Within the heart of White-Gold, contained within the one hundred stories of the tower were many, many things. From the Chambers of the Elder Council within the rounded, ten story base, to the barracks of the Penitus Oculatus bodyguards of the Emperor, and the hollowed out, twenty stories of the Imperial Library containing countless Elder Scrolls, there was no place in all of Tamriel that could match its majesty. But, within some of the smaller levels were the mundane, the routine, and a focus towards the physical. The Imperial Palace occupied a ‘mere’ ten stories of the tower, and one of the levels was empty and vacant; a training room far from prying eyes, and private enough where even Emperors could learn.
Falling to his hands and knees, spluttering and spitting pink frothed saliva onto the immaculate marble floors, the young boy groaned and tried his best to hold back the tears. He was scrawny, and wiry like all young boys on the cusp of puberty, but soon his body would begin to fill with dense muscle, aided by the daily training regimes. The dual blows from his trainer had driven the air out of his lungs, leaving a reddening welt across his abdomen from the flat of a wooden training sword and his face reddening, but the physical pain was lesser than the embarrassment he was feeling.
Neither he nor his trainer; the heavily scarred muscular figure standing a short distance away, wore anything other than a pair of pants that were more suited for commoners on the streets compared to the marbled walls and wealth of the decorations of their surroundings. There was more wealth in this single, relatively bare and empty room, than what most Imperial citizens would see in their lifetimes, but such luxury and trappings were no shield from the harsh teachings that Kaius was bestowing upon the boy.
Sweat glistening across their flesh, the youth and unmarked skin of the child a sharp contrast to the weathered, rough and heavily scarred figure of Kaius standing over him. Their training had ensured that the vivid and deep burn scars covering Kaius’s torso were red and angry, and the puckering tissue, faded cuts and gashes on his arms, chest and face were practically straining against his flesh. As it had been his custom, Kaius had spent several hours that morning training with many members of the Praetorians and several fellow Blades, before moving onto training the boy, but he still had more than enough energy to teach.
"Why did you lose?"
"Because you are bigger than me. Stronger. Faster."
Ignoring the petulant tones of the young boy, Kaius began to pace back and forth like a wolf prowling around its next kill. Despite the harshness of his tone and mannerisms, there was a warmth under it all, a softness that the boy was far too young to perceive. Neither of them spared a glance towards the other figures standing off to the side; the silent witnesses to their training session almost as unmoving as the statues that lined the outer walls.
Kaius knew that Empress Gappina Mede, standing and watching him train her young son, was concerned about the roughness of the session, despite not a single trace of it appearing on her features. Clothed in a resplendent dress and robe, and flanked by a pair of her personal guard, she was the epitome of the Mede Dynasty and the authority they wielded, but she was no doubt remembering a time in the decades past where she too had felt the sting of Kaius’s teachings. There was an understanding there, a knowledge of the benefits of Kaius’s tutelage, and while he would not learn the truth about his mentor until he came of age, just like her siblings, her uncle Vinentus, his siblings, and their grandfather Attrebus Mede, her son would be taught by the man who had served their family for three generations.
"Those are reasons why you couldn't win, not why you didn't." Just as he had for her and her uncle, Kaius was teaching more than the art of swordsmanship to her son, conducting a lesson in philosophy even as he taught the heir to the Ruby Throne how to fight.
"I gave up." Whispered the tiny voice, equally embarrassed and frustrated, and Kaius nodded in satisfaction.
"Exactly. You lost the moment you gave up. The difference between the victorious, and the defeated, is that one side was willing to do more than the other to win. As soon as one side decides that they are going to take 'this step and no further,’ they immediately taste defeat." His eyes returned to the young Empress and they shared a glance without any hint of emotions. "Giving up is what kills people."
As he had over the course of several lessons, the young Titus Mede II growled to himself, reaching over and dragging his wooden training rudius from where it had fallen. The bloodline of his great-great-grandfather flowed strongly in his veins, and Kaius could see the hints of the Colovian Legate that he had assisted in becoming Emperor all those long years ago. While his own son had grown, becoming his own man and a member of the Blades, he couldn't help but feel some paternal pride at the sight of the young boy standing resolute before him. There were similarities between Titus Mede II and Caiden, despite the fact that Caiden’s inherited vampirism meant he was approaching a full century in age.
Titus was young, brash and foolish, as only a ten year old could be, but there was no pampering or indulgences for the Dynasty forged from a commander of the Septim Legions. All the heirs of the dynasty were raised surrounded by trappings of grandeur, but Kaius especially would not allow any of them to forget their ancestry, the failings of the Septims, and the corruptive nature of power. Although, it constantly irked Kaius that only when he was pushed, that Titus’s true greatness and inner strength would surface.
Throughout his teenage years, and into his adulthood where he would eventually inherit the throne of a troubled Empire, Titus was trained, and mentored by many of the Empire’s finest. Kaius however remained constant, a steady, consistent advisor, and eventually a close personal friend to a man carrying the weight of millions on his shoulders. The truth would also be revealed, the knowledge of who and what Kaius was, finally being confirmed after many years of suspecting something regarding his inexplicably ageless bodyguard, and the how’s and why’s, such an oath had been sworn in the first place. As his mother’s health declined and he was finally crowned Emperor Titus Mede II at forty-one years of age, he had gained solace in the vampiric Black Blade who had guarded, and taught his family for almost a hundred years.
Solace, calm and a steady, supporting mentor was certainly required in those years, Titus finding himself ruling an Empire with an increasingly powerful threat to the south. The Third Aldmeri Dominion had risen in the decades of his great-great-grandfather’s reign, expanding and controlling everything from the Summerset Isles, through the great forests of Valenwood, and across the deserts and dry plains of Elsweyr over the past century and a half. No one in either the Empire or Dominion were blind to the tensions and what the elven peoples intended. The wounds and scars left of their forcible annexation by Tiber Septim six hundred years before were still fresh in the minds and society of a race who routinely lived for five hundred years or more. The destruction of their capital Alinor from the deployment of the dwemer blasphemy-made-manifest of the Numidium, were still remembered by those mer whose parents were alive during such times, and the Thalmor ruling class had exploited it to gain power.
Rumours and stories of unrest, brutal crackdowns, ethnic massacres, and insurgencies made their way over the closed borders of the Dominion and into the Empire, and so too did the stories of massing armies of Altmer, Bosmer and Khajiit. Titus Mede II was no fool, and neither was Kaius or the rest of the Empire’s ruling elite, but none of them would have ever suspected the situation to devolve the way it did.
Three years after his coronation, in the early days of the year 171 of the Fourth Era while the winter chill was yet to give way to the warmth of spring, the Dominion had sent a diplomatic envoy. This was not unusual, despite the tensions between the two great powers of Tamriel,. Trade, treaties and diplomacy were still being conducted, but instead of meeting the council within the grand lower chambers of White-Gold, the Dominion had requested a meeting outside. Crowds had gathered to witness the sight of the splendid wagon train from the Dominion, from the moonstone armoured Metananeoi pike-mer to the Khajiit Kheshig heavy cavalry riding their Senche-Rhat brethren clad in bonemold lamellar armour. Curiosity and inquisitiveness overpowered the tensions as the Palace district was filled with onlookers, and the Emperor and Elder Council met the Elven delegation.
Kaius too had been there standing within arm’s reach of Titus, his identity hidden behind the black, ebony-steel plate armour fashioned into the depictions of dragons and great serpents. Among the sea of togas and royal clothing, his jagged, Akaviri armour was intimidating even without the snarling, daedric Menpō mask and kabuto helm that ensured that no one, other than Titus knew who he was.
“Your Imperial Majesty.” The Dominion’s emissary, even for an elf, was exceptionally haughty, arrogant, and borderline disdainful despite the fact he was addressing one of the most powerful individuals on the continent. “For too long the peoples of Tamriel have suffered under the ‘stewardship,’ and iron fist of the Empire. I am here today, to proclaim that such a travesty will no longer be allowed to continue, and that a new era of prosperity will dawn. You have a choice to make in regards to how you will assist in the birth of this new dawn.”
“A… choice.” Despite all the murmurings of confusion and annoyance at the tone and mannerisms of the emissary, standing in his high collared, black and gold robes, Titus was unmoved, his expression unreadable as he looked over the assembled delegation. “What sort of choice?”
“A logical one.” Confidence was flowing through the mer standing only a few short metres in front of Titus and Kaius, his voice carrying clearly over the thousands of people watching the Dominion soldiers standing idly alongside their wagons. Two cohorts of Praetorians, and two more from the Legio I Cyrodillica were arranged in a circle keeping the crowd a respectful distance away, but there was a tension in all the soldiers present. “The choice between peace… or war…”
The crowd electrified at such a simple statement and the weight that it held, a surge rippling through not just the citizens of the Imperial City, but the assembled councillors and rulers of the Empire. Titus however, had remained deathly still, staring at the diplomat with a blank expression while Kaius’s own shock and emotions were hidden beneath his concealing armour.
“In order to stave off such a conflict, changes will have to occur. The Empire is to disband its legions, reducing their number from thirty-eight to ten. Control over southern Hammerfell and western Colovia is to be returned or granted back to the Dominion once more, which includes the Hegathe, Gilane, Taneth and Rihad Regions, Counties Anvil, Kvatch, Sutch and Skingrad, and of course, Stros M’Kai and all other isles and islands within the Abecean sea and Eltheric Ocean. Full military access to the Dominion’s Plithosi is to be granted throughout Tamriel to ensure this peaceful transition of power, and to assist in the enforcement of a ban against the false-god Talos. Restrictions on the purchase, sale and acquisition of Ebony, Malachite, and Dwemer metallurgical products, are to be lifted. Finally, one out of every ten Septims taken in tax are to be provided to the Dominion for a period no less than fifty years, to assist in the reconstruction of these territories from six hundred years of human misrule.”
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Silence had fallen, broken only by confused murmuring, and even outright laughter as many of those present, including members of the Elder Council struggled to determine whether such ridiculous demands were not some part of an elaborate joke. The expression of the Thalmor emissary however soon quietened most as they realised that he, and the Dominion were deadly serious.
“Doesn’t appear that you are asking for too much.” Titus’s tone may have been sarcastic, and even humorous, but the blank expression had transformed into one as deadly as an unsheathed blade. “And if we refuse?”
“Then a state of war will exist between the Aldmeri Dominion and the Empire.”
More laughter echoed from dozens within the crowd, especially from the assembled Legionaries, but the silence fell as hard and as fast as an executioner's axe. There was fear, anger, disgust, and outrage with many more feeling insulted at demands that even most underworld gangs and Thieves Guild’s would find extortionate.
Through all the outrage, the uncertainty, the amusement, and concern, Kaius was watching Titus very carefully. He knew Titus better than anyone, had practically raised him after the death of his father and his mother’s failing health, and could see what everyone else could not. The Mede Empire was not the same as the Septim Empire that he had served and been part of over a hundred and seventy years before. Many believed that it was weak. The Dominion certainly did so with such extortionate demands, but while they saw an impassive mask of an untested, weak Emperor who had been ruling for less than three years, Kaius could see Titus’s inner strength as it pushed back against the world.
Jaw clenched, almost imperceptibly so, Kaius alone could see Titus’s true feelings and could almost guess his thoughts at that moment. His Great-Great Grandfather, the man that Kaius had helped establish the dynasty, had been a titan of history, rising to the rank of Centurion in his early twenties, and Emperor at an age similar to his descendant. The same strength that had helped his namesake through the bloodied wars of the Oblivion Crisis and the Stormcrown Interregnum was flowing through the veins of his descendant, but the Elven emissary reacted before Titus could respond.
“To assist in your decision making, your Imperial Majesty.” The tone alone was mocking to the point of physical injury despite the official nature of his words. “A gift. For you, and the Empire.”
With a single gesture and a nod, the handful of Oiopelin amongst the ranks of the Metananeoi pike infantry moved as one, turning and unfastening straps and ropes covering the flatbed wagons. There were a dozen such wagons in the diplomatic caravan, but the expectations of treasures were quickly dispelled as the nearest wagon was unlatched from its horse train and tipped its contents over the polished stonework of the via Talosia.
Heads, some little more than bleached bones, others still clad in the rotting, decaying remnants of flesh tumbled in a wave of putrescent filth. There were dozens of them, all in late stages of decay from the month-long journey from the heart of the Aldmeri Dominion, and the tumbling, squelching thuds on the stained marble plaza drove the crowds back better than Legion shieldwalls. A combination of thick canvass and mild frost enchantments had allowed the diplomatic caravan to travel the hundreds of kilometers without the smell of death permeating from their horrific cargo, but it was no longer contained and made its presence felt immediately. Many within the council and the city’s inhabitants were left gagging and spluttering, backing away in horror as the Dominion troops continued with their ghastly display.
Only Titus, Kaius, and the emissary remained still and unmoving, through a combination of shock, discipline and triumph respectively as the caravan continued unloading the wagons onto the ruined plaza. Swords, and armour were contained within the other carts, and the Oiopelin were grabbing handfuls at a time, tossing them contemptuously onto the ground, ignoring the way that they were now surrounded by a ring of hasta spears and unsheathed gladii.
For every skull, there were one or two swords, and a collection of unmistakable armour. Some were broken and rent, torn by various mortal injuries that had resulted in their owner’s deaths, but despite the damage they were still recognisable. Splint mail and lacquered armour, of a design over two thousand years old and originating from a land far to the east were matched by single edged, curved swords identical to one of the blades at Kaius’s hip. While there were other weapons in the collection as well; rapiers, short swords, claymores and more, each and every skull had an accompanying katana, a weapon that only one organisation in all of Tamriel wielded.
“The Dominion is aware that these belong to you, and we are more than willing to return them to your care.” The emissary stated flatly, his tone mocking, despite his best attempts to remain aloof and above the rising horror of the crowd at the sight. “You will find that all of them are present and accounted for.”
A hundred and thirty three katana’s, along with the distinct Akaviri splint mail fashioned like the ancient Dragonguard of the Reman Empire were unmistakable to everyone in Tamriel. They belonged to the Blades, the ancient Imperial order that had protected the Reman and Septim Dynasties and had, since the dawn of the Fourth Era, acted as the eyes and ears and shadowed knives of the Mede Empire. The sheer number of decapitated heads were also clear, especially to Kaius and the stunned Grandmaster of the Order standing with the rest of the Elder Council that somehow, the Dominion had uncovered and murdered all, or at least most of the Blades who had been operating within the Dominion’s borders.
Normally, Kaius would have remained by Titus’s side in his role as the Emperor’s champion and bodyguard, but he moved entirely on instinct towards the piled, rotting skulls and the discarded swords and armour. Most Blades were secret agents, operating clandestinely and taking exceptional care using stealth, trickery and magicka to hide their equipment while operating throughout Tamriel, but it had obviously not been enough. The emissary was still speaking, but his words were distant and unheard, faded into the background while Kaius felt his stomach drop as he strode through the ankle-deep mass of death.
Panic was not something he was used to feeling. The number of times he had felt true panic and concern were rare, and typically limited to times he had dealt with Daedric Princes, demigods, or a dragon, but his hands were trembling and eyes darting about as he hoped and prayed to every Divine, and even a Daedric Prince or two that he wouldn’t find what he sought. It was to be of no use. Ignoring the way that the Oiopelin and escorting Metananeoi and Khajiit riders instinctively shied away from him, he found something in amongst all the death that he recognised.
Every Blade, when inducted into the Order, was personally gifted with a sword. For most, it was one of the many katana’s that had been lovingly cared for and passed down through the generations that could trace their histories back to the Akaviri invasions. Others were more unique. The one that had caught his attention was exceptionally so, despite its comparatively simple and mundane design. A broadsword, masterfully forged and with a blue-grey sheen that caught the light. Other than its quality there was nothing really special about it, except for the tiny inscription of ‘Serviret Imperio Imperatoris’ above the crossguard. Kaius knew the sword all too well. It had been his gift to his son almost a hundred years before when he had become a member of the Blades.
There was no use looking for a head, and Kaius wasn’t sure if he wanted to lay eyes on what he knew was going to be a blackened, flame cleaned skull of his eldest child after his inherited curse would have burned his remains to ash. He was also no longer looking or even noticing the way the nearby Dominion soldiers were trying to decide what to do as he walked right into the centre of their caravan and picked the sword up from where it had been casually discarded. For the moment at least, they were distracted by the increasing anger and fear from the thousands who had gathered to watch, and attentions of the increasingly hostile Praetorians and Legionaries, paying Kaius no heed as he turned and looked back at the man whose family he had sworn allegiance to.
At that very moment Titus appeared just as broken as what Kaius was feeling. The full weight of the Empire and all of its people had landed on him as thoroughly as the tumbling pile of heads had on the via Talosia. His shoulders were slumped, his expression pale and staring, and not even listening to the Thalmor emissary as he continued a speech directed to him, the Elder Council, and the people of the Empire. This entire event had been planned and staged and the Dominion knew the current state of the Empire well, as already there were calls from several members of the Elder Council to accept the Dominion’s demands. Many within the Council were more than willing to do, or accept, anything that ensured that their heads were not going to be the next piled upon the back of a similar wagon.
Both Kaius and Titus were broken at that moment, but somewhere in amongst it all, Titus had seen his friend, his mentor, and family’s protector standing as still as a statue, ankle deep in rotting heads. Kaius was watching him. Waiting with a predatory thirst for blood and carnage, barely kept in check through his iron clad will and discipline. Only Titus at that moment would have known that underneath the mask and helmet, Kaius’s eyes would be as black as his vampiric curse, his fangs bared, and heart thundering with the desire to murder every single member of the Dominion’s delegation. Titus also knew that Kaius was perfectly capable of doing so, especially at that moment where he could see the tremble in the hand that tightly gripped his son’s sword.
As the cries of peace at any price, the growing surge of fear from the Council at his back grew, Titus and Kaius had stared at each other for what they both had felt like hours, seeing the changes in each other as their world was upended like the wagon filled with the heads of murdered Blades. At that very moment Titus could have ordered Kaius to slaughter every single one of the elven delegation and knew that Kaius would have relished in the bloodshed, but instead, as it had several times already in his life,Titus’s true strength rose to the challenge.
“No.”
Barely above normal conversational volume, the word cut through the Elder Council like a bolt of lightning magicka, the nearest members of the crowd and even stopped the Thalmor emissary in mid breath. It was as sharp as a knife through flesh, and not entirely directed to the stunned elf standing almost within arm’s reach.
Kaius knew that the word’s meaning was dual purpose and directed at him, as much as it was to the Dominion’s emissary. Titus was telling him to not give in to his bloodthirsty desires, but he was also providing a response to the Thalmor. It was certainly not what they were expecting and the silence fell hard, the emissary stopping and staring at Titus who was yet to move his gaze from Kaius standing among the rotting pile of heads.
They had expected acquiescence, capitulation and acceptance of their demands from a weak, inexperienced ruler of an upstart dynasty, not the sudden straightening of spine and resolute spirit that filled the Emperor standing before them. His back had straightened, and his toga no longer concealed the muscles grown from two decades of training with Kaius and other masters of the sword. What remained was the man descended from a Legate of the Septim Legions, and was no longer the seemingly timid, easily manipulated figure that he had appeared only minutes before.
"W-What?"
"I said," As though for the first time, Titus turned his head, looked at the slightly taller Altmer representative with narrowed eyes and addressed him directly. “No. We will not give in to your demands. We will not accept this… insult, or be cowed by your threats.”
Moving back to his position as the Emperor’s right hand, Kaius’s ancient, snarling mask glared at the emissary with all the promise of a brutal, painful death, his son’s sword still gripped tight in a gauntleted fist.
"If the Dominion wins,” Gathering himself and pushing through the surprise, the Thalmor emissary cleared his throat, the same indignant tone returning once more in full force. “Cyrodiil will be ruined, the Empire broken, and it will take until the time of your grandchildren's grandchildren to pay the tribute. The Empire, and mankind, will be nothing more than frail shadows, grasping at forgotten glories..."
Glancing between each other, both Kaius and Titus Mede II shared something that no one else present could ever hope to imagine. It was a connection and understanding, mutual strength and determination with both men remembering the years of mentoring and lessons they had undertaken together. “Giving up is what kills people,” Kaius had repeatedly taught him over the years; a mantra that the nearly two hundred year old vampire who had experienced the touch of dragonfire perfectly embodied.
"That’s… if… you win." Titus had said simply, silencing the elven emissary once more with a stare, before turning his back. Together, with Kaius by his side, they walked away without a backwards glance to the diplomatic convoy, and the heads of a hundred and thirty-three slaughtered Blades.
Chekhov's gun
