User blog:Lab Coat Billy/Stories of the Fallen - Just An Old Man

''Notice: If you want to credit someone for the inspiration for this short collection of stories, I'm afraid that honor can be traced back to Kenyon. Since I'm honestly quite unoriginal, I've decided to follow his idea in making epilogues of characters who simply seemed to fade away with the passing of time, even if they seemed to have a rather clear ending. This set of blogs is also supposed to mark the official end of the Fallen series, which I was unfortunately unable to continue after a few accounts of headbutting that I have since recognized to be of my own doing, as well as a handful of other assorted events that caused conflict in the intended sequels to the story of the thirteen Fallen as well as my presence within other RPs. Through these short stories I hope to finally bring about a true end to the series that FishySalesman and I created rather than let it sit and collect dust in the old TES Wiki RP board, and perhaps create some reading material for those both familiar and unfamiliar with the Fallen. With those last remarks, I hope you enjoy reading the stories that follow as much as I enjoyed creating the story that led up to it.''

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Nearly 38 Years After The Events of Compendium

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"And the healer said that you're supposed to eat at least twice a day now, which means that you can't skip out on your breakfast anymore."

"Mhm."

"And he also said that you're also supposed to start taking more walks. As in walks outside the tower. Preferably longer ones if you can manage them."

"Mhm."

"Pa, are you listening to me?" Faolan asked, turning to look at his father as he helped him up the many stone steps of the White-Gold Tower.

"Mhm," his father answered, slowly ascending the stairs alongside his son. "Eat more, walk more, the usual blather. Is that all the healer wrote down?"

"Pa, don't make it sound so trivial. This is important to your health, you know."

"I know, Faolan. I'm old, not stupid."

"Doesn't mean you aren't still stubborn, pa," the young man argued, folding up the healer's note and pocketing it as the two of them continued climbing up the stairs. "Remember what happened last time you ignored the healer's notice? Your legs were so wobbly you fell down the stairs and cracked your ribs going down to the study."

"You don't need to remind me, son. I was there."

There was a moment of silence as the son continued helping his father up the stairs, a look that was equal parts frustration and concern plastered on his face as he watched the old man continue to steadily climb up the stairs ahead of him.

"You don't have to take offense to what I'm trying to do here, you know."

"Mhm."

Faolan just sighed and they continued making their way up through the tower. There were fewer guards on duty today compared to most other days, probably because of the fact that a good number of the Tower's residents weren't at home today. Koru and her mother were away in Skyrim visiting her aunt Peri, Cathair was away on business of his own (which could have meant any number of things, but after a while most people realized that the only people who were able to coax that information out of him were his father, his mother, and his aunt), and the Elder Council was scattered throughout the Empire managing their own individual issues. That left just Faolan (still the youngest, although he was around his late twenties now) and his father, who was currently trying to make his way up to his bedroom, which thankfully wouldn't be too far away now that they were heading up through the higher levels of the tower. Finally they reached it and the Emperor quietly stepped past his son and over to the door, preparing to step into his room and close his eyes for some much needed rest. He was so very weary today. Very, very weary.

"Pa?" Faolan asked, bringing the Emperor's attention back to his son. "Are you sure you're going to be okay without me for the next few hours? If you need me to stay behind, I can. Vie will understand."

"I'm fine, Faolan. You go and see her. I can make it on my own."

"Are you certain? Because I can--,"

"Faolan."

"Alright, alright," the son finally submitted. "I'll go. Just... take care of yourself, alright? I mean it," he said, stepping forward to wrap his father in a warm embrace.

"I know, son," Makoru answered, a small smile forming on his face as Faolan held him close. "I'll be just fine. Now go be with her," he said as his son pulled away, then nodded and slowly turned to begin heading back down the steps, allowing Makoru to step inside his personal chambers and close the door behind him for a moment of quiet.

The Emperor was old now, older than some people had expected him to live to. Even the royalty in Hammerfell usually didn't live to be much older than around sixty for a variety of different reasons, but Makoru had lived to be over seventy by now. Of course, he wasn't in the greatest of health, but he wasn't bedridden just yet, which was more than enough for him.

However, even if time had been rather lenient to him so far, it wasn't hard to see that it was catching up to him. He could see it even now as he walked up to the window overlooking the Market District, a face that was beginning to show the telltale lines that appeared with age and was adorned with salt-and-pepper hair that made it pretty clear that he was growing old. Makoru had of course not expected that he would live forever, but it was still rather unsettling to see himself and be aware of just how old he was now.

Still, he had lived a full life and was ultimately rather content with the way everything had came out. He had three children and a wife who he loved greatly, and he was able to provide for them and for everything they needed, which seemed like a rather good deal in his eyes. He'd gone through dark and difficult times in-between it all, of course, but in the end it still seemed pretty alright to him. However, looking back on it now, there were things that he wished he had done differently. Remembering those who he had fought with and fought for being chief among them. After he was crowned Emperor and finally married to Torene, the love of his life, it seemed very much like a charmed life. But as time went on he began to realize that there were some people that just seemed to be... missing. People he had grown to rather like, in one way or another.

His old friend Kenyon was one such example. He hadn't the slightest idea where he had gone after the Necromancer had been slain. He had tried to find him before, only to have the trail run cold somewhere in Morrowind. He knew that Kenyon was after something, and as much as he wanted to help, he didn't have the slightest idea of where he would even start to look for Kenyon. He had just simply vanished.

The same could have been said of Daithi, the last Camoran. Makoru hadn't known him for as long as he had known Kenyon, but there was something about him that he found himself missing once their companionship had ended. He later learned that Daithi supposedly died driving the Aldmeri Dominion out of Valenwood, but he had refused to believe it, even when the new King himself came to show him. He spent some time looking for anything else, only to have it run dry except for a few scattered tales from Falkreath that seemed more like the fantasies of drunk men than stories of the Camoran he remembered.

The company of these people was something that the Emperor found himself missing on certain days. He loved his wife and children, and most of the people he lived with or nearby were certainly amiable, but sometimes he just found himself missing the Camoran's dry sense of humor or simply the admiring the thought of swapping old stories with his old comrade Kenyon. He figured that one day, just maybe, they might come back, but ultimately they never did. Although he supposed there was nothing he could do about that.

Turning away from the window, Makoru slowly made his way over to his bedside and sat down at the edge of his bed, reaching behind the dresser next to it to withdraw his prized sword from behind it. The blade had dulled slightly with time but still shimmered with a faint red pulse, showing that the enchantment may have been dimming as time passed, but was still present. Surprisingly, Makoru found himself taking comfort in that thought, the odd notion that the enchanted sword's ability to keep glowing even after so much time showed that he too still had very much to live for before the gods came for him, and that even when they did, he could take great comfort in the thought that he had lived a full life.

Another small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, Makoru put the sword back into it's scabbard and leaned it back against the dresser, then turned and slipped underneath the covers of the bed, comforted by the fact that he had lived his life as one that he could look back on and truly say that it was a life that he would gladly live again.