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Arc 9 Chapter III: The Golden Age (Part 3)
🕑 Added 2025-07-29 09:47:06 +0000 UTCWelcome back one and all to the Tamrielic kerfuffle!
Next chap we are back to our main boi to finish the timeskips off and we are a launching off into the dreaded multiverse!
Also, for consistency's sake: 'tis the year 17 of the 5th era. Martin is 13, Elena is 10. Meaning this is set three years after last chap.
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(General POV)
"Focus, young Dragon." The raspy voice of his teacher cut through the whipping winds of the White Gold Tower's summit like a knife "The words of power are not merely understood, they are known, you cannot advance without patience. You must feel them in your Sil, and guide them through your Dovahsos if you do not wish to waste your centuries away."
Martin's eyes snapped open "I am trying but it just isn't working!"
"Hmmm" Vahlok the Jailer, resplendent in his crimson black robes, let out a patient hum and considered "Mayhap we are approaching this from the wrong direction."
"Are we?" The thirteen year old looked up with frustration in his eyes but also a faint glimmer of hope "Elly is so much better than me, what does she have that I don't?"
"Comparing yourself to your sibling will only cloud your mind." The Dragon Priest said with a dismissive wave of his hand "Her talents lend themselves well to the ways of the cerebral, yours simply lie in other directions."
"The voice is the symbol of our family though." Martin tried and failed to burry his frustrations "Elly is already slowing down time while I am still stuck on the second word of become ethereal..."
The Dragon Priest said nothing for a long moment, before he, to Martin's absolute terror, let out a low raspy chuckle "My, I have not heard such arrogance since the days of Miraak."
Martin was completely still now, stunned to silence by the odd shift in tone.
"Do you not understand how blessed you are, child?" Vahlok asked rhetorically "That you have managed a singular word before your third decade is an achievement many of my fellow tongues would taut and complain about in turn for centuries, and yet you bemoan that you have yet to master a full shout simply because your sister did so before you."
Martin's felt shamed as shoulders slumped "Sorry."
"I have no need for your apologies." The priest raised a hand to forestall him "Merely for you to acknowledge the truth of my words."
The Prince nodded "I will think on them, teacher."
"Good."
A silent minute passed and Martin's mind returned to his teacher's previous words "You said that we are taking the wrong approach. Maybe I am simply more suited to shouts of destruction or alteration?"
"Aside from the asinine classification, you are not wrong." Vahlok mused.
"It would make sense, wouldn't it?" Martin pressed, his pride surging slightly "After all I am a lot more talented when it comes to that kind of magic, not to mention our combat training."
"You are also three years older." The priest said flatly.
Martin didn't look away this time "And I still know I am better."
A silent moment passed before Vahlok nodded "Good."
"Good?" Martin blinked.
"You will need that steely determination." Vahlok pointed out, once more feeding the Prince's pride "When you petition your father to expand your lessons so soon after he deemed your sister and yourself worthy of his arcane teachings."
And just like that all of the pride disappeared without a trace, as the young teen shuddered at the memory of that day...
When he approached his father to pester him for lessons again, only to be greeted with a cruel Dunmeri grin and the terrifying slam of the entire arcane lexicon appearing right in front of him.
His hand still twitched sometimes from all the symbols he was forced to copy down over and over and over again.
At least he fared better than Elena, that month was so terrible to her she actually began talking to people instead of just stalking on the edges of whatever gathering she could be coerced into joining.
Martin failed to contain a full body twitch as his lips curled into a cautious smile "Maybe we should still focus on the ethereal shout, patience is key, right?"
"Hmmm?" Vahlok pretended not to hear him "I am afraid I must have misheard you, young Dragon. For I could swear you just suggested retreat from a challenge." The masked face tilted just a touch too far for it to be natural "But that would be weakness" The air around the priest shifted and became heavier "And a dragon cannot be weak... right?"
Martin gulped and nodded rapidly "R-right."
"Excellent" The priest hummed "Let that be the end of this week's lesson. Her Divine Ladyship demanded your presence in the main hall before midday, and our discussion has already stretched that boundary to its limits."
All too happy to get away, Martin just kept nodding and quickly scampered away, leaving behind a mildly amused lich.
He rushed down the many stairwells of the White Gold Tower, the servants and guards stepping out of his way as he did his best not to repeat the dreaded destroyed lunch incident of yesteryear.
Thankfully for his young psyche, and the wellbeing of the poor servants, he destroyed no imperial lunches during his descent and reached the bottom of the tower safely.
Immediately he was hit by a wall of noise as he heard his father's own orchestra playing a celebratory melody while the many dignitaries gathered to celebrate Tamriel's most recent victory all feasted and made merry.
"There he is!" His mother's eyes immediately zeroed in on him, her voice cutting through the tumult, while his father, of course, was looking at him before he even stepped into the chamber "Come here, Martin. I want to introduce you."
Unlike his sister, Martin found himself drawn to crowds and more often than not drew the attention away from others and to himself, and so he just smiled and strutted over, the many servants carrying around trays of food and drink avoiding him with preternatural agility.
He barely managed to offer a light bow to the guests and get out a "Greet-" Before he was grabbed and placed in his mother's lap like he was still al little kid.
"Isn't he just the cutest." His mother cooed while the Nord lords she was speaking to chuckled with knowing looks in his eyes
"Indeed" One of the Nords said "And so big already! He is going to be a great warrior when he grows up."
"I am already grown up." He crossed his arms and most assuredly did not pout.
"Of course, dear." Naturally, his mother just patted his head and kept smiling as she addressed her actual reason for calling him "You've met them when you were much younger but I am sure you don't remember."
"These are" She looked to a slightly overwide* man with greying blonde hair and beard "Jarl Balgruuf the Greater of Whiterun."
"Prince" The older man inclined his head.
His mother moved on to a clean shaven brown haired man with a warrior's build "Jarl Assur of Winterhold."
The man bowed "Your Highness."
"And last but not least" She went on teasingly as she moved on to a blonde man in his prime, his face sporting a well appointed beard "High King Torygg of Skyrim."
"Hail, Prince Martin." The High King smiled.
"Your Grace" Martin bowed his head as much as he could under his mother's firm grasp.
"Been a while since we could drag them down here." His father finally joined the conversation, an immediate amusement passing between the gathered lords "Took a gods damned Pyandonean uprising to give them an excuse."
"Skyrim takes much of our time" High King Torygg said, not an ounce of regret in his voice.
"Bah" The Emperor snorted "You just don't like teleporting."
"It's bad for an old man's humors." Jarl Balgruuf joined in, smirking.
"Says the poor sod who refuses to be de-aged." Father snarked.
"Not all of us are built to live for centuries." The older Nord shrugged "I shall live my life until my time comes, and then I shall join the honored ancestors."
Father just scoffed but there was no true derision in the gesture.
Everyone knew, and Martin himself had seen that he had been in Sovengarde himself.
He was probably just sad his friend was going to die one day...
Martin immediately shook the dour thought away.
"Enough about that" Mother interrupted, likely feeling the same "We are here to celebrate young Trygve's achievments!"
"Hear, hear!" The two Jarls who had contributed to the punitive force rose their mugs of mead while the High King simply smiled.
"He was quite eager to prove himself for years." Torygg chuckled "He grew up in a time of peace listening about our own excitement, and the moment he heard about the new supposed 'son of Norevalion' he leapt at the chance to lead our contingent."
"And naturally you gave him your absolute best troops." Father mused, just a touch sarcastically "So much so he almost gained leadership by sheer contribution."
The High King simply shrugged "As if you wouldn't place the entirety of your Sworn Mer behind young Martin here if he convinced you to let him participate."
Father said nothing, his response a simple dark chuckle.
One that seemed to ever so slightly sober up the nearby lords.
No doubt detecting this, mother decided to interject "Speaking of children." She tightened her grip on his shoulders "I hear your daughter is growing into quite the beauty, Torygg."
"The talk of Solitude and beyond." The High King smirked as he noticed Martin's discomfort "Frida is going to be even more beautiful than her mother one day."
"Truly" The Empress smirked and Martin felt a chill going down his spine "Why don't you bring her here sometimes" She paused "Or we could even visit Solitude properly for once, we haven't been in years."
Martin's eyes widened in terror and he quickly turned to his father, giving him pleading look that practically screamed 'Help!'
His father's voice appeared in his mind, followed by a wave of tittering amusement 'Forgive me my son, but this is a battle you must fight alone. Be brave.'
Martin tried responding but found the connection had been cut and his father was now suspiciously focused on his steak.
His eyes searched the room further, landing on a suspiciously dark corner and meeting the eyes of a giggling Elena Septim. In fact, she seemed to be sharing whispers with a downright unnaturally pale woman with red eyes, and both of them were currently laughing at him.
Cursing his fate, he mouthed 'Traitor!' at her.
She just stuck out her tongue at him and resumed her giggling.
So distracted was the Heir Presumptive of Tamriel by such betrayal, he barely managed to catch the tail end of his mother's words "-You hear that Martin? You are going to be meeting a proper young Nord lady. And I want you to be on your best behavior."
"Mooom" He groaned.
And of course the Jarls and King all laughed.
"Oh come now" The Empress smirked "Didn't you just say you were already grown up? I want grandkids one day!"
By now, the color of Martin's face was quickly beginning to match that of his hair.
Finally, his father seemed to have finished examining his meal's metaphysical weight in comparison to the plate it sat on, and looked up, eyes twinkling with amusement "Minthara, we talked about this."
Mother huffed and swatted his arm "I know, I know, I am not going to force anything."
"Most excellent" His amusement only seemed to grow "Though I too would like to see some grandkids one day."
Mother nodded smugly.
And Martin sent his father a look of pure devastation and betrayal.
So intense was his ruination, that he managed to momentarily grasp his father's mental presence.
'You too father?'
'Forgive me, my son. Your sacrifice will be remembered.'
The young Prince crossed his arms, and then simply decided to "Feim." The hell out of there.
Of course, this only served to amuse his parents further as the Nord lords all rose their mugs once again and cheered his talent.
Something that only served to reawaken his earlier frustrations.
Thoroughly done with the day, he went on to find his friend only to end up meandering outside of the main hall and into the gardens of the central district, quickly finding his way to one of the more secluded fountains and overhearing some kind of... discussion on strategy?
"-were great at hitting us and running for the forests." A booming accented voice that could belong to no one but a Nord could be heard from a great distance "But once we managed to surround the poor bastards they stood no chance."
"That was quite irritating." The familiar voice of Varador came in response "The humidity was tolerable but the heat was not."
"Bah" The Nord scoffed "It just took some patience, the blueberries may be good hunters but an army of any respectable size can't subsist off of wild fruit and game alone, especially when they are getting hemmed in day and night."
"A textbook strategy, but one for good reason." A cultured Imperial voice noted only go on in that same flat tone "It seems we have company, my friends."
And just then, Martin stepped into the hedge-surrounded clearing.
All five of the officers, and their crimson ceremonial uniforms meant they could be nothing but, present immediately bowed their heads "Your Highness."
The greeting was crisp and precise, and being far too practiced in the act Martin nodded, the "At ease" Slipping out of his mouth before he could even think it.
Varador simply rose from his bow while the rest took his time, the snow elf raising an eyebrow as if to ask 'Need anything?'
"Things were getting too noisy inside" Martin waved his friend off "Care to introduce me, Varry?"
The two and change meter tall blonde Nord snorted at the nickname.
Varador directed Martin with a deadpan but still did as was asked and pointed his thumb at the Nord "This is Prince Trygve, son of Torygg."
"Nice to finally meet uncle's kid." Trygve grinned "You are bigger than I thought you'd be."
Martin didn't back down, and straightened his back, staring the taller man directly in the eyes "And you don't look like the spoiled brat that got his victory bought for him. Guess we are both full of surprises."
The Nord stared at him for a long moment before guffawing loudly "You are alright" and waving for Varador to continue.
The snow elf pointed at a perfectly groomed clean shaven Imperial, the same one who spoke previously "Legate Magnus Tullius, grandson of Grand Marshal Servius Tullius."
"An honor" The serious man inclined his head."
Next came another Imperial, a woman this time and one brimming with far more magic than the others save for Varador himself and far more relaxed than his counterpart "Battlemage Honoria Gracchus, daughter of Imperial Battlemage Tiberius Gracchus."
She offered a lazy wave, clearly not too caring for protocol when not demanded.
This seemed to miff the Legate but she ignored his annoyed glance with practiced ease.
And last but... probably? not least was a Dunmer dressed in armored Telvanni robes that looked to have taken inspiration from the Emperor's own, even if the colors still matched the house in question.
Though what drew most of Martin's attention were not the robes but the fact the woman's build was much closer to a Nord or even an Orsimer, while she still brimmed with respectable amounts of Magicka "Telvanni Spellwright Zara Gra-Zarok, and daughter of that selfsame Military Governor of Pyandonea."**
For whatever reason, when the title was used Martin could swear he heard his father's distant laughter in the back of his head.
"An orc?" Martin blinked.
"Got a problem with that, kid?" The Dunmer half-growled.
But then instantly paled as she noticed something behind Martin.
The Prince looked up with a deadpan and as expected, his eyes met with those of Akulakhan the Yunger.
"How long were you standing there?" He asked, just a touch annoyed.
But, naturally, the automaton just stared at him like he had just said something incredibly stupid.
"Of course" Martin sighed in defeat and looked back to the half-orc? half-dark elf? It didn't matter "And no, I have no issues with who your parents are, it just surprised me for a second."
The Dunmer's terror subsided and she chuckled "Surprises are my specialty."
Matin blinked "And with that totally not ominous statement" Cue Nordic and Orcish snort "How about you tell me about your campaign before my mother tries to set me up with King Torygg's daughter again."
The reddening of Trygve's face only made Martin grin, and not long after the two were wailing on each other in the tower's training grounds, the far bigger man failing utterly to 'show the little shit that was looking at his sister wrong what will happen if he fucks around!'
Thankfully for the older Prince's pride, Martin also failed to land a decisive blow, and soon enough the lot of them were drinking and sharing stories amongst each other, and days later Martin could still be seen with his new 'totally not accidentally arranged retinue, I pinky swear' trailing after him as he started building his own power base.
But no matter his successes, as the days passed his unease only grew, and the time finally came on the evening before his next lesson with the aptly named Jailer.
Like a man going to his execution, Martin stepped into his father's study and patiently waited for him to finish scribbling.
"Martin" Reyvin smiled expectantly "You have questions? Your next lesson is not until tomorrow you know."
"Uh, no, not that" He shuffled hesitantly "It's just, I... uh."
"Go on" His father's smile only grew.
And Martin knew everything he would say was already foreseen, but he also still had to actually do it. Thus enlightened as to the futility of resistance, he sighed and spoke "I want to learn more destructive shouts now, please."
The grin on his father's face would haunt his dreams for many a moon after that.
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*Yes, I made Balgruuf get old and fat, cope and seethe :P
**The different descendants I introduced may or may not have been presented for a reason.
Who knows what could come in the future?
Comments
Greatest Ever
Here me out. Instead of the nord princess, maybe Martin explores a muscle mommy elf combo
Nazarickk
Thanks for the chapter
