parents and grandparents. These robes were made for me when my grandfather died.” 

Veloth sat on a bench a few paces from the mound. Martin joined. They eased into the quiet. Veloth exhaled long and slow, an ancient hymn astray in his mind. “I wish to spend some time with my parents until we leave later on. You don’t have to stay if you don’t wish,” he said. 

Martin shook his head. “No, I’ll stay with you. As odd as it sounds, it’s...peaceful here.” 

“I’m happy to hear you say that. I worked to cultivate my ancestral tomb into one of peace and self reflection.” 

The quiet beckoned. Martin slipped into himself, his mind drifting deeper into lost thoughts. Detached from hectic council, he faced his own curiosity. Being outside Cyrodiil for the first time painted a strange world, one he realized he didn’t know much about. Doubt trickled into his core. Could he reign over a continent so vast and varied? Could he be married to a man so mysterious, a man of over a century? There was much he didn’t know about the world and his closest confidant, too little time had passed. Lifetimes of knowledge awaited him. So did a legion of enemies. 

Something ethereal crawled over his skin. Martin shivered, his pulse in his wrists. A cold sweat bubbled underneath his skin, his eyes closed. A mist curled around him, its subtle scent of another world. 

Veloth lifted his gaze. Rustled from a meditation, spirits manifested before him. He stood with a smile. “Mama, Papa.” 

Martin’s eyes widened, disbelief keeping him in place. Two Dunmer spirits stood before Veloth, their translucent robes sinking into the burial mound. 

“There you are, my beautiful boy,” the woman spirit said. She reached out her hand. It sank through Veloth’s cheek and materialized on the other side. “We are so proud of you.” 

“I’ve tried my best in these years of your absence,” Veloth replied with a frown.

“You’ve done well,” the male interjected. “What you’ve accomplished, it’s more than we could ever dream for you.” 

His mother smiled. “Introduce us to your dearest companion.” 

Martin stiffened. He stood and joined Veloth’s side. He held his hands together, suddenly conscious of the ring on his finger. He bowed his head. “Hello. I am...My name is Martin. It’s an honor to meet you. I hope I do right by your son.” 

Veloth smiled, his expression bright. He cupped a hand around Martin’s forearm. “We’re a well-suited pair.” 

“It’s a lot of weight on your shoulders,” his father said. “Support each other the best you can. I know what has happened is difficult, but you will persist, Veloth. You always have.” 

“Papa, I hope so.” 

“Take some dirt from the ancestral mound with you, Veloth,” his mother added. “Keep us close to your heart in your new endeavors.” 

“Yes, Veloth. Leave Sadrith Mora before the end of the day. Take everything you want with you.” 

Veloth furrowed his brow. “Why, Papa?”

“Make plans never to return, my son,” his mother replied. “Take that crazy old bat Neloth with you.” 

“Mama...what is amiss?”

“You will learn in due time. Build an ancestral altar in your new home and we will convene again in the future. Never forget we are with you.” 

Veloth sighed. “Thank you, Mama, Papa. I love you.” 

“We love you too, Veloth. Take heed of our council and we’ll see you again soon.” 

The spirits faded. Veloth bit his lip and glanced at his husband. “There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach now.” 

“What do you think they’re warning us of?” Martin asked, his voice quiet. 

“I haven’t a clue, but I will listen. Give me that jar on the altar. I will fill it with dirt from the mound and floral offerings from my past visits. I will take the book documenting my ancestors will me as well.” 

Martin held the jar in place as Veloth filled it. He brushed a few fingers over ancestral bones, their energy a spark in his heart. He returned to Tel Daaneri and packed his belongings. He never doubted his parents, not in life or death. Shadows lurked behind corners of long hallways. Veloth teetered on the edge, unsure and uneasy. 

Chapter Text

“What in blazes is all that?” 

Veloth asked at the dock of Sadrith Mora. A stack of crates awaited boarding onto the largest ship of the Imperial Royal Fleet. Neloth stood next to them with his arms crossed. “My staffs, tomes, and alchemy supplies, what else?” he retorted. “I cannot leave without my extracts of Vvardenfell’s unique flora and fauna. Does Cyrodiil have Trama Root, Kwama Egg? I thought not.” 

“Fine, fine. I have my own crates.” 

After a time the ship set sail and followed Vvardenfell’s coastline. Veloth watched the world pass on deck, his arms crossed. Martin joined his side. “I’m sorry about the crazy old bat,” Veloth whispered with a chuckle. 

“If you deem it best for him to accompany us, I don’t mind,” Martin replied. “He is the last of your kin.” 

“He is. Despite his outward behavior, he has a soft spot for me. Always has, for whatever reason. He is Vvardenfell’s most powerful wizard, his survival shows as much. His divinatory power will aid us in unraveling the conspiracy lurking around us.” 

Martin frowned. “I hope we find this resolved soon. As Emperor, there will always be people who would love to see me dead. That you find yourself wrapped in this web leaves me more than worried.” 

“I know, dear,” Veloth said with a sigh. He leaned on the ship’s railing. “I hope we have the chance to enjoy our marriage despite all this mess.” 

“So do I.”

-0-

With a few weeks of steady seafaring, the Imperial City loomed at the edge of the horizon. Martin rejoiced, though he spoke little of it. The last leg of the journey had left him seasick, nausea a bane in his stomach. Veloth had stayed at his side, stirring an elixir and spooning it to him in small doses. 

Martin exhaled and watched the White Gold Tower bob through his porthole. Lifting his head for a better look would send him straight to the bucket to puke, an uncomfortable, yet familiar prospect. Veloth pet Martin’s hair as he sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Almost there, sweetheart,” Veloth whispered. 

“I’ll be glad when this is done with...” Martin mumbled. 

“We’ll enjoy a warm bath once we arrive home.” 

Solid land blessed Martin with steady steps. He returned to the Imperial Palace and retired to his chambers before he could be whisked to council. His mind was shambles. While Veloth remained stalwart, Martin knew his was the same. 

The circular, marbled tub in the Emperor’s chambers filled with water. Veloth added a sprinkle of fire salts for warmth, topping it off with lavender for a calming aroma. Martin shed his clothes as he watched. He took Veloth’s hand and stepped into the tub. They settled next to each other, Veloth’s hair floating in wisps around them. 

Veloth exhaled and rested his head on Martin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry our visit to my homeland was such a mess.” 

“I know the circumstances were not ideal, but seeing it has given me a fresh perspective,” Martin replied. 

“I wish I could have shown you more. We hadn’t the chance to tour Vivec, which was a shame. I think you would enjoy it. Much of Vvardenfell’s culture converges there, each Great House commands its own canton.” 

“Once this is resolved, we will take a trip somewhere just for us.” 

“I like the sound of that. We didn’t get a proper honeymoon.” 

Martin dozed off in Veloth’s arms, their transfer to bed a blur. He woke at the break of dawn, unable to fall asleep. He dressed in loose robes of silver and royal purple and slipped away. Guards greeted him with pleasantries along every corner and hallway. At last he pulled on the double doors to the Imperial Library and took refuge among thousands of books. He thumbed through a catalogue on a podium until he found his desired section. He climbed spiraling platforms a few levels high. His mouth salivated at the array of titles. How long had it been since he read for his own sake? 

He piled a stack into his arms and found an empty table. The cover to the first opened: Ancestors and Dunmer. 

The sun rose a little higher with every paragraph. After devouring information he was left hungry for more. How little he knew of his husband’s culture embarrassed him. His life before their first meeting was one of humble farming, daedric cults, and absolution as a priest of Akatosh. While their love was affectionate and pure, how could Martin support Veloth fully without understanding what made him who he is? 

Whispers already sank into palace walls, among them curiosity, approval, disdain, and prejudice. Martin’s adoptive father had never cared for Dunmer, claiming they tampered with necromancy. He wondered what his adoptive parents would’ve thought of his life. Would they approve? Part of him had doubt. 

The doors to the library opened. Veloth appeared, a small bun behind his head, the rest of his hair cascading to his waist. He strode across the room in blue robes, his smile soft. He sat in the seat next to Martin. “I was told you have been here since dawn,” he said. 

“I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I thought I’d pass the time some other way,” Martin replied with a shrug. His skin heated, his choice of reading obvious. His fingers traced shapes into the open book in front of him. Veloth studied the stack on the table. 

“I...wanted to know more about your homeland,” Martin admitted. “I’m ashamed to say I know little to nothing about the culture of your people. My adoptive father was a farmer, he didn’t stray far beyond the borders of his fields, let alone to the other side of the continent.” 

Veloth nodded. “My culture is misunderstood by others in Tamriel, especially that of mankind. My presence here is...controversial, to say the least.”

“It’s not obvious to strangers, but those who know me know my decision to marry you was one of the heart. I didn’t care what it meant in the political and diplomatic sense. Perhaps it shows how little I understand of being an Emperor.”

“I certainly don’t want to let you go, but if you find my position as consort threatens the stability-” 

“No,” Martin retorted, his voice vehement. “I am your husband. Even if the world falls apart, it will stay that way.” 

Veloth sighed. He cupped Martin’s hand. “We’ll endure. Perhaps once it’s all said and done our deeds will incite positive change.” 

“Your father told us to support each other the best we can. I hope by gaining this knowledge I will become better at doing that.” 

“I’m here for you too, Martin. There’s still much for both of us to learn. Don’t forget you can rest on my shoulders.”

“I want you to lean on me the same.”

Veloth smiled and kissed Martin’s cheek. Martin exhaled, his skin flush. Being married didn’t stop the quickened heartbeat of their subtle affections. He swallowed. “I was wondering something as I read through these volumes. They mention words in the Dunmeri language. Do you speak it?”

“Of course,” Veloth replied. “My study of it intensified once I began dig through ancient magical texts with House Telvanni. But, in a more practical sense, my parents spoke it in the household. When we conducted ancestor worship we recited prayers in Dunmeri.” 

“Ah, how intriguing. I would love for you to teach me a few things. I’ve always had a fondness for language.” 

“I would enjoy that, dear. Hopefully we find a spare moment soon. I’ll show you a few things.” 

“I hope so too.”

-0-

Council convened with the Emperor during early afternoon. Veloth took his place at Martin’s side, eager and anxious to get underway. Murdered kin, death threats, and a mysterious warning from his parents put a kick into his step. Revenge would taste sweet, but peace with his spouse would taste even sweeter. 

“This attack was coordinated against House Telvanni, one of the Great Houses of Morrowind,” Veloth began. “Motives are still unknown, but a imprisoned conspirator claimed Trebonius Artorius, arch-mage of the Mage’s Guild Vvardenfell chapter, ordered the murders.” 

Martin furrowed his brow. “Upon our arrival in Sadrith Mora, an Imperial Officer claimed that he received orders to do so on my behalf. Of course I never ordered this. So that begs another question of who is responsible.” 

“Those who attacked Sadrith Mora appeared to be affiliated with the Mages Guild,” Neloth interjected, his seat next to Veloth’s. “With most of the house eradicated, our territories will be overtaken by the other two Great Houses. While likely a conspiracy, the power shift this created is obvious.” 

“Master Neloth and I are the remaining members of House Telvanni,” Veloth said. He crossed his arms. “We have agreed to cooperate with the Empire on this issue. My role in this is particularly unique, given my place as consort. My interests align with the Empire. However, bear in mind House Telvanni’s may not always do so.” 

Neloth nodded. “To allow Houses Hlallu and Redoran to absorb Telvanni power is unacceptable. If you want my cooperation, you must guarantee the return of Telvanni lands to our house once rebuilt.” 

A council member scoffed. “House Telvanni has traditionally ignored the Empire and its creeds. Why should we offer you any of our resources?”

“You damn-” 

Veloth held up his hand, causing Neloth to stop with a huff. “The Empire has long held a presence on Vvardenfell. We must maintain a proper balance of the power structure within Morrowind. Instability within the nation’s borders could spill out into its bordering provinces, mainly Skyrim and Cyrodiil.”

Martin nodded. “We will cooperate with House Telvanni and negotiate a land agreement with them. The nature in which they rebuild their house will be left to them without Imperial influence.” 

“Negotiating with the remaining houses will require some legwork. However, first and foremost we need to root out this conspiracy so these individuals do not continue to meddle. Do we have the location of Vvardenfell’s arch-mage?” 

“The Imperial Legion is in the process of searching for him,” an Imperial Officer said. “He disappeared after the attack on Sadrith Mora. He hasn’t been seen since.” 

“Not at all surprising...” Veloth mumbled with a sigh. “Please continue the search while we investigate other avenues. We have discussed all we know at the moment.” 

“Council is adjourned for the day,” Martin added. “Bring any updates of the situation to my office.” 

-0-

A few weeks passed. Investigations continued into the attack on Sadrith Mora, but progress slowed. Martin twirled a quill between his fingertips, sunlight dancing around the papers on his desk. Veloth seemed a bit aloof, their busy schedule not affording them much time alone. He spent most days drifting between the Blades and Neloth, trying to gather information from every angle. Martin never voiced it aloud, but the ancient Telvanni wizard intimidated him. Calculated and sharp-witted, his power was beyond what Martin’s short forty years of life comprehended. Veloth was no different. While much younger, he was still nearly two centuries old. 

Admitting to himself his husband intimidated him was difficult to swallow. Veloth’s power far exceeded his own. While he didn’t fear its misuse, Martin couldn’t help but feel ignorant. As easy as it was to forget, over a century set them apart. 

Despite his own self-doubt, Martin had the best companion and confidant life could give. No matter what struggles he battled, together or alone, he refused to turn away. 

A soft knock shattered Martin’s musings. He gave whoever it was permission to enter. Veloth closed the door behind him. He smiled, his skin shimmering in the sun. “Do you have a moment? I can come back later if you’re busy.” 

Martin shook his head. “I always have time for you.” 

Veloth sat in one of the plush chairs on the other side of the desk. He pulled out a small satchel. “Here.” 

The satchel opened in Martin’s palm. An embroidered bracelet wrapped around his fingertips, ancient motifs threaded with beads the shade of molten rock and obsidian. Martin flushed, his heart in his knees. 

“It’s tradition for new kin to receive a piece of jewelry embroidered with patterns of the Dunmer clan they’ve married into,” Veloth said, his smile soft. “Usually if any surviving family members are alive, they will either pay to have tapestry woven or weave it themselves. It’s given to the married couple at their wedding.” 

Martin slipped the bracelet around his wrist. “It’s beautiful, Veloth. I admit, I feel ashamed not knowing or understanding much of your culture.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Martin. I married into the Imperial royal family, I expect Colovian culture to be more prevalent. I appreciate your interest in my homeland. Once I saw it, I thought I should carry through with a few traditions of my own.” 

“I’m sorry our wedding was so rushed. Had we had more time to plan, we could’ve incorporated Dunmer elements.” 

“I’m not sorry,” Veloth replied with a chuckle. “I’m happy to be married to you, the wedding was only the means. Besides, the embroidery supplies were at my home in Sadrith Mora.” 

Martin’s eyes widened. “You made this?”

“I started on our way back to the Imperial City. I finished it yesterday.”

“Veloth, I...this is the first time anyone has ever made me something by hand.” 

“I’m happy that you like it.” 

“It’s means so much more to me than that...” Martin stared at the half-finished drafts on his desk. He bit his lip. “Return to our chambers with me.” 

“Of course, dear.” 

-0-

Whispers trickled through palace halls of the royal marriage being a passionate one. While Martin flustered at them, he couldn’t deny it. Candles painted tangled silhouettes on the wall at sunset, every worry faded. Veloth peppered affection along Martin’s chest and neck, then crawled forward to whisper in his ear. 

Exotic syllables meshed with a foreign lilt. Martin blinked, his skin aflame. They made eye-contact. “What?” he mumbled. 

Veloth caressed Martin’s cheek. They kissed. Veloth said something again, the sounds soft and alluring. Martin bit his lip, desire pulsing in his core. More exotic words filled his ears, each one more intoxicating than the last. 

Stars splattered across Martin’s vision after the high. He huffed and wiped sweat off his brow, his only adornments a bracelet and a wedding ring. Veloth exhaled beside him. He kissed Martin’s upper arm. “Do you like Dunmeri, sweetheart?”

Martin bit his lip, his face crimson. Veloth laughed. “How about we bathe? Afterward I’ll tell the kitchens to prepare us a kettle of tea. I need to check on that crazy old bat anyways.” 

Warm lavender wafted through the Emperor’s chambers. He dressed in loose robes after a quiet bath, his chambers alight with candles and orbs alike. He sat on the edge of his bed and studied the rolling hills beyond, the landscape a shadowy emerald in the crescent moon. Something ethereal crawled over his skin, a chill in the air. 

Two spectral beings appeared across the room. Martin startled. He calmed when there were familiar, yet foreign faces standing before the ancestral altar in the corner. His heart hammered, unsure of what to do or say. He stood and walked to Veloth’s parents, his body stiff. 

“Ah...Veloth will be back soon,” he said, scratching the back of his head.

“Hm. He performed a ritual for us earlier in the day, but we find it more pressing to speak with you,” Veloth’s father said. “Let us introduce ourselves properly. I’m Daaneri. This is my wife, Andrasea.” 

Andrasea nodded with a smile. “When Veloth gifted you that bracelet, you were properly welcomed into our family. Of course there is more to it, but in Veloth’s circumstances, he has no other living bloodkin to carry the remaining traditions through.” 

“I see. I work every day to understand more of your culture,” Martin replied. “Just because I am Emperor doesn’t mean I wish to absolve myself of my role as Veloth’s spouse.” 

“You are a fine man, a modest ruler, and a humble husband,” Daaneri interjected. “The conflict within you must be addressed, young one.” 

“Ah, you sense it too...” 

“Yes. Veloth is too preoccupied with the recent happenings to notice, but he will soon. You must learn more about your bloodkin.” 

Martin shook his head. “I haven’t a clue who my mother by blood is. Learning the parents I always knew did not create me, it was difficult to face.” 

“It still conflicts you,’ Andrasea said with a frown. “Your adoptive parents are still your kin and deserve the same honor you’ve always given. But to understand those who created you, that is a core tenant of Dunmer tradition. If you wish to walk with our people, you must learn to walk with yourself.” 

The words struck Martin’s core. He swallowed bile. “I wouldn’t know where to begin. And the Empire...” 

Daaneri shook his head, his expression soft. “This will aid you in your rule. Understand your predecessors and do not repeat their mistakes.” 

“You cannot rule and face your foes with a mind so clouded. Your marriage is already stronger than your blood father’s ever was,” Andrasea added. 

Martin sighed. “So it seems.”

“That is a good thing, young one. Herald what your ancestors have written. You will find your footing when you do.” 

“I appreciate your guidance. Taking time to speak with me...I am honored.” 

Daaneri nodded. “You’re kin now, Martin. Remember that.” 

The spirits faded. Martin exhaled and sat on the bed. He loathed to admit he knew very little of his true father, the man that gifted him his role and destiny. His knowledge relied on what he knew before the truth, the layman’s views of an Emperor. During the Oblivion Crisis, he hadn’t the time to explore his roots, those burrowed deep into the earth. Despite the obstacles ahead, Veloth’s parents were right. He needed to dive deeper, unearth what grounded him in his current role. 

One of the double doors opened. Veloth pushed a cart with tea and tray of snacks into their chambers. Martin helped him set a small meal on the terrace table. Stars shimmered overhead, mist drifting over distant mountains. 

“Veloth?” 

“Yes, dear?” 

“Do you know anything about my father’s marriage?” 

Veloth blinked. He shook his head, brows furrowed. “No, not anything that can’t be found in a scholar’s books. The elder Blades will likely have more insight.” 

“I see.” 

“What troubles you?” 

Martin exhaled. He sipped tea, the liquid scalding. He winced as it crawled down his throat. “Your parents appeared at the altar...said they wanted to speak with me. They sense I am conflicted.”

“Ah. I am happy they have taken to you. You are accepted as kin.” Veloth paused. He glanced at Martin, taking in his uneasy expression. “Your ancestry. It keeps you up at night.” 

“I don’t know anything, Veloth. I don’t know what to think. My adoptive parents, what did they know? They never spoke a word to me, not even on their death beds. My blood parents, an emperor and a mistress. I doubt it was a union of love. Perhaps that’s why I fell to Sanguine as a youth. I am nothing more than a product of one man’s frustrated lust.” 

“Regardless, you were born for a reason. You’ve already fulfilled much of your destiny.” 

“I don’t like the idea of being an accident to be tossed out. I never even met my father. Did he ever love me at all?” 

Veloth frowned. “He loved you enough to keep you safe. His other sons were slain just as he.” 

“Brothers I never knew I had.” 

“Darling, I sense your frustration and heartbreak. We should seek council with the highest ranked Blades in private. Let’s ask the elders what they know about your parents, what else we can learn.” 

Martin eased the tension in his shoulders. He nodded. “I never thought much about this during the Oblivion Crisis, I hadn’t the chance. Now, despite political turmoil, I have more time to contemplate. It has left me unsure of myself.” 

“I understand. It’s a trying time. I’ll support you however I can.” 

“Thank you, Veloth.” 

Chapter Text

On a late summer morning, Martin sat at the desk in his office, a cup of lavender tea and a stack of papers in front of him. He sighed and glanced at the large space around him: the unlit fireplace, the bookshelves, the empty chairs on the other side of the desk. Solitude breed a solemn burn in his chest. Conflict on his shores bubbled, both inside and out.

A letter opener in his hand slid across the wax seal of an envelope. A confidential note delivered from High Chancellor Ocato, he made haste to read it. His wrist gave way, the small knife in his hand slipping across the folded parchment. A small cut grazed the edge of his hand just below the thumb. 

Blood dripped down his arm. Martin grumbled and wiped it with a handkerchief. The cut underneath, while shallow, began to mend itself. Within seconds it disappeared, no scar or discolored skin to mark its existence. 

Martin’s breath hitched. Surely he hadn’t-

He grazed the tip of the knife along his forearm, creating another small cut. A small stream of blood sank into the handkerchief. The cut disappeared. Surely it was just-

The third time panicked him. He stood from his desk, the chair toppling onto the carpet. The knife clattered along with it. A guard opened the door, his expression alert. “Is all well, Your Majesty?” 

Martin exhaled, his breaths uneven. “Ah, yes. The chair just fell over when I stood.” He leaned over and set it upright. “Um, will you please find my husband? Tell him I would like to speak with him here.” 

“Of course, my lord.” 

The chair squeaked as he sat again. Veloth walked into the office after a few minutes, the wait agonizing. He closed the door behind him, his expression soft. “Yes, dear? You needed me?” 

“Yes, I...” Martin shook his head, his body pulsing. He sighed. “Veloth, what happened to me the day I shattered the Amulet of Kings?”

Veloth furrowed his brow. He sat in an empty seat across from Martin. “You transformed into a magnificent dragon. The clergy claims it was the Avatar of Akatosh.” 

“But what does that mean?” Martin paused. “My studies to become a priest involved analyzing the relationships between the Gods and mortal beings. Champions, saints, ascended masters. Ancient texts say such an act would led to apotheosis, the type of ascension that granted Tiber Septim a place among the Eight Divines.” 

“Are you wondering about your fate?” 

“Always, but there’s more to it than that.” Martin took the letter opener to his arm. Veloth straightened, his instincts wrapping a hand around Martin to stop him. They glanced at each other. “Trust me, Veloth.” 

Veloth exhaled and nodded, but kept his hand around Martin’s wrist. Blood trickled from a cut for the fourth time. Just as the others, it faded without a trace. They glanced at each other again. 

“I have changed faces so many times I don’t know what to think. Yet, I know for certain if I were a mortal man, my body wouldn’t do this. So what am I?” Martin said, his voice weak. 

“I don’t know. I changed after becoming the Nerevarine. I still struggle with grasping it at times...” Veloth sighed. “If you’re comfortable with it, I would have Neloth take a look. He’s not a follower of the Nine Divines, nor is he Colovian. His analysis of this would be the most unbiased.” 

“I welcome it. Something is amiss.”

-0-

Martin soon found himself in a guest suite within the palace. Surrounded by bubbling liquids, concoctions, tinctures, and scattered journals, the room carried the scent of ash. Neloth leaned against a table, the Telvanni crest cascading down the front of his robes. “Veloth and companion,” he said, “what are you here to request of me?”

“We have a request for you to examine Martin’s blood,” Veloth said. 

“His blood? What for?” 

Martin sighed and pressed the letter opener to his palm yet again. Neloth watched, his fingers on his chin. He hummed. “I assume this isn’t the product of an enhancement or spell. Intriguing.” 

“I believe it’s related to my fight against Mehrunes Dagon,” Martin said. “I disappeared for two years, then returned paralyzed in a farmer’s field.” 

“The Avatar of Akatosh. There must be esoteric power in your blood, then. Allow me to collect a vial and I will conduct experiments with it.”

“Of course.” 

Veloth nodded. “I’ll conduct my own experiments as well.” 

Blood dripped into a vial as Martin watched. Veloth removed a needle from his skin soon after, the pierce mark fading in an instant. Neloth held his hand underneath his chin and watched. “Fascinating. I am going to begin experimenting now. I need an assistant! Veloth, come.” 

Veloth sighed with a shrug. He turned to Martin. “Go on ahead, dear. I’ll let you know later if I find anything.” 

Martin nodded a thanks and left the room. Veloth studied the vial in his palm, full to the brim with blood. He swallowed, his stomach uneasy. Neloth plucked it out of his hand. “It seems you’ve moved on from what happened to your previous companion,” he said. 

“You never get over it. You just learn to live in spite of it,” Veloth replied. He frowned. “Baladas and I never had any intentions of marrying each other.” 

“Yet you never had any intentions of leaving his side.” 

Veloth furrowed his brow. He crossed his arms, agitated at Neloth’s words. Even so, he admitted to himself the truth within them. “I didn’t have a reason to at the time.” 

“You fucked him?”

“Enough, Neloth. I’m a married man.” 

“I strum your nerves for a reason, you have always known that,” Neloth said. He crossed his arms with a chuckle. “You seem different now, Veloth. Happier, yes. But much harsher.” 

“Of course. I had a lover reappear after being presumed dead for two years.  Our entire house vanished before our eyes. Not to mention all the heroism I was thrust into. You know our nature as Telvanni. I’ve always found comfort in isolation.” 

“And yet you choose to fuck very powerful individuals.” 

Veloth narrowed his gaze. “What are you playing at, you crazy old bat?” 

Neloth laughed. “You may like to be alone, but you are better suited for revenge, especially when it involves others. You care, Veloth. That makes you dangerous. It always has.” 

“I never got any sort of revenge for Baladas, so I can’t say I see your point, Neloth.” 

“But you did, boy.” Neloth paused. “Hm. So you don’t know?” 

“Know what?” 

“Baladas was bombarded by the Morag Tong, I’m sure you saw that. They were not the ones that killed him. They only served as a distraction. For a wizard may be powerful, but even the most powerful among us can be overwhelmed. Especially when another mage puts an army at his back.” 

Veloth exhaled, his heart in his throat. “What do you know? Who murdered my lover?” 

Neloth clicked his tongue, intrigue in his eyes. “See? All these decades later and you still care about a dead lover, even after getting married to someone else. You fascinate me, Veloth. I quite enjoy observing you.” 

“How could I not, Neloth? We spent a decade together. We shared a home, a bed, a life. Tell me the truth.” 

“Baladas joined the council at Aryon’s request. You know that, you helped convince him. Aryon had every intention of challenging Archmagister Gothren for his position. He had radical ideas for change and wanted council members that would vote in his favor.” 

Veloth shrugged. “I know this. Aryon was my patron for many decades. We were friends.” 

“Yes, but Gothren caught wind of this. He grew paranoid he would be defeated and so sabotaged Aryon by murdering his allies. Most of them were not yet masters, so the Morag Tong easily took care of them. But Baladas? He was a powerful wizard, an elder master in his prime. Gothren attacked Baladas directly, weakening him with the Morag Tong first.” 

“What? How come I never knew this?” 

“How come? You sulked off after he was killed. No one could find you.” Neloth shrugged. “I assumed you knew this, given you murdered Gothren yourself.” 

“He refused to name me Hortator. I had no choice. Even so, that was decades later, when I was on the path to becoming the Nerevarine. Aryon never told me.” 

“Aryon was a lot like you, he felt things like guilt. He turned something that is usually a weakness into a source of strength. His defensive magic was too great for even Gothren. But with his allies dead, he had no choice but to stand back.” 

“What about me?” 

“You were just a little runt at the time. Little did anyone know what you were really capable of. You would’ve been slaughtered just as him. Baladas must’ve had some intuition to send you off like that. Like most Telvanni masters, he wasn’t one to back down. Interestingly, he cared for you enough to spare you a battle you had no hopes of winning.” 

Veloth exhaled, tears on his cheeks. He shook his head. A wound long scarred throbbed underneath his rib cage. A cut deep in his heart, it ached with bygones. Neloth watched, the vial of Martin’s blood still in his fist. “Look at you. Shedding all these tears. And yet, just as Aryon, it only makes you stronger. It fascinates me. You should be easier to defeat like this, but it’s the exact opposite.” 

“You wouldn’t understand, Neloth.” 

“Perhaps not. But I will say this: you are a master in your own right now, one with a hand on the Ruby Throne, no less. You already saw what happened to your previous lover, and your new one’s father, yes? Don’t let it happen again. Revenge is ravishing, but you’d rather not have to bother with it in the first place. Make them quake before you, Veloth. Every last one of them.” 

The past plagued Veloth the rest of the day. His thoughts shattered into mindless motions, Neloth’s orders a whisper in a echo-less void. Who were they? He didn’t know. Yet he wanted them to fear him, the power he often underplayed and ignored. Neloth’s words scratched a hidden core deep within him. He was right. Why wait for revenge if he could prevent it?

-0-

Martin traced around the beaded bracelet on his left wrist. He exhaled, his steps uneasy. What was in his blood? Even when he was a humble priest he walked the earth so ignorant. Had anything changed in that regard? 

He turned a corner on the third floor of the palace, his office a few paces away. High Chancellor Ocato appeared at the other end of the hall. They approached each other. 

“My lord, were you able to read my report to you?” Ocato asked. 

“Unfortunately I was pulled in another direction as I was opening it,” Martin said. “Do you have time to discuss it in my office?”

“Of course.”

They sat on opposite sides of his desk. Martin read the report, his eyesight twisted. He chewed on air, his heart a steady thrum in his stomach. “Arch-mage Trebonius Artorius is dead?” 

“The Legion caught him attempting to escape to the Summerset Isles. He resisted arrest so we had no choice but to dispose of him. This appears, as we suspected, to be part of a larger conspiracy,” Ocato replied. 

“Do we have any information as to why he chose to escape to the Summerset Isles?” 

“Not as of yet, my lord. However, we have uncovered an interesting piece of intel that may be at least somewhat related: the Thalmor in Summerset claim they are responsible for shutting the Oblivion Gates.” 

Martin furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, Chancellor? Individual gates were able to be closed, but to close all of them, it required lighting the Dragonfires or shattering the Amulet of Kings.”

“Precisely. They claim they are responsible for your victory, sire.”

“Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I was not a known figure during the Oblivion Crisis and I disappeared for two years. That’s plenty of time to rewrite history.” 

Ocato nodded. “I agree. I must advise an abundance of prudence and caution. I know my homeland well and these Thalmor are ill-begotten. They have been stirring in Summerset for years and must be put down before they fester.” 

“Might they be connected to the attacks on House Telvanni in Vvardenfell?” 

“We only have guesses as of now, but I would wager it. House Telvanni is known to be some of the most powerful mages in Tamriel. While not in direct competition, the Thalmor see that as a threat because of-” 

“Their proximity to the Ruby Throne.”

“Yes, sire. Your consort is second in line to the throne. Should you become unable to rule, your reign will fall to him.”

Martin exhaled, one hand rubbing his face. “If weakening House Telvanni was meant as a distraction, it certainly worked. Vvardenfell is unstable with one of its Great Houses in shambles. Of course most of my attention has been on keeping order there and in mainland Morrowind.” 

“While the proof is outstanding, I do not believe you are far off the mark, my lord. We will continue our investigation, gather intel, and discuss our response once we have enough information.” 

“Of course. Thank you for your efforts.”

Ocato stood. “If I may offer one additional piece of advice, sire: you must consider producing an heir to carry onward the Septim bloodline. Of course you must discuss this with your consort, but this a traditional matter of the hierarchy.” 

“I...” Martin swallowed. He sighed. “With the Amulet of Kings gone, how might we prove they are Dragonborn?” 

“Fair assessment, sire. However, a dynasty, regardless of its artifacts, must maintain its rule through lineage. At the very least, you must decide what happens after your reign if no heir is produced.” 

“Yes. Thank you, High Chancellor.” 

-0-

A soft autumnal breeze brushed through Veloth’s hair as he stood on the terrace. He meditated, his solemn thoughts interrupting him every so often. His mind flickered between lifetimes, the touch of a long dead lover, the smiles of his spouse. Who would he be had none of it happened? Still tinkering with Dwemer metal in Gnisis? A lone wanderer? Dead?

The doors to his chambers opened. Martin joined him. Veloth sighed. “You look exhausted, Martin.” 

“I am,” Martin replied. “These political dialogues are something I’m still not yet used to.” 

“I understand. We tested your blood for a few hours. Nothing conclusive yet, but it’s not typical for certain. How so is still unclear.” 

“Thank you for looking into it for me, Veloth.” 

“Certainly.” Veloth paused. “What troubles you?” 

Martin frowned. “I am advised to produce an heir.” 

“I see. I knew this conversation was coming.” 

“I do not want to father children with a mistress.” 

“Then you will have no heirs, Martin. This isn’t as simple as a civilian couple’s preferences.” 

“Veloth...” Martin sighed. “What if the Septim bloodline is truly meant to end with me?” 

“It’s not implausible to say that nearly happened. But you returned for a reason.” 

“Yes, but why? I have no understanding of myself or my kin. And yet, as lost of man as I am, I should begin fathering children? Why, so they can be as confused as me?” 

Veloth shook his head. “You think like a man, not a ruler. I cannot blame you for it. You were never raised to know what to do at times like these.” 

“No. You knew my father. Do you have any idea why he would cast me off?” 

“I don’t think that was truly his intention, dear. However, I am not the best person to ask these questions to. We should call the elder Blades to council. Summon Caius Cossades. We investigated the Nerevar prophecies and the Sixth House together. He knew the Emperor quite well.” 

“Alright. Thank you, my love.” 

They embraced. Martin slipped into the warmth, the comfort of his companion a tonic from racing thoughts. He refused to admit it aloud, but he didn’t want to father a child for one sole reason: he wished to remain loyal to his spouse, the one he swore an eternal bond to. He shamed himself, but it only made him bitter. Why would the world not allow him one stroke of selfishness? He deserved it, but Veloth did more than anyone.

Chapter Text

Veloth knocked on the office door to the Blades Grandmaster in the palace barracks. Early morning sprinkled dots through stained glass windows. He straightened his teal robes and tightened his double buns. After parting ways with Martin after breakfast, a rush of thoughts pushed themselves to the forefront. Even apart, his spouse never left his mind. 

Jauffre opened with a smile. “Veloth, it’s always a pleasure.” 

“Certainly, Jauffre. I have a matter I hope you may be able to assist with,” Veloth replied. He closed the door behind him. 

“Whatever you and His Majesty need, the Blades are at your service.” 

Veloth frowned. “It’s Martin. I’m worried about him. He’s conflicted about his parentage and is desperately seeking answers.” 

“Ah. I told him all I know at Cloud Ruler Temple. Emperor Uriel never told me outright the baby asleep in his private chambers was his son. It was an unspoken truth. He told me to take Martin somewhere safe and so I did. I feigned him as my own and adopted him to a farming family outside of Anvil. Emperor Uriel maintained an interest in how he was doing, but never pried further.” 

“It bothers Martin deeply.” 

“I cannot guess at what Emperor Uriel’s reasons were. But I do know it kept Martin safe throughout the crises that inflicted his father’s reign.”

“Do you have any idea of anyone who may know who Martin’s mother is? He wants to know.” 

“Caius might. He just arrived last night, actually. He’s paying his respects at Emperor Uriel’s grave this morning.” 

“Wonderful. Tell him I’d like to take lunch with him. Join us. It’s been too long.” 

Jauffre smiled. “I will see to the arrangements.” 

-0-

The palace’s halls were quiet after breakfast. Martin climbed the stairs after weekly talks with the Elder Council. Veloth parted ways not long after, requesting that Martin meet him in the gardens at noon. He didn’t elaborate, but Martin didn’t need the reason. It sounded like reprieve, a much needed one. 

Martin startled when he turned the corner. Neloth stood outside his door, his Telvanni robes catching the light. He lifted his finger and pointed. “Ah, there you are, Veloth’s companion. Come. I should speak with you now.” 

Guards raised their shoulders. Martin put up his hand to calm them. He chewed on his cheek and followed Neloth into his quarters. The door shut behind them. Martin shifted on his feet, his stomach in knots. He was the Emperor of Tamriel in the Imperial Palace, and yet a Telvanni Master several centuries beyond him made him shrink in his boots. 

“I require a strand of hair,” Neloth said, his tone placid. “Several would be convenient. Have Veloth deliver them to me from your comb or pillow after your nightly escapades.” 

Martin flushed. Neloth laughed. “Oh? Shy, are you? No wonder Veloth took a liking to you. He likes the quiet, studious types.” 

"There's no need to wait," he replied, yanking a few individual strands from his scalp. They dropped into Neloth's palm. 

"Impressive. I thought better than to ask. Veloth would get cranky." 

“Um...have you discovered anything?” Martin asked just above a whisper. 

“Yes, yes. Your blood does not resemble that of any human being’s. I suspect you attained power after your battle with Mehrunes Dagon. What effect it has on your body is not yet clear. I plan to compare your blood to Veloth’s. His blood changed after becoming the Nerevarine.”

“I see.” 

“I hear whispers in these walls. They say there should be an heir.” 

Martin furrowed his brow. He clasped his hands in front of him and stared at the floor. “Yes.” 

“Hm. I have a suspicion everything about you is different, despite your outward appearance. It could be your ability to father children has been impacted as well.” 

“You have cause to believe that?” 

“I do. Give me a sample of your seed and I will confirm it.” 

Martin swallowed, pain rushing along his spine. His shook his head, his skin aflame. “I...well...” 

“Shy, shy. How adorable. Give Veloth this empty vial. He’ll handle the rest. Tell him I want all the same samples from him as well.” 

“I...alright.” 

“Good. Now-” Neloth paused. He tilted his head, his gaze concentrated. “What was that?” 

Martin straightened his back. “Ah, I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear anything.” 

“No, you wouldn’t. I sense a disturbance.” 

“How so?” 

“My divinatory senses just spiked. Something has happened in Vvardenfell. But what?” Neloth walked to a desk full of gems, potions, and tomes. He put a hand on his chin. “I don’t need anything else from you at the moment. Return later. I should have answers.” 

Like a mouse, Martin scurried off. He tended to paperwork until noon, then retreated into the sunshine for a much needed rest. Veloth awaited him underneath a gazebo, the early autumn blooms around him. His crimson hair was down with a small braid along the middle, a soft blue robe wrapped around his hips, and an Imperial heirloom shimmering on an onyx finger. Martin flushed. In the whirlwind of life, he often forgot the beauty within it. 

Veloth stepped forward with a smile, his features warm. He wrapped a hand around Martin’s elbow. “I thought it would be nice for us to have a little walk together.” 

“Much needed. Thank you, my love,” Martin said. He sighed and watched clouds pass them by. They enjoyed the quiet, needing nothing other than each other’s presence. They walked the circle around the Imperial Palace, greeting guards along the way. Before they reached the palace entrance Veloth beckoned Martin into a nearby graveyard. Martin bit his lip. He dared not think it, but in his soul he knew what was coming. 

A stone with a fresh wreath of flowers stood before them. Veloth exhaled. “Martin, I believe now is the time to pay a visit to your father.” 

“Veloth...” Martin shook his head, his features distressed. “I haven’t a clue...” 

“It’s alright, darling. If you have no need to say anything, then do not. But I think this is a necessary step. And not just for you, either.” 

Martin nodded. Veloth exhaled and sat in front of the stone. He admired the wreath, the palette soft autumnal hues. Martin joined him. “I hope I have done right by you, Your Majesty,” Veloth said. “I married your son. I cannot believe what came to pass, but perhaps all was foreseen.” 

Birds chirped in a nearby tree. Veloth bit his lip. “Your Majesty, I am in awe of being your kin. It is truly an honor. Martin has healed me in ways I cannot begin to describe. The best I can do now, as a once humble servant of yours, is guide him the best I can. I love him too much not to.” 

Martin’s skin heated. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Veloth glanced at him and stood. He placed a hand on his shoulder as he walked away. “Meet me for lunch underneath the western gazebo once you’re finished here.” 

Silence. Martin squeezed his hands together. He closed his eyes. Veloth’s parents filled his vision, their words a spear in his heart: 

If you wish to walk with our people, you must learn to walk with yourself.

“Father, I...” he began. He closed his eyes with a sharp exhale. “I lament I never had the chance to know you. I cannot claim to know your reasons, I wish I did. My only hope is that I am a worthy successor.” 

Martin furrowed his brow, water brimming against his tear ducts. “Father, I must rid myself of this bitterness. The jealousy. I envy the brothers I never knew, the ones that got the chance to stand by you. Perhaps I am wrong to feel it. I am grateful to my adoptive parents, my humble beginnings. However, I cannot shake the hollowness within me, the questions I have unanswered. Veloth helps fill in the missing pieces the best he can, but I cannot help but envy him too. He knew you and yet I never did. 

“I don’t know what I would do without Veloth, Father. I am lost with him, what would I be without him? Nevertheless, I must thank you for sending him to me. Perhaps you foresaw what we would become. I am a better man, a better ruler, when I have his shoulder to lean on.” 

Exhausted and weary, Martin stood. He glanced at the headstone and the flowers at its base. Wilted musings choked his throat. He blinked the water from his eyes with another exhale. He stepped. A stab pierced his head, cruel and unrelenting. Visions of an elderly man in familiar robes flashed before him. He held out his hand, but before Martin could respond, a robed figure appeared from the darkness and slit his throat. Martin gasped, his breath short. He touched his neck, his pulse wild in his ears. 

He rushed off, bile at the back of his tongue. The gazebo around the corner was set with a small table and chairs, enough for four or five. Veloth waited, admiring the blossomed bushes around him. Martin quickened his step, desperate to reach to his side. 

Veloth noticed Martin approach. He stood and grabbed Martin’s hand with a smile. “Caius Cossades is visiting the Imperial City. I thought it would be nice for us to have a lunch with him and Jauffre, let your questions be answered.”

Martin squeezed Veloth’s hand. “Veloth, I am uneasy.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I...saw my father. He reached out his hand to me, but they slit his throat. Did they slit his throat? Visions...I don’t want visions, Veloth.” 

Veloth guided Martin to a seat. He held his hand and rubbed his shoulder. “Martin, dear, deep breaths.” 

“Veloth, please.” 

“I’m right here.” 

The piercing in Martin’s skull ebbed. His chest trembled with every breath, his body spent in the aftermath. He clutched the fabric of his robes, his gaze bloodshot. “I’m sorry, Veloth.” 

“No need.” Veloth scratched Martin’s scalp. “Is this first time you experienced something like this?” 

“Yes. It took me off guard, put me in a fit of panic. I have never seen his face before.” 

Veloth furrowed his brow. “I see. I lament it had to be under such circumstances.” 

“Please give the Blades my apologies, but I don’t think I can discuss this any further at the moment.” 

“Of course. Let me walk you back to our chambers for rest.” 

“No, my love. I can go myself. In fact, I would like to cleanse my mind alone, if that is alright.” 

Veloth kissed Martin’s cheek. “I understand. Call for me if you have need.” 

Martin stood with a nod. He retreated indoors, far from the bones of his ancestors. His father’s gaze, soft, forlorn, and troubled. His hands welcoming. His throat slit. Martin’s knees trembled and he climbed the stairs to his chambers. His heart refused to calm. The weathered face of an elder man, his features Martin’s own. A man of regret, reaching out, a mouth wide with no scream. Martin closed the door behind him and wept. 

-0-

Servants set the table with fresh tea sandwiches and pastries. Fruit and an early autumn vegetable blend was set with tea bags of every variety. Veloth clasped his hands together, his shoulders heavy. He hated nothing more than a feeling of helplessness, a searing sense of no control. Much to his distress, it seemed to be rearing its head more and more. 

A moving chair snapped Veloth’s musings. He turned and met Jauffre’s warm smile. “Caius is right behind me. The Blades are happy to see him again.” 

Veloth nodded. “Jauffre, my friend, something is wrong with Martin.”

“What is it?” 

“He was supposed to join us, but had to retire to our chambers. He visited his father’s grave today. He saw a vision of his face, of his throat being slit.” 

“Oh my. So it seems the mysterious dragonblood afflicts him with strange sights as well.” 

“Martin fell into a panic. Though he hasn’t spoken it aloud, I think he fears receiving visions or prophetic dreams. I never told him how Emperor Uriel was assassinated, just when and where. I didn’t have the heart to tell him today, not with him in such distress.” 

“He saw the truth for himself. I fear his craving for answers will only lead to more of this.” 

Veloth frowned. “So do I.” 

An elder Imperial approached. Bald with white hair at the base of his neck, an aged face took Veloth to the recent past. They smiled at each other. “I see you finally figured out how to put on a tunic, Caius,” Veloth teased. 

“Oh, quite funny, Veloth. Little did I know one day my blade would be yours,” Caius replied with a grin. “The news tore through our ranks: one of our very own Grandmasters becoming consort!” 

“Well, I never saw it coming either.” 

Caius sat at the table. He helped himself to an apple. His teeth bit into it with a nod. “Uriel kept Martin hidden damn good. He’s worth far more than that other lot of sons.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Jauffre hummed, his arms crossed. “A seditious sentiment at the time, but an often unspoken one. Many did not believe any of Uriel’s legitimate sons would be effective rulers. None of them showed any diplomatic or political initiative.” 

Veloth furrowed his brow. “Martin is bothered he had family he never knew.” 

“He shouldn’t be. They wouldn’t have gotten along,” Caius said. “His half-brothers were a helpless bunch. By the Nine, whiny too. But I know as a father Uriel loved his sons, despite any misgivings. As Blades we are sworn to serve the royal family regardless. That doesn’t mean we don’t have eyes.” 

“I think for Martin it’s more about identity. He was thrust into the role of Emperor out of the blue. His life was upended because his father was never who he thought it was. And neither was his mother.”

“Hm. I can’t say much about his mother. I don’t know for certain who she is. The only guess I have is that Gemile girl Uriel had put out of the way after the Warp in the West.” 

Jauffre furrowed his brow, his expression pensive. “Gemile? Where did you get that idea?” 

“I don’t know,” Caius replied with a shrug. “It just seemed to fit better than the other candidates.” 

Veloth sighed. “Tell me anything you suspect. I don’t care how frivolous.”

“Gemile was a servant girl in the Imperial Palace. Young Colovian woman from out Chorrol way,” Caius said. He took a final bite into his apple. “I never thought she was much of anything special, but she was responsible for cleaning the Emperor’s chambers and delivering his tea at night.” 

“Uriel’s marriage to Princess Caula was a severely unpleasant one,” Jauffre interjected. “She was a beauty, well-loved by a people that knew little of her true nature. In the palace she was arrogant and callous, a true torment to those she came in contact with. Uriel, charmed by her looks, soon discovered the monster within. He was repulsed by her, which she returned in kind.” 

“It was a volatile marriage. They went out their way to harm each other. It’s no surprise their children were all complete chaos.” 

“I knew the marriage was an uneasy one, but I didn’t know the severity of it,” Veloth said. 

“She was long dead by the time you came into the Blades. That scheming bitch. I hope she dies again and again,” Caius replied. He picked up another apple, his crunching occupying the silence.

“That would explain why Martin was illegitimate, but I doubt that’s enough to satisfy him.” 

Jauffre shook his head. “Gemile was around before Caula’s death, but not for long. I never suspected her, but it seems plausible. She was quiet, kept to herself. I always thought it was odd she was transferred from servant to bookkeeper for no apparent reason.” 

“She was pregnant, that’s why,” Caius mumbled as a chewed. 

“Perhaps. It had to have been someone nearby. Martin was only a few hours old when Uriel called me into his chambers, he told me that himself.” 

“Any trace of her in the palace records?” Veloth asked. 

“There should be. Though I don’t know how much information it will offer.” 

“I’ll look into it. Thank you, friends.” 

Caius smiled. “You’re a good man, Veloth. The Empire has gotten more out of you than I ever thought it would. You have to answer something for me, though.” 

“What is it?” 

“How did you land yourself in the seat of consort? If something happens to Martin again you’re on the throne. A Telvanni wizard on the Ruby Throne. It sounds outrageous.” 

Veloth frowned, his arms crossed. “You know full well that’s not all I am. I’m Nerevarine and the Champion of Cyrodiil.” 

“Sure, but those aren’t the same. They’re hero titles, not clans or factions. You’ve been a Telvanni for over a century.  I’ve heard all about the “crazy gray skin wizard on the fourth floor” that no one wants around. You brought him here, yeah?” 

“What!?” 

“Do you hear how you’re spoken of, Veloth? Don’t tell me you’re unaware.” 

“I’ve been busy. Don’t try to humiliate me, Caius.” 

Caius shook his head. “This isn’t about that. You brought your Dunmer ways into the palace. Not only that, you brought your kin with you. I’m sure there’s a reason the crazy wizard is here. I’m only warning you that the criticism is coming. Don’t let it become a reason for the Elder Council to overpower Martin’s reign.” 

Jauffre shook his head. “I don’t worry about that. I don’t think they want to trifle with Veloth or Martin, not after the sacrifices they've made for Cyrodiil.”

“We’ll see. Regardless, the prejudice is lurking. Martin isn’t going to get around that, either. He’s going to have to explain why you’re sitting next to him. Emperors don’t marry for love.” 

“This one did. Martin is far from his father in many aspects. He thought with his heart, not his head. He didn’t fully grasp what makes a ruler, he still doesn’t. But he’s a fine man, one that is much needed at the helm of these uncertain times. While he chose Veloth for personal reasons, their strengths are crucial to guiding the Empire at this time. I should think that outweighs any prejudice against their pasts.” 

Caius shrugged. “I certainly think it does. We know Veloth is an honorable man. Much of Cyrodiil knows it. Even so, he is still who he surrounds himself with.” 

Veloth grit his teeth. “Ah, I’m still here, my friends.” 

“Of course. My apologies, Veloth,” Jauffre replied. “Just stay prudent as you always have. We’re ever here to assist.” 

The remainder of lunch blurred. Veloth chewed on loose tea leaves, his mind lurking in dark corners. The air thickened, desire clouded by thorns. Him and Martin knew their marriage wouldn’t be easy, but it never deterred them. Pushed off a cliff holding hands, whenever they hit the water, they would do so together. 

Chapter Text

Veloth returned to his chambers with an uneasy stride, his mind clouded by the day’s events. He stepped in between slits in the sunset, the curtains half-drawn over the floor-to-ceiling windows. He walked through the lounge and stopped underneath the bedroom’s arch. Martin laid on top of the sheets of their shared canopy bed, elegant robes piled around him. Veloth crept forward and leaned over him. Fast asleep, one hand rested on an open book, loose paperwork scattered underneath it. Veloth read the text on the page: A history of Great House Telvanni. 

Metallic seeped onto Veloth’s tongue. Martin’s interest in his homeland made Veloth weak in the knees. Behind closed doors existed a pair no one understood, a loving couple trapped underneath the weight of the world. Did they want this for themselves? Veloth couldn’t question it. He wouldn’t be married had it not been for a long chain of events, each delicately balanced across several decades. 

Veloth sighed and slipped into the bath. He filled the tub and dumped lilac soap into it, creating a haven of bubbles. He stripped and climbed in, the water warm against aching bones. Locks of crimson drifted around him, his head against the rim of the tub. He wanted nothing more than to experience love in its entirety. He sensed he hadn’t yet, not with turmoil around every corner. 

Mist hovered across distant mountaintops. Veloth sighed and watched, his eyes drifting closed. A loose memory disguised as dream cast him into bygones days with his parents. His father set the table, his mother pointing at text in a tome. They laughed and beckoned a young Veloth to dinner. 

Footsteps jostled him. Veloth opened his eyes, his parents long gone. Martin glanced at him with an exhausted expression. He stripped his clothing and threw it onto the marble floor. Water rippled as he climbed into the tub. He rested his head in the crook of Veloth’s neck. 

“How are you feeling? Veloth asked, his hands carding bubbles into Martin’s hair. 

Martin sighed. “It is what it is I suppose.” 

“I found some information that may lead to your birth mother.” 

“Thank you. Tell me later. For now I’d just like be with you.” 

“Of course.” Veloth scratched Martin’s scalp, his mind absent. “I love you. Perhaps I don’t say that enough.” 

“I know.” Martin smiled in Veloth’s skin. “I love you, my ethereal elf.” 

Veloth blinked. His chest labored with a sharp exhale. He turned his head, his cheeks sore and his skin flustered. “Ah...come again?” 

“You are so...majestic. Otherworldly. Beautiful. Those spare moments I forget myself, I envy whoever gets to be with you. Then I remember it’s me.” 

“I...well...” 

“If the only decision I make that’s worth a damn is keeping you by my side, so be it.” 

“Martin...have you heard anything...” 

“Hm. You leave it to me, my love. I will take care of it.” 

They drifted in the quiet. Cold bath water rustled them from their intangible thoughts, water spilling over the edge as they stood. Nightwear fell over them with soft yawns. They retreated to bed, the hues of dusk falling over the Imperial City. Martin sighed and cleared the sheets of his papers and books. Veloth smiled and pulled a small leather bag from his bedside drawer. He climbed into bed, his hair falling over his chest and waist. 

“How about an old Dunmer dice game?” he asked. 

Martin’s brows raised. “Oh? Alright. Teach me.” 

Dice rolled across the hardback of a spare book. They laughed and filled the room with idle chatter, their canopy bed a safe haven from the world beyond. The fifth game came and went. Veloth reset the game and exhaled, his expression soft. “It’s nice to spend this time with you. We’re always so busy.” 

“I want us to have time together like this. Perhaps we should carve an evening or two out a week,” Martin replied. 

“The days are long and the nights are even longer. I think that would be a good thing. Time to clear your mind...it’s much needed when making such crucial decisions.” 

“Yes. That aside, I miss you when I get pulled every which way. Of course we attend council together, but I want our intimacy to be strong.” 

Veloth nodded. “You know, intimacy doesn’t always have to be spontaneous. Though, I admit, I do quite like that.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we should find time for it every week. Be it a quiet dinner, a long chat, a walk in the gardens, a dice game...something just for us.” 

“I want to make love to you every week.” 

Veloth flushed. “Oh?” 

“Hm.” Martin nodded, his cheeks pink. “Of course we can do the other things. But it’s fallen by the wayside when I don’t want it to. How long has it been?” 

“A few weeks at least, if not longer. We’re always too exhausted.” 

“We are. I’ll find a way to set aside an evening a week for us.” Martin paused. He sighed and rolled a pair of dice around his palm. “How was lunch? I’m sorry I didn’t attend. I don’t know what came over me.” 

Veloth shook his head, his expression soft. “Don’t worry too much. There’s plenty more time to speak with the Blades. My old comrade Caius returned from his station in Morrowind. I hadn’t seen him in some years, not since I visited the Imperial City after the defeat of Dagoth Ur.”

“I see. What reports did he have?”

“Nothing in the realm of politics. I asked him to tell me what he knew about your mother. He doesn’t know much, but he had a guess at it. He believes she may have been a servant girl named Gemile.” 

 “I suspected she was likely something of the sort. Should I pursue it, Veloth? Does it matter? I would appreciate your council on this.” 

“Yes, Martin. It matters. Us Dunmer value our ancestors, whether or not we knew them, whether or not we agree with their actions. They live on within us, in our flesh and blood. We honor that with ritual, and in turn, they reach out to us. I cannot separate those views from my council to you. It’s life as I’ve always known it.” 

“But even in death, ancestors have agency, yes? What if my parents never cared enough about me in life? What then?” 

Veloth sighed. “It happens, I won’t deny it. Some spirits are beyond us, or simply have no care to serve as our guides. However, for you, I don’t think that’s the case. Not after today.” 

“I...” Martin choked on his words. “Veloth, what did I see?”

“You saw his death as it truly transpired.” 

“But...why?” 

“I don’t know, dear. However, in my culture it would be seen as an ancestral message. If your father has managed to reach out to you, then he wants you to see him.”

Martin bit his lip. “I struggle to believe it, Veloth.” 

“That’s alright. You will come to your own conclusions in time.” 

“Regardless, thank you for your help. I don’t know how to repay you.” 

Veloth smiled. “There are no debts in my marriage, my darling.” 

“I haven’t made love to you yet,” Martin replied with a light smirk. 

“No, you haven’t. Your ethereal elf would enjoy that.” 

Intimacy sank into the sheets as the night slipped away. Veloth curled into Martin’s chest and slept, his breathing slow and steady. Martin watched his onyx skin rise and fall with every crest. He compared to his own slow yet uneasy exhales. 

It was difficult to believe as Veloth did. Martin didn’t doubt it, not after speaking with his long-deceased Dunmer in-laws. Even so, he struggled to believe his parents wanted to contact him. They never did in life, why now, years after their deaths? It only mattered because his blood led him to the life he now lived. If he were still a priest, the humble Brother Martin, he could’ve remained blissfully unaware. It wouldn’t have made a difference in the path he walked. 

The long road fogged. Martin dismayed, two moons alight in the distant night sky. He wanted to find himself after being lost for so long. When he did, he wanted the strength to face it. In that strength he would find peace.

-0-

Martin woke just before dawn. His restless legs led him to the library, a safe haven from prying eyes. Would he be able to find any trace of his mother in the archives? Despite his love of books and historical records, thousands of documents loomed before him. Martin shrank before them. He hadn’t a clue where to begin. 

The sunrise accompanied Martin’s aimless wandering. Books from every corner of Tamriel lined the walls, each their own voice in a saturated sea of texts. It reminded him of long gone days in his youth, his hunger for knowledge insatiable. He furrowed his brow. In some ways the man he was today was no different. 

The entrance opened. An elder Bosmer in green robes entered. He startled into a bow when he noticed Martin’s presence. “Ah, good morning, Your Majesty!” he said. “I am Lief, the lead Librarian. How may I assist?” 

“That name certainly rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?” Martin replied with a smile. “I had a spare moment and thought I would browse the collection. Though I have a question for you: are you aware of any records regarding the servants and staff of past regents?” 

“Yes, my lord. There is usually a record book kept with the names, rank, and division of those in service to the reigning Emperor. Have you interest in a particular regent?” 

“My father, Uriel VII. I have heard a rumor he was close with a woman named Gemile and I would like to know more. As I’m sure most know, I was an illegitimate heir. I have no knowledge of my mother, so I must search for her.” 

Lief furrowed his brow. “Gemile sounds familiar, sire. My apologies, but I am an old man. I can’t quite put my finger on where I last heard it.”

“She was a servant but also served as a bookkeeper, both under my father’s reign.” 

“Yes! Oh, I remember now! Apprenticed with me in a group of younglings that were undertaking the academic archival arts. She was older than most of them, but she was keen and quite a good organizer.” 

“Ah. Is there anything else you may know about her?” 

“Gemile, Gemile...” Lief crossed his arms in thought. “If I recall, she left my apprenticeship after only six or seven months, despite the program being for two years. She did basic bookkeeping whenever class wasn’t in session.” 

Martin nodded. “Do you have any idea why she may have left your tutelage?”

“I believe she grew ill. It must’ve been severe, for I never saw her again.”

“I see. If you uncover anything about her or my father, I would appreciate taking a look.” 

Lief bowed again. “Of course, Your Majesty. It would be my pleasure.” 

“Thank you. I appreciate your efforts in keeping our books and records preserved.” 

“By the way, sire, I just received today’s copy of the Black Horse Courier if you’d like it.” 

Martin smiled and took the newspaper. “Oh, thank you. I’ll give it a look over in my office. If you find anything, I’ll be there for most of the afternoon.” 

“Of course, my lord. Have a lovely day.”

-0-

Tinctures bubbled around Veloth as he sat at a table in Neloth’s suite. He blinked, his vision crossed between two vials of sizzling blood. A looming presence stood over his left shoulder. Veloth exhaled and flexed his wrist. Despite the changes in scenery and societal titles, Neloth was ever the elder master. “They both look the same to me,” Veloth replied. 

“Exactly. Why would that be, Veloth?” Neloth asked, his arms crossed. 

“I don’t know. That’s why we asked you for your help.” 

“Think, boy. Just because you sit high on the hill doesn’t mean you should sacrifice your faculties to others.” 

“I never-” Veloth huffed. He folded his arms with a shrug. “I just want to know what’s wrong with my husband. He’s the same man he always was, yet he isn’t at the same time.” 

“Is he a man?” 

“What are you playing at?” 

“Your husband is no longer a human being.” 

Veloth’s heart spiked into his throat. “Then what is he?” 

“Yet to be seen, but he is no man. His spirit and physical manifestation are misaligned,” Neloth took another vial out from a drawer. 

“What is that?” Veloth flushed, his hands clenching into fists.

“I will say, I’m surprised Martin complied with my request on his own when you didn’t.” 

“What request?” 

Neloth raised a curious brow. “Oh? I requested a sample of his seed. I asked him to tell you to give a sample of yours as well, but he only dropped off his own.” 

A sudden flush washed Veloth in an uneasy sensation. He swallowed and shook his head. “I was never told.” 

“Oh? Intriguing.” 

“Don’t just stand there with my husband’s...intimate...ugh! I want you to dispose of that once you’re through.” 

“You’re adorable, Veloth. More concerned with whatever faux pas is in your head than with what I was about to tell you,” Neloth replied with a laugh.

“Spit it out already, then!” 

“It reaffirms my suspicion that he is not human. I don’t think he could conceive with a typical human woman. I’m not even sure he could conceive with anyone.” 

“Well...damn.” 

“Are you disappointed your husband won’t be pressured into fucking someone else? I highly doubt that.” 

“No. But this is going to be a problem when it comes time to provide an heir.” 

Neloth shook his head. “Only if you let it.” 

“I want to be the one tell him this.” Veloth stood, his sigh loud. “Thank you for looking into it.” 

“I figured I was not the person to say anything to him. Heed my council when I give it to you, yes?” 

“Of course, Neloth. I always have.” 

“Something is amiss. I suspect we will receive word of it soon. Do you sense it?” 

Veloth furrowed his brow. He shrugged. “It’s been a hazy lately. Not only in politics, but the sky as well.” 

“Yes. It’s from Red Mountain. I’d recognize that tint to the sky anytime.” 

“What? But the ash storms wouldn’t reach this far.” 

“Precisely, boy.” Neloth paused. They made eye-contact. “House Telvanni must be ready whenever the storm finds us.” 

The words sent a tremble through Veloth’s spine. He bit his lip and nodded. “I agree.” 

“Good. There will be a meeting regarding Vvardenfell this afternoon, yes? I will see you there.” 

Eyes clawed out of the walls as Veloth walked through the palace. He glanced at the ring on his finger, the emerald glimmering in the shadow of stained glass. An heirloom of Uriel Septim, a man he once bowed before. Now the same Blades he once served were at his command. As the world stalked his movements, he released a silent prayer to the heavens: aid me in doing right by my power. 

-0-

The fireplace in Martin’s office crackled, an early autumn chill slipping through aged windows. He swirled a spoonful of sugar around a scalding teacup, a sigh on his lips. Corners crept towards him, drawing closer and closer. He squeezed the fabric at his chest and fought a bout of dread. The newest edition of the Black Horse Courier unfolded on the desk. He skimmed through mundane announcements and advertisements. His finger stopped at the opinions column on the final page: 

The Empire’s New Consort: Commended and Controversial

The sudden reappearance of Emperor Martin Septim two years after the Oblivion Crisis sent shockwaves throughout Tamriel. Those waves continued with the sudden announcement of a royal wedding a month after the coronation, a union between one of Uriel Septim’s Bladesmen and the current regent. A Dunmer male, the current reigning royals are trapped between opposite ends of a spectrum: controversy and praise. 

Who is the new consort?

Veloth Septim is elusive for a consort. Ordained the Champion of Cyrodill for his service during the Oblivion Crisis, the Elder Council has refused to confirm or deny anything other than their own heroic declaration. All that is known for certain is Grandmaster Veloth served Emperor Uriel VII, carrying out his final wishes to assist Martin’s ascension to the throne. 

Rumors surrounding Veloth are many and varied. Some local Dunmer claim he is the prophetic Nerevarine that saved Vvardenfell, others give him ties to House Telvanni. A few others say he was once a member of the Morag Tong, Morrowind’s sanctioned group of assassins. Whatever the case may be, none can deny his service to Cyrodiil, first as the Hero of Kvatch, then as Champion. 

Why this marriage?

The sudden arrangement of a wedding between the Emperor and Grandmaster Veloth has puzzled more than a few citizens. Why? The Imperial throne has not seen a Dunmer consort in many generations, not since the beloved Empress Katariah in 3E153. Additionally, Veloth makes history as the first male to take the role as consort. 

Many Dunmer rejoiced at news and are hopeful the marriage will strengthen ties between Morrowind and the Empire. Others are more cautious and critical: an alleged member of House Telvanni does not sit well with them. One of three Great Houses in Morrowind, it is the most well known for being self-centered and isolationist with a might makes right mentality. They are also known to fight each other in the quest for higher power. 

The remaining races are not without their own criticisms. Many Imperials are not enthused about a consort not of Cyrodiil. Other human races are concerned the Emperor has been surrounded by mer, a dark elf consort and a high elf battlemage. The Argonians are pessimistic, considering the constant clashes between Morrowind and Black Marsh - and a history of enslavement.  

Rumors from within the Imperial Palace claim the marriage itself is intimate, further adding to the puzzle. According the reports the consort does not have his own suite, but instead shares one with the Emperor. Others say the the royal couple is quite passionate and affectionate with each other. If true, the real reason may be a common case of true love, much simpler than many of the speculations.  

Of course as citizens we should all hope for the best and wish the Emperor well - that he may cultivate prosperity for all. However, it is undeniable many are not so optimistic. 

Martin bit his lip and pushed the paper aside. While settled into a routine, many facets of his reign were still shrouded. He was never raised to take this mantle. With a line of legitimate siblings ahead of him, he was never meant to. Faced with an avalanche, he questioned his own motives. How should an Emperor behave? He wasn’t trapped in a children’s storybook fighting for a guaranteed happy ending. His actions all weighed against each other, many in a way he failed to grasp. 

He shook his head, lost in rapids thoughts. He was a man. He needed friends and companions. This path was paved with their blood, sweat, and tears. He thought it best his Empire understood that. 

The teacup clinked as Martin penned a response to the column. He wondered if his ancestors winced from the heavens, scowling at his bleeding heart. It made his ink no thinner. His final draft was one he hoped would build a bridge between him and his people: 

Good Citizens of the Empire, 

I write this in hopes of connecting with the everyday man, woman, and child. I hope my words here answer some of the questions you have about myself and my decisions. If I wish to serve you, then I must be honest about who I am. 

I am the illegitimate son of Emperor Uriel VII and an unknown mistress. My own investigations into who this woman was are ongoing, but so far I have turned up nothing. I was adopted to a farmer between Anvil and Kvatch as a newborn. It was not until the Oblivion Crisis that I knew my true identity as dragonborn. 

My father Uriel trusted one of his Grandmasters with carrying out his final wishes - finding me and assisting my ascension to the throne. This Grandmaster was none other than Veloth, a Dunmer man who had served the Empire for many years. 

Veloth found me huddled in the church of Akatosh within a decimated Kvatch. He revealed to me the truth, and in the chaos, I felt a deep instinct rustle within me. I knew, despite how outlandish it sounded, his words were my destiny. Veloth closed the Oblivion gate outside Kvatch and then helped me evacuate the survivors. At the time all I felt was bewilderment. Even so, every question I asked - even if I asked it more than once - was met with Veloth’s patience. As time passed, I began to turn to him for everything: questions about my father, help with gathering supplies, a sword to fight against the daedra. I would not be who I am today without him. He cleared the thorns so I could walk alongside my people. 

Of course I feel as though the Empire owes him a great deal of honor. However, I did not propose marriage as any sort of payment or further demand of service. During our battles against the daedra I fell deeply in love with him. I found in him an intellectual and spiritual equal - a man yearning for wisdom and knowledge just as myself. I proposed marriage to him long before the attack of Mehrunes Dagon in the Imperial City. An act of longing and affection, I did so believing I would be slain before I ever saw it through. 

That brings us to today. I still do not understand why I returned after two years. However, I could not shake the longing I felt for him - so much so that I pulled him from his remote home in Vvardenfell into a whirlwind of politics and diplomatic dilemmas. He has never complained despite our hardships, but continues to work diligently to be my aid, my advisor, and my closet confidant. He opened the door for me to learn more about Morrowind’s cultures and traditions, something I knew little about due to my past as a priest and farmer’s boy. It showed me how little I understand of the world held in my palms. I do not take this lightly, and so, I invite all the citizens of my empire to show me their cultures, concerns, and what they hold dear. 

Thank you for lending me your time, 

Your Emperor, Martin Septim. 

The quill returned to the ink bottle. Martin watched splotches dry, his cheeks flushed. Should he let his thoughts loose? Was it proper? Did it matter?

Martin sent it off when a servant stopped by for the day’s outgoing mail. Regardless of what his forefathers did or said, he could not betray himself. This was who he was. If destiny chose him to be in this role knowing that, then so be it. 

Chapter Text

Long locks of crimson hair brushed along the torso of verdant and gold Telvanni robes. Veloth sighed and glanced in the mirror. A meeting with the Elder Council about Vvardenfell made him uneasy. Neloth insisted they wear their house insignia as a display of their resilience. While Veloth didn’t disagree, it made him self-conscious. 

He left his hair unstyled, too preoccupied to do much with it. It swayed between his sleeves as he walked the hall. Heads turned. Veloth bit his lip. Am I just some alien to gawk at? he thought, his monologue sour. 

The Elder Council room was empty when he arrived. He sighed and walked the circle to the head of the table. Memories of reuniting with Martin occupied his thoughts. The awe and relief still lingered on the sheets during warm mornings, his lover's touch comfort. Veloth exhaled and stared at the ring on his finger. An heirloom from his past liege, it seemed familiar in a way he couldn’t place. Uriel must’ve worn it during one of his many meetings with Veloth. But why? When? He couldn’t recall. 

The doors opened. Neloth walked in, his head craned to study the high ceiling. He sat at Veloth’s side. “These damn Imperials and their discussions. Let’s get this over with.” 

“The Elder Council has members from throughout Tamriel,” Veloth replied. “There are a few Dunmer as well.” 

“Well, we may get somewhere then.” 

The doors opened again. Martin strode through in his most ornate robes, those passed onto him from his father. He brushed the fur cuffs along his fingertips and sat at the head of the table. Him and Veloth glanced at each other, their smiles soft. 

“Martin, dear, you’re supposed to enter the council room last,” Veloth said. “Everyone must bow to you, remember?” 

A long sigh left Martin’s lips. “It slipped my mind.” 

Veloth grabbed Martin’s hand before he stood. “Never mind it. Take a moment of quiet with us.” 

“It’s all pomp and circumstance, anyways,” Neloth interjected. “Vapid gestures like that are not where you should draw power from.” 

Martin nodded, a tooth rubbing against his lower lip. Neloth’s words sank into his bones. Where did his pain stem from? How would be best wield it? It left his stomach in knots and his pulse jagged. No matter how much he pondered it, he never found answers. 

The room filled and council soon began. Martin nodded to everyone from the head of the table. “Good afternoon, Elder Council. We are gathered today to discuss the current state of Vvardenfell and how to ensure its stability in relation to mainland Morrowind. I have with me the last two surviving members of House Telvanni after an attack of unknown circumstances decimated their ranks.” 

“Yes,” Veloth said, “I am Master Veloth of House Telvanni. At my side is our leader, Archmagister Neloth.” 

Neloth smirked and crossed his arms. A Dunmer council member shook his head, raising his hand to speak. “What are the circumstances of this leadership arrangement?” 

“I have no interest in being archmagister, given my role as Imperial Consort. As such, it fell to the other remaining member. He is the sole survivor. No other Telvanni are accounted for.” 

“House Telvanni is here for a reason, yes? What do they hope to gain by attending our council?” 

“All land that is traditionally held by House Telvanni must stay that way,” Neloth replied. “We do not want Hlaalu or Redoran to take it.” 

“And you must be seeking Imperial aid to do so?” 

Veloth shook his head. “Not necessarily. We only need to prohibit the acquisition of the land from the other two houses. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to secure council with representatives of Hlaalu or Redoran from Vvardenfell.” 

The council member returned the gesture. “If House Telvanni has fallen to the point where they cannot tend to their own land, then someone must see that it is properly looked after.” 

“You damn...” Neloth pointed a finger. “And who are you?” 

“An Elder Council member, Archmagister.” 

“You reek of Hlaalu.” 

“Irrelevant. This is not something the Empire should meddle in. House Telvanni was never keen on Imperial influence, so resources should not be spent licking their wounds.” 

Veloth narrowed his brow. “If it were bickering and dueling among Dunmer that caused this, I would agree with you. But it was a Colovian archmage that instigated the attack! The Empire must address this.” 

“What, do you seek reparations?” 

“Yes,” Neloth interjected, his voice vehement. “Sadrith Mora was fine until these damn men came along. They set up a fort on our land and demanded taxes. Some Telvanni were silly enough to pay them and this is what we get! I’ll be damned!” 

“Vvardenfell is part of the Empire. Its instability is concerning, as it threatens to spill into the rest of Morrowind,” Martin said. “House Telvanni’s destruction is a root of that instability. That is why the survivors have joined me.” 

“Yes, I understand your reasons, Your Majesty. However, we must consider how viable it is that House Telvanni will be able to recover enough, and quickly, to manage the eastern half of Vvardenfell,” the councilman replied. 

“What is there to manage? Us Telvanni kept to ourselves and left the grazelands wild,” Veloth argued. He huffed, his voice agitated. “Just stay off our land. That’s all we’re asking.” 

A Bosmer councilman shrugged. “Does discussing this make much of a difference? The seat of House Telvanni is in a politically advantageous spot within the Empire.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“It means, Your Highness, what you want you so clearly get.” 

“Don’t bring my marriage into this. I have come here with the archmagister to negotiate in good faith.” 

“Regardless of your intentions, the reality is clear. You sit at the right hand of the Emperor.” 

Martin chewed on his cheek. His heart throbbed in his throat, emotions swelling in his stomach. “Enough!” he said, his voice raised. “These Telvanni members were attacked without good reason and an Empire-sanctioned mage was responsible. We must extend a hand of diplomacy and at least have a discussion with the survivors.” 

“It doesn’t seem we’ll be getting anywhere.” Neloth scoffed. “Damn N’wahs, strip us of everything and then have the audacity to tell us how to feel about it!” 

The Dunmer councilman shook his head. “Your Majesty, I would caution you about taking a Telvanni seriously. As you can see, they are hostile to the Empire. I understand your good faith efforts, but they will fall on deaf ears.” 

“Is that a slight against me?” Veloth interjected. 

“If your allegiance is truly with the Empire, you should renounce your ties to Telvanni now.” 

Neloth glanced over. “Boy, don’t even think about it. You know better.” 

Veloth clenched his fists. He bit his cheek to tamper down his seething. He blinked, the marble red with his anger. “You listen here. All of you. My allegiance is with Martin Septim and my last surviving kin. I don’t give a damn about your petty politics.” 

“Your very existence is political, whether you like it or not, Master Veloth,” Ocato said with a sympathetic frown. “I want order amongst the Council. These hostilities get us nowhere.” 

Martin exhaled. He nodded. “Thank you, High Chancellor. I would like to make something clear, given my reign is still young: I will not tolerate threats or ultimatums made against my consort. Yes?” 

Silence. Martin continued, “Veloth will be respected as an extension of myself, whether I am present or not. If you have a grievance about my marriage, then come see me in my office and we’ll have words. Otherwise, leave my husband alone.” 

No response. Martin glanced at Veloth, but his head was tilted downward to hide his expression behind his hair. Neloth made-contact with Martin and nodded with an approving smirk. 

“The hostilities ran too deep to expect proper diplomacy today. We will adjourn and meet again in two days,” Martin said. 

The room emptied. Veloth sat in between Martin and Neloth, his head in his hands. Heat attacked his body from every angle, the urge to escape bubbling in his throat. He stood and shook his head, his voice hoarse and his posture off-kilter. 

“I...I’m taking a walk,” he said. 

Martin nodded. The doors closed, leaving him and Neloth alone. Neloth scoffed and shook his head, his gaze sharp. “I will say this: he will not renounce his ties. I won’t tolerate that.” 

“I will not force him to and neither will them,” Martin replied. 

“Good. Veloth is a Telvanni through and through. A hundred and fifty years he’s been one of us.” 

“What? I knew it was over a century, but I hadn’t realized it was that long.” 

“Never ask an elf what time it is. His sense of things becomes skewed when he faces grief. Always been that way. He will still tell me he spent ten years with Baladas in Gnisis. It was more like twenty or thirty. He’s not purposefully lying. It’s the way the illusion appears to him.” 

Martin raised his brows. “What illusion?” 

“Time. I suspect you will find your sight twisted soon as well, Avatar of Akatosh.” 

“Please, tell me all that you suspect. I have this feeling I am no longer...” 

“No, you are not. If you expect yourself to look the wrinkle your father did you’ll be waiting a long time. A very, very long time.” 

“What are you...am I-” 

“Yes. You are an ageless being, just as Veloth. But what sort? I have my suspicions the blood of the aedra flows within you.” 

“What?” Martin shook his head. “I don’t understand.” 

Neloth took a pin from his pocket. He folded out Martin’s palm and pricked his index finger. Blood bubbled at the surface of a wound that soon closed. Neloth smeared it along parchment sitting on the table. He held it up to the light. It shimmered, specks of gold caught within it. 

“Do you see that?” Neloth asked. 

Martin sighed. “The day I shattered the amulet, I don’t remember anything but Veloth taking me to the Temple of the One. He says there is a stone statue there, but I haven’t yet gathered the will to see it for myself.” 

“I would be curious to see it. Something happened to the man you once were.” Neloth put a hand on his chin in thought. “I do not believe in the aedra as gods, but rather powerful beings just as daedra. Anyone with the skill can reach that magnitude of power. Look at Tiber Septim. If you were imbued with the power of Akatosh, then I would wager the flow of time is open to you.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“If you meditate long and hard enough, time will stand before you. Past, present, future, they’re all coming and going at the same time.” 

“That went over my head, I’m afraid.” 

“You were once a mortal man, I’m not surprised. But find a moment to tap into yourself. There is power there that you should hone.” 

“I see. Thank you for your help,” Martin said. He stood with a sigh. “I should find Veloth and speak with him.” 

Neloth nodded. He stood alongside Martin, his figure towering overhead. “Yes. Though there is one thing I noticed.” 

“What’s that?”

“He wore the robes Aryon gave him today. Even if he doesn’t show it, Veloth is taking his death very harshly. I don’t even need to guess at that.” 

“That was his mentor, yes?” 

“Yes, but more than that. They were friends. They shared radical ideas for change within House Telvanni. They had all those emotions like guilt and caring and love. They wanted “forever lovers,” whatever that sap means. Aryon wasn’t above taking a political prisoner, but he owned no slaves. Neither did Veloth. They were an odd pair, but that’s what made them the most powerful. Veloth challenged Archmagister Gothren and killed him. Under typical circumstances he should’ve taken his place. He did not. He gave the title to Aryon and disappeared.” 

“I see. He hasn’t mentioned it much to me.” 

“No, he tends to keep his grief to himself. But today you saw a Telvanni master as he really is: an isolationist, a man above petty politics, a ponderer. For this council to not understand that is plain ignorance.”  

Martin’s path twisted him through hedges in the Imperial gardens. Eyes followed him, loyal guards and servants alike. He winced, but forced a smile. The power in his hands intimidated him, haunting his thoughts during late hours in the office. Those on watch said his consort was sitting at the former Emperor’s grave. It left Martin on edge, but he refused to stay away. 

-0-

Veloth sat in the quiet of the Imperial gardens, the graveyard of royals before him. He stared at the gravestone of his former liege, his father-in-law. He bit his lip, his heart too tired for tears. His service to the Empire was vast, but he could not deny his ties to his homeland. Despite all he was willing to do, it was a line that would never be crossed. Not after the deaths of his fellows, Aryon especially. 

His heart ached. Faces of friends, of his companion’s corpse, choked his mind. Baladas’ death still lurked as a nightmare, one that, until recently, mingled with Martin’s sacrifice during the Oblivion Crisis. He still woke in cold sweats over both. Now, the loss of his once-patron and friend seeped into the shadows alongside them. 

The emerald on his finger glinted in the sunlight. Veloth sighed, his skin warm with the sunshine and a fresh dose of humiliation. Was he so soon hated for any good reason? Was it simply prejudice? Or did he truly not belong among the council halls? 

“Your Majesty,” Veloth mumbled before the grave. “I fear I’m causing problems with my presence. I don’t wish to be a blight on the throne, to make things harder for the Empire’s recovery. But I love your son and I cannot leave him. I don’t know what to do, and for that, I’m sorry.” 

Veloth closed his eyes, the rustle of leaves settling him into a meditation. Imagery floated through his mind, his soul detached from every passing landscape. The rolling grazelands of Vvardenfell shifted into a narrow passageway. Elegant robes glinted in flickering torchlight, Veloth’s figure covered in lightweight Imperial armor. 

Uriel furrowed his brow. He unclasped the Amulet of Kings from around his neck and held it. “I can go no further, Veloth.” 

“I will carry you, Your Majesty,” Veloth replied. 

“No, no. My time is here. I go now to my grave. The stars in the heavens have long foretold of this moment.” 

Veloth furrowed his brow. Uriel sighed and placed the amulet in Veloth’s palm. “You are a man of prophecy just as me, you know our destinies call us. Do not lament, for I have foreseen you in your glory, your happiness. But for that to come to pass, I must go,” Uriel said. 

“I...thank you, sire. For everything.” 

Uriel smiled. “For once I long to hear you call me by name. You and I aren’t as far apart as you may think. I want you to take this amulet to Jauffre, he alone knows where to find my last son. Find him, Veloth. He will need your guidance in the era to come. Guidance only you can give.” 

“I will to see to it...Uriel.” 

Veloth stiffened as the Emperor embraced him. He reciprocated, the bones underneath his hold tired and frail. They pulled away. Uriel cupped Veloth’s jaw, his expression forlorn, yet at the edge of a lasting peace. “I can rest easy knowing my son is in your hands. Thank you, Veloth.”

An assassin appeared from the shadows, the Emperor’s throat slit in a second. Veloth cried out, Uriel’s blood on his face and hands. His comrades eliminated the assassins, but it was too late. Veloth cradled Uriel’s lifeless body in his arms, his expression calm in spite of the turmoil. He sniffled, his vision blurred. His fingers found Uriel’s hand and cradled it, an emerald ring against his palm. 

A hand on Veloth’s shoulder startled him from a trance. He snapped his head and met Martin’s gaze. Martin frowned at the sight of tears on Veloth’s cheeks. “Are you alright, my love?” 

Veloth nodded as his husband sat next to him. “I’m fine. I simply remembered things long fogged in my mind. Your father...I think he foresaw our union.”

“Oh?”

“I was the last person to hold him. This ring you gave to me, it was on his finger the day he died. It’s not until now that I connected the dots.” 

Martin’s breath hitched. “I see. Veloth, I hope what happened today doesn’t dissuade you. If my father trusted you, foresaw your role in my life, then there is a reason you’re here. Regardless of his visions, I love you and I want you as my own. You know this. No political force will change that.” 

“I don’t want to humiliate you in your role as Emperor. My presence is controversial and the Empire is unstable.” 

“You haven’t done a damn thing wrong. Please, my love. This is path I walk is ours.” 

They stood together and retreated to their chambers, the sunset on the horizon. Veloth watched the stars shimmer from his terrace. What was written within their constellations evaded him. His only certainty was Martin’s place by his side. 

Chapter Text

The next day Veloth kept to himself, lingering in his chambers alone. Martin left at sunrise, the sheets cold in his absence. Veloth sighed and stared at the fabric of their bed’s canopy. For the first time in many months, the will to move evaded him. 

He turned on his side and stared out the large windows, the northern sky sunny with a slight haze. He exhaled and closed his eyes, his mind teetering between sadness and apathy. Why should I care? Why shouldn’t I care? The two ideas bounced like a ball trapped in a prison cell. He cared about Martin and Neloth and his dead kin. He long for knowledge and love and intimacy. None of it included the politics of many after their own self-interests. 

He wanted the best for the people of the world, his sacrifices during his service to them proved so. But he was tired now. He hoped he could enjoy a slice of what he fought to save. 

A few hours after sunrise the bed dipped. Veloth woke from a daze and snapped his head. Lips met his own. “Hello there, my sweet,” Martin said, one hand on Veloth’s shoulder. 

Veloth smiled, his chuckle breathless. “Why the giddiness so early?” 

“I arranged for a day of leisure.” 

“Oh? What does that entail?” 

“Whatever we wish.” 

“I wouldn’t mind lounging in our chambers with you, night robes and all.” 

“Consider your wish granted.” 

The aroma of fresh pastries and tea wafted through the bedroom of their shared chambers. Veloth chewed on a cheese roll and leaned his head against the headboard. “It’s nice to not have something to tend to, if only for a few hours.” 

Martin nodded. “I need time to rest my mind. I worry my exhaustion will cause me to make rash decisions.” 

“Remember our days at Cloud Ruler Temple? We would sit on that snowy terrace and talk books and spells for hours.” 

“Hm. Despite the circumstances, I’m fond of our time there.” 

“You’re a talented spellcrafter. The kind that a Telvanni master would be interested in being the patron of.” 

“Did you ever patron someone, Veloth?” 

Veloth sighed. “No. When I defeated Gothren and gave Aryon the title of archmagister, he proclaimed me an honorary master of our house, though I never participated in council.”

“I see. I admit, the ways of the Telvanni fascinate me. And not just because I’m married to you.” 

“I understand. Our mutual interests are what connected us in the first place.” Veloth paused. “You know, Martin, there wouldn’t be anything getting in the way of you joining the house. Once your reign is over, that is.” 

Martin’s eyes widened. “Do you think that would be...improper of me?” 

“Once we find a suitable successor and slip into obscurity, it would be of no consequence. That is a long while off, though.” 

“I wouldn’t mind studying the world with you, wandering the coasts and beyond.” Martin paused. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Veloth? You and I are thinking the same thing, aren’t we? About my blood?”

Veloth frowned. “Neloth suspects you are unable to father children due to the changes you underwent during the battle against Mehrunes Dagon.”

“I had a feeling. He asked for a sample of...you know. I didn’t mention it, I didn’t want to make a fuss about it. To be honest, I have never felt to so relieved.” 

“It certainly solves one problem, yet creates another. You truly are the last Septim.” 

“I think it was meant to be this way. The dragonfires are no longer needed, as such, the Septim blood is no longer necessary to protect the realm.”

“We’ll have to set a foundation for the Empire going forward. The old ways are fading.”

“It certainly seems so.”

They finished their breakfast in silence. Veloth glanced at Martin with a smile. He brushed dark fingers through Martin’s hair and cupped his cheek. Martin put a hand over Veloth’s. “I found a tactics game. It’s supposed to be modeled after an adventure, I think? Want to try it?” 

Veloth nodded with a laugh. “Of course. Or else we may just stare at each other all day. When we rest we don’t know what to do with ourselves, do we?” 

“It doesn’t seem so.” 

-0-

“Martin, the monsters are flanking us!” 

“I don’t know what to do about that, my love.” 

“Roll the dice, roll the dice!” 

“Hm, my magic spell missed. I’m slain.” 

They laughed, Veloth’s hands covering his face. He cleared game pieces off the board and sighed. He glanced around the terrace, the plants rustling with a slight breeze. Noon had just passed, the entire morning lost in the void of a fictional adventure. 

“Slaying real monsters is easier. Not based so much on luck,” Veloth said. 

Martin put the pieces back into the box and closed it. “I’m the one who kept getting slain.” 

“Well, as it’s not the real you, I’m fine with it.” 

They laughed again. Martin tilted his head and studied the city and landscape before them. “Playing this game has me wondering something, though.” 

“What is it?” 

“How many spells do you know?” 

Veloth shrugged. “Too many to keep up with, though I’m sure I’ve forgotten some of them. I much prefer destruction magic in the form of fire, restoration, and mysticism. Illusion and alteration were taught to me by my patron Master Aryon. I’m not much into conjuration.” 

“I see. I was wondering if there is anything you might be able to teach me.” 

“Whatever you wish, dear. Though, that frost spell you crafted is definitely something I’m unfamiliar with.” 

“Do you know about wards? I was reading a book the other evening about one that deflects enemy attacks and sends it back in their direction. I was only familiar with the ones that act as a shield.”

“Oh, yes, deflection wards. I know one. Neloth taught me it after I did him a favor long ago. I made good use of that in Oblivion Gates.” 

“Make me your student?” 

“With that face how can I say no?”

Early afternoon passed with a lesson in restoration magic. Martin held a translucent blue ward in front him, his arm outstretched. Veloth watched from a chair on the other side of the room, his fist on his chin. He tilted his head, studying the magic’s movements carefully. 

“That’s not quite it, dear,” he said. “What is--Oh, I see.” 

Veloth stood and walked behind Martin. He placed two hands on his waist and pushed so Martin’s stance altered slightly. He readjusted the position of his wrist, and leaned his chin on Martin’s shoulder. The pulsing of the magic grew darker and thicker. “Ah, there it is. Your stance was impeding the magika flow. With this position, your spell will deflect incoming attacks.” 

“I understand now. Thank you, Veloth. There’s much you can show me,” Martin said. He dropped the ward as arms wrapped around his stomach. 

“One day you could become my apprentice!” Veloth replied with a warm chuckle. 

“You seem enthused at the prospect.” 

“Think about it, darling. After a long day of study and lessons, we lay down and make love...all alone in our tower far away from everyone.” 

“Well, that certainly sounds appealing.” Martin smiled. “All I have to offer you now is the love making, the rest will have to wait.” 

“I can live with that.” 

-0-

Sunset glinted on regal wallpaper, Veloth curled against Martin’s chest. They settled from their high, mist over distant mountains. He threw one leg over Martin’s, his crimson hair splayed across his pale chest. Veloth closed his eyes as Martin hummed. The silence of leisure calmed their bones. 

Banging on double-doors across the chambers jolted Veloth from a daze. He elbowed Martin’s rib-cage, earning a grunt from his husband. Veloth rubbed the spot. “I’m sorry, dear. Who is-” 

“Yoohoo. Veloth, come to the door at once!” Neloth’s muffled voice said. 

“That damn...I’m going to kill him one day!” Veloth exclaimed. He climbed from bed and slipped a robe over his head, yanking long locks of hair from underneath the fabric. 

Veloth closed the door to his bedroom and walked through the lounge. He opened one of the doors, his arms crossed. “What is it? It’s my one day of leisure!” 

“Fuck later. Vivec has been destroyed and Red Mountain erupted,” Neloth replied. 

“What?” 

Martin opened the bedroom door in a loose robe. He walked to Veloth’s side. Veloth pinched his nose. “How do you know this, Neloth? What are the circumstances?” he said.

“Everyone in the palace is talking about it,” Neloth replied. “The meteor long held in place above Vivec City gave way. There is no trace of it but debris and scathing waters.” 

“And no one deemed to tell the emperor and his consort!?” 

“I deemed to tell you. Everyone else said it was your day of leisure.” 

Martin huffed. “I explicitly told them urgent reports were the exception. Suffice to say this is one of those scenarios!” 

“And Red Mountain?” Veloth asked. 

“The destruction of Vivec caused an eruption. Balmora, Gnisis, Ald-Ruhn, Sadrith Mora...all annihilated,” Neloth replied. He exhaled, his expression pensive. “I suppose our fight for land was fruitless, boy. There is nothing left to fight for.” 

Martin stared at them in shock. Veloth walked away and stepped onto the terrace, one hand over his mouth. Neloth slipped through the door and closed it behind him. He strode to the sofa near the fireplace and sat, one hand on his chin. Martin stood near the mantle, his arms crossed. 

“Veloth’s parents were right,” he mumbled. 

“Oh?” 

“They warned him to leave and plan never to return. And to bring you with us.” 

“Hah...how intriguing.” Neloth paused. “You must make your allegiances known. In trying to please everyone, you will please no one.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Those damn lizards will come slithering soon, if they haven’t already.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” 

“You will soon enough. And when the time comes, you will have to pick a side.” 

Veloth returned from the terrace, his cheeks damp. “Martin, let us call council, find out all we can. Neloth, come.” 

-0-

Council members still left in the palace at dusk were called into the high chamber, fading light against the stained glass. Veloth took his place between Martin and Neloth, his heart a hollow husk. His homeland of nearly two centuries, the world he fought so hard to save, in total devastation. He chewed on his cheek, his thoughts bitter. Did anything he accomplished as Nerevarine matter?

“I’m sure we all know why we’re here,” Veloth said with a long exhale. “The refugees will begin arriving in different parts of Tamriel soon. We can discuss a more long-term plan later, but for now, we are to here to brief the situation and come up with short-term actions.” 

“Certain divisions of the Imperial Legion have yet to be accounted for, namely those in Vvardenfell,” a councilman said. “Mournhold has taken to providing early-stage relief, but the city is also experiencing severe effects. They say in many areas the smoke and ash make it impossible to breathe.” 

A councilwoman nodded. “Skyrim is also reporting impacts, but not as severe. Mostly heavy smoke, but snowfall is helping mitigate the effects. A small group of ten refugees recently arrived in Windhelm, but that is it so far.” 

“I suspect Skyrim will see more refugees in the coming days. We will arrange to send aid there from the Imperial City,” Martin said. 

“A good start, Your Majesty,” Ocato interjected. “I would also suggest sending reinforcements to Morrowind to deter opportunist bandits and rogues from ravaging the landscape.”

“Yes, I agree.” 

Veloth watched the room. His bones creaked and groaned, a tickle in his stomach that soon melted into severe discomfort. He eyed the guards, the fierce eyes beneath their helmets darting. Veloth brushed the feather of his quill over parchment. His senses heightened with every movement. Neloth leaned in his ear. 

“You see it too, yes?” he whispered. 

“Something’s not right,” Veloth mouthed. 

“Hm. Why are we surrounded by lizards and high elves? Not usually many of them in the emperor’s guard as I’ve seen.” 

Veloth leaned in Martin’s ear. “These guards...something’s amiss.” 

Martin furrowed his brow. His heart spiked as he rubbed his thumb over his wedding band. Glancing around, the room seemed ordinary, a hint of unease underneath the pomp and circumstance. A guard in the far corner reached for his belt. Veloth stood before Martin spoke. 

“Chancellor Ocato, get down!” Veloth shouted. 

Ocato startled and ducked his head, a sword slicing the air above him. A flurry of fire from Veloth’s hand flew across the room. The impostor guard deflected it, but Veloth realized it too late, his hands already in the throes of a different spell. A ward appeared in front of him. Martin made eye-contact with him, his arm outstretched. Neloth erected a ward behind them, stopping another guard from flanking them. He snapped his fingers and the guard became engulfed in lightning sparks.  

The commotion settled. Neloth lifted a helmet off of one of the dead assailants. “Hmph. Damn lizard.” 

Ocato glanced around. He narrowed his gaze. “The Thalmor...long-brewing and long-scheming. Your Majesty, I would suggest you leave the Imperial City immediately.” 

“What? And go where?” Martin asked. He clasped his hands together, his body shaken in the aftermath. Fear settled into his heart, his father’s brief face in his eyes. 

“How can we be sure this isn’t the same trap Uriel fell into?” Veloth said with a sigh. 

“Even if it is, we are House Telvanni, it’s nothing we cannot handle,” Neloth interjected. 

“Precisely. Chancellor Ocato, it seems you’re a target as as well. Join us when we leave.” 

“We will go to Cheydinhal for the night,” Martin said. “Afterward travel to Morrowind and oversee relief efforts. We shall keep our location quiet and stay mobile until the palace has been thoroughly investigated.” 

-0-

Clothing flung into bags, miscellaneous supplies shoved into satchels. Veloth huffed and paced his chambers, his nerves in tatters. He grabbed the jar of ancestral dirt off his altar and held it tight to his chest, his hands trembling. 

“Ancestors give me strength. Death does not diminish,” he whispered in his native tongue. “Ancestors give me strength. Death does not-” 

Martin placed a hand on his shoulder. Veloth startled. They made eye-contact. “Did anything I ever did matter?” Veloth mumbled. 

“What do you mean, my love?”

“I fought so hard to save my homeland from a blight, only to miss what was brewing underneath the surface. All my fellows...dead. All the priests I used to confide in, the High Fane temple in Vivec where my parents wed, my ancestral tomb, my home...” 

Tears dampened Martin’s shoulder. Martin held Veloth tight, his forgotten past ringing in his ears. Not so long ago he was a desperate priest guiding victims away from the flames. Smoke and haze fogged his mind. Not so long ago, he wasn’t any different from them. In many ways, he still wasn’t. 

“They’re trying to kill you, Martin,” Veloth wept into his shoulder. “It’s my fault.” 

Martin frowned. “It isn’t.” 

“Whoever they are, they don’t like that you’re with me. Had you married a Colovian woman, would they target you like this?” 

“If not “them,” then someone else. Marriage arrangements didn’t save my father.” 

“Martin...” 

“I’m with you, Veloth, my dearest companion. Don’t worry about me. I have reason to suspect that killing me would be very difficult.” 

Veloth sighed. “I’ll worry regardless. I suppose we should get underway.” 

A heavily-guarded carriage slipped into the night. Martin stared at the Dunmeri ring on his finger, Veloth’s head down next to him. His unstyled hair hid his expression, his arms crossed at his chest. Martin exhaled and glanced around. Neloth’s gaze flared in another time and place, his face placid and unrevealing. Ocato seemed pensive. Martin bit his lip. It was just as the newspapers said: he was surrounded by elves. As much as it intimidated him to admit, he was more like them in his new state than the man he was born as. What it meant for his future was still unsure, but he wouldn’t have the time to contemplate it for a long while.