Into Oblivion

27

The next morning rolled in through the thickening white mist that lingered outside the fortress. The blistering sun had stood upon tiptoe as it glanced over the jagged shoulders of the mountains that seemed to circle Cyrodiil. The Blades were raised from their mats instinctively and almost by design. They stalked across the immediate premises as fear and anxiety hid beneath the safety of their helmets. As Oblivion woke upon this morning, the Blades knew that it would not settle for such a defeat as it had experienced the few days prior to now. Especially since no imperative lives were lost on Tamriel's side. The fog crept through the gate like a vagabond attempting to find shelter for a harsh winter's night. Only the rising sun seemed to push it back out upon the snowy terrain, clearing the temple's steps and courtyard.

The temple doors had swung ajar allowing the old worn structure of Jerald to saunter out into the courtyard. His arms had wrapped tightly around his chest in and attempt to preserve the escaping heat. His hot breath billowed out before him and rose into the misty air. He took deep breaths of the crisp mountain air as he would need all the energy that it could provide for him. Later in the morning and early in the midday, he must address his children of the matters that seemed critical at the moment. His eyes shimmered as he reminisced the last few days. He had recalled the anguish that overcame him when he only saw two of his three sons pace through the grand door—a look of grief was upon them. Orrick's heavy shoulders slumped under his padded armor as he could not dare face his father; however, Daelon approached him and without more ado told him of his brother's passing.

Jerald grieved within his own time and even so he was still strong. His son died with honor upon the battlefield in hopes to save Tamriel. For this, Jerald would hold him high in his heart and remember his childish ways and youthful spirit as well as his hardened heart of courage and wisdom. As his gold trimmed shoes shuffled across the old worn cobblestone courtyard, he looked out past the walls of the temple and to the transcendent peaks of the Jerall Mountains. His crystal eyes absorbed the natural beauty of these magnificent steeples of boulder. His black hair had fallen from its casual oiled position allowing some onyx strands to fall across his creased brow. A few jagged streaks of silver had rooted their way through the man's scalp and through the follicles of hair showing just how old he was getting. He hadn't objected their presence for he accepted his age of seventy-five. True to the fact that he wasn't getting any younger; however, he still had a ways to go until he certified himself to be just another old babbling geezer. His father had lived to be 156 and so he had hoped the same fate for himself.

As he marveled at the beauty surrounding this safe haven, another Asquerana had escaped the warmth of the temple to be embraced with the brisk mountain air. The temple door had closed much louder then expected which alerted the father of which child it was. His unmoving eyes focused upon the horizon as he called out to the wind which carried behind him and struck the ears of Daelon, "... did you sleep well, son?"

The answer was delayed as Daelon had been slapped with a cold burst of wind. His teeth gnashed together as he stepped forward and allowed his sore eyes to adjust to such brightness. His amber eyes had settled and he looked upon the back of his father. How is it you are so strong in these desperate times? The young Altmer questioned himself as he stepped forward and replied, "Yes, sir."

"I am glad to hear that," Lord Asquerana grinned as he turned around to welcome his son. His unkempt hair fell further across his brow as he cleared his throat and rapidly began, "I heard... that Grandmaster Jaufree had offered you a preparatory position as a Blade. He told me how fearless you were when you fought upon the battlefield and how you daringly charged through the Great Gate in search for Elizabeth. You make me very proud, son."

Daelon nodded his head in comprehension as he spoke softly out to his father. His wavering voice carrying through the smooth and gentle movements of the wind, "... I had never thought of myself as one to be offered such a noble and high-ranking position as this," his head bowed as he thought over his words and pieced them together. His lips had pursed as he made certain that the cold of the air would not invade his mouth and freeze his lungs. "I had hoped to return to Kvatch when this was all over... I want... I want to be there and protect it from ever being harmed again."