Applying Exotic Metaphysics (Return, 18.2)

Emperor Martin Septim and I sat out on one of the benches in Green Emperor Way. The birds were quite vigorously chirping around us, and they’d even started pecking and attacking at one of Martin’s bodyguards until he was forced to step away. The silence spell- bounded radius- made sure we could just sit in relative silence and peace, and keep anyone from overhearing us. It was a little eerie, as the foliage seemed to grow around us, the nice open passageway we’d entered through seemed to close around us.

Martin, as the Emperor, wasn’t wearing the thick raiment that his father had usually worn. Martin just wore a particularly luxurious wizard’s robe, a familiar-looking cuirass over it, and the Amulet of Kings, much less ‘dangling’ from his neck as it was fastened to his throat. The chain wasn’t even holding the Amulet on- it was slack, as if the amulet was so fond of him that it stuck to him from sheer will.

“Is that an Arun-oun plate?” I asked. It was the same sort I’d bought for myself, back in Mournhold, made out of Ebony instead of bonemold. Engraved into it was the sigil of the Cyrodillic Empire, not that he needed it.

“Oh, a gift from House Televanni.” He said. “Divayth Fyr himself enchanted it for me. It was a fortunate thing that Kirat had come to deliver it to me when she did.”

“Yeah,” I said. “So… what happened? In the Black Marsh?”

“I should be asking you that,” He said with a smirk. It quickly fell. “Well, the argonian people are… distraught. The Hist cults have gone completely silent, and the one I was able to make contact with mentioned that they’d been abandoned. The kings and queens have all fallen into comas. None of them have been able to wake up. Lilmoth looked like it had seen a war. I… I don’t know exactly what happened, or why you needed to go. But I trust you had your reasons,” He said.

“I did.” I said. “The Hist Cult, as you called it… It went a lot further than you might have thought. I don’t think those kings or queens were… people, really, so much as extensions of the Hist themselves. Like puppets on strings.”

Martin frowned. “I arranged for regents to take over, to continue governance over the Marsh for the next few years, but it might take years, or generations before the argonian people forget this. I suspect it might become some kind of… um, cultural wound.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “Losing their gods would probably do that.”

“What did you do?” He asked, and a horrified expression washed over him. “You didn’t… You didn’t kill their gods, did you?”

“They had a goal for the future. Something that would have been worse than the Oblivion Crisis ever could have been. For everyone except them. It would have ended poorly for them, even, not that they believed it.” I started, picking my words carefully. “... So I gave them a choice.”

“... Maria? What did you do?”

“I sent them to their rooms without dinner,” I said. “... They won’t be coming back.”

“How is that even possible?” He asks, a little horrified.

“I shouldn’t talk about it, honestly,” I said. A decision I’d come to after speaking with Dagoth. He’d agreed- being able to do what I did was too much. Excision from reality was different than a ‘mere’ Zero-Sum. It was more… complete. More ultimate. “But… that’s why I rejected your request to become the Imperial Battlemage. Because you shouldn’t condone what I did. In fact… You should kick me out of the Blades.”

“What? But-” He paused, and took a moment to settle back down in his seat. He had an eye for people- he knew I’d had my reasons. “Why?”

“Make it dishonorable. As if you’re disgusted at me,” I continued. “Because this is an opportunity. The argonian people are lost. For the first time in maybe ever, they don’t have their overseers looming over their shoulders. Even Tiber Septim could only get them to sign a treaty. They were never really part of the Empire.”

“But you think I could change that.”

“Yeah,” I added. “You will. Not intentionally, but… they’ll run into problems. In all the smallest ways, their culture revolves around the Hist. They’ll be lost. The argonian people have never really been in control of themselves. Not on a governmental level. But you’re too much a softie to let them languish. You’ll do what you can. Teach them how to govern themselves. And they’ll end up attached.”

“I still don’t see why I’d have to- oh.” He says. “I see now. It’s to prevent problems in the future.”

“Historians might make the connection. If they see what I did as an act of the Empire, as some part of strategy… it’ll cause problems for the Black Marsh in the future.”

Martin clenched his fist.

“Perhaps we could let it be known what happened. Make out the Hist to be.. Slavers. Something terrible, like Daedra Princes or the like,” He says.

“Not with living, faithful Argonians still in the Black Marsh. Even without the Hist, they’ll see that as blasphemy.” I said. “I mean, I finished everything I was supposed to do. It’s time for me to retire, anyway.”

“I… I don’t want to. I don’t want to make you out as some kind of… villain. Some kind of enemy.” He says.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Martin looked hurt, for a moment.

“That’s where you draw the line?” I asked. “You’re more than fine giving up your position at the Mage’s guild for others. Your goals for the future, your research, everything you were, you dropped to become Emperor. But you’re balking at a line in the history books?”

“... Yeah. I suppose I am.”

“Don’t worry about it, Martin.” I said. “This wouldn’t be the first time.”

“What does that mean?”

I shrugged enigmatically. “Just… Trust me, okay?”

“Alright,” He sighed. “Fine. You’ll be one of the very few Blades to have ever been discharged. It’s normally never done. Your oaths will be unmade, and I’ll have to figure out how to get it done without also accusing you of treason. I’ll have to talk with the Greatknight about it.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, either. Do it for treason. Say I made major damage to the integrity of the Empire by attacking Lilmoth.” I said. “I’ll just pay the fees. Weregild Law, like all the way back in the First Empire.”

Martin’s eyebrows shot up. “For treason? I don’t think that’s ever been done. I know you have money, but I doubt you have that much.”

“I’ve also never been paid for my duties as a Blade.” I grinned. “So, we’ll just call it even.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Alright, we can do it that way. I’ll write it as an IOU with a seal and everything, and you’ll just hand it back to me after I sternly yell at you and take your seal.”

“Sounds good,” I grinned. “So, when you sent me that backup. You said a bush told you?”

“... The topiaries here talk, sometimes. Nobody else hears it, but it’s… divine. The same sort of power the Amulet holds.” Martin says. “They give advice, especially when I need it. One of them- Tiber Septim- hadn’t ever spoken before. Then, well, he did.”

“Glad to see he’s got my back,” I responded.

===

My hand emerged out of the shadow, snagging the scruff of Emylee’s neck as she darted forward. She stopped in the air, feet dangling as I hefted her up.

In front of us was a three-faced statue. Dementia, Mania, and Sheogorath’s open mouth. A portal sat within, a buzzing that made my senses crackle.

“What are you doing?” I asked. Emylee looked back at me sheepishly.

“I was just a little curious,” She says “It’s… It’s a huge portal! How can I not be curious?”

“Trust me,” I drawled. “You don’t want to go in there.”

“... Is it dangerous?” She asks.

“Fundamentally. Intrinsically,” I responded. “Categorically. I mean, you would have been fine, but then you would have stopped being you.”

“Where’s it go?”

“Sheorgorath’s realm,” I said flatly.

“Oh.” She responded. “That would have been bad.”

“Yeah,” I responded. “Don’t worry. I’ll be dealing with this.”

“Is it another Oblivion Crisis?” Emylee asked.

“No, I’ll be fine.” I said. She searched my eyes, and then she nodded. She made a symbol with her hands- and with a tormentous screech to my magickal senses, Recalled. The clumsiest recall I’ve ever felt. Knowing Emylee, she probably ended up on the roof of wherever she’d Marked.

I walked up to the statue and frowned. It was an invitation… but an invitation to be Sheogorath’s Champion. To be his hero, to take up his mantle.

And frankly… I didn’t want it.

So I walked up to the edge of the mouth and knocked on the stony cheek.

“What? Hey, you don’t need to knock. It’s open! Just come on in! I need a champion!” The statue Boomed.

“Yeah, I know, except I don’t really want to be a champion. I just wanted to come in and chat. Maybe tour a bit, slay a few Bullywogs, that kind of thing.” I said.

“... You’re not a Mortal! Bah, I don’t need you.” The portal Boomed again. “But you’re the most polite not-Mortal I’ve spoken through a magic portal in the Nibenese Bay. Come in, say hello to Haskill on your way, and don’t forget to wipe your feet!”

“Alright. See you soon, Skooma Cat.” I said, and stepped through.