User blog:Apollo42/Bellum Morgani: Chapter 1

Hey, everyone! So, in preparation for my Morgan RP, which appears to be coming in the Summer, I just wanted to start a blog series that reminded everyone who they were, and their history. So, let's begin!

There had not been so many dragons in one place since the Battle of the Flames, when Arik Morgan’s own children tore each other apart in the skies above Hammerfell. And even then, tensions had not been so high as they were now.

And this was just a wedding.

“You don’t have to do this, Fyra.” Whispered a tall man. His hair was a rose color, so bright that it might have been dyed. Which, knowing the man, and his family, made the topic of his hair an interesting talking point within the court. However, the way he held his head high and always kept his blade at his side made it clear that he was an experienced General.

“You know I do, my love.” Replied the woman, who sat beside him. She was of average height, although she bore herself with the grace and poise of one much taller than she. Her hair was a raven black, falling past her shoulders in a straight wave of inky darkness. Her eyes, however, were an icy blue, creating a disconcerting effect.

They made an odd pair, the two of them. Half-elves, both, one tall and one short. But one of them had a crown in their hair and was more than prepared for the wedding, while the other looked extremely ill at ease.

And though they looked happy enough to be beside each other, the looks of hate they were directing to the newlyweds showed an altogether different story.

“Princess, would it please you to have more wine?” Asked a server, standing at the woman’s elbow.

“Yes, please.” She replied, coolly. “After you taste it.” The server hesitated, before pouring himself a cup of wine and drinking it quickly. He coughed, slightly, as the wine poured down his throat, but he otherwise appeared completely healthy. Only then did the Princess of Tamriel, Ruler of the Topal Bay, Nirn’s Delight drink from the cup.

“You’re too suspicious, Fyra.” The rose-haired man laughed, inclining his head slightly so that the metal cup moved, seemingly of its volition, toward him, after which he took a drink, never once taking his eyes off of his lady love.

Fyra gave him a small smile, the first that had appeared on her face since the festivities had begun. “Oh, Tarin. Do you believe that the Queen would give up on a chance to secure her own line on the throne, especially now that she has won the Nords to Arik’s side?”

Tarin Oakvale let the question hang in the hair for a moment, turning his attention to the children playing in the center of the large hall, giggling as they dashed between the legs of servers and lords alike. He smiled, glancing at his wife. He had loved her for years, especially when they were children.

Fyra and Tarin had made the joint decision to leave their children on the Topal City, to keep from offending her brother with the presence of the ‘other’ Arik, Arik the Younger.

And she sure regretted it.

Sure, the celebration was a happy one, full of mirth and festiveness as the happy couple danced around each other, too infatuated with the lives they were about to begin to notice anything else. But Fyra noticed.

She had nothing against her half-brother, Prince Arik the Elder. He was irritating, in his own right, but it was his mother that truly bothered her. Empress Mara, Lady of Chorrol. She was the most conniving bitch that Fyra had ever met, including compared to the former Empress Arianna.

Mara would stop at nothing to seat her son upon the Ruby Throne of Tamriel, even if it meant hurting her own stepchildren or tearing apart cities. Fyra watched her move about, ingratiating herself with some of the most powerful men in Cyrodiil.

Fyra figured she should start doing the same, but she hated the idea of grovelling before men who truly weren’t worth her time.

“Come, Tarin.” She said, coldly, glancing to her rose-headed husband. “We’re leaving.” Her husband nodded, knowing not to defy her when it came to her family. He gathered their things, hurriedly.

The Morgan dragons were the pride of Tamriel, the deadliest and most beautiful creatures the continent had ever seen.

Fyra’s dragon, Deram, lay coiled around himself in the center of a courtyard, his large eyes closed. Fyra was barely as tall as his neck was thick, and she contented herself with the knowledge of how large and powerful he was. His scales were a light green hue, causing them to reflect the sunlight, sparkling as Fyra moved forward.

He opened one eye as she whistled for her to awaken. If a dragon could look indignant, she swore he would have. His dark green eyes reflected Fyra’s face, and she shivered, hurrying to clamber on in between one of the spikes on his neck.

Her husband and the children filed on behind her, and the great dragon expanded its massive wings. It was like the sound of a million sails unfurling at once as the beast climbed higher and higher into the air. They winged around the Imperial City, and Fyra took a great, long look.

She would not return to the city for nearly ten years.

It had been five years since Arik the Elder had married Helaena of Solitude, and things were going swimmingly. Well, for the Empress, they were.

Even with all her planning, as she stared down at the body lying before her, she felt her heart skip a beat. Everything was happening, right now, propelling her son onto the world stage.

The body before her was, in fact, that of her husband. Emperor Cyrus I, the Dragonslayer, the Lord of Tamriel, Protector of the Mortal Realm, was gone. He looked wizened beyond his years, the raven black that had once been his hair fading into a pale grey. Even his once-bright eyes held a new lackluster.

Mara guessed that the accelerated aging he had gone through as a baby had continued even now, as he looked like a man of ninety, when in reality he was only forty-three. While this had come as a shock to Mara, she had been preparing for this for years.

Really, ever since they had consummated their marriage.

“No one leaves this Tower.” She ordered, glancing at the Blades Agents that stood around her. “Awaken the Elder Council.”

The Blades dashed off to follow her orders, running through the city to gather the Elder Councilmen that could be found. Although they were all groggy and sleep-deprived by the time they arrived, they all knew the only reason that this meeting would have been called in the dead of night.

“Has the Emperor died, Madame?” Asked one of the older Councilmen, a Breton named Louis Remy.

“Empress.” Mara corrected him, giving him a cold look that caused Councilman Remy to bow his head and step back. “And, yes, my dear husband Cyrus, your Emperor, died in his sleep early this morning.”

“We must send a messenger to Princess Fyra at once, to alert her of her impending coronation!” A Councilwoman by the name of Eda Vaine stated, earning some nods from the other Councilors.

Mara pursed her lips, and casually sat down on the Ruby Throne, watching the Councillors with an amused expression. As the councilmen frowned, seeing this as a blatant power move, Mara began to speak. “That is what we must decide, I’m afraid. The last Empress we had was a… disaster, I’m afraid. Or have we forgotten the horrors that Arianna wrought upon Tamriel?”

“My lady, that does not mean-” Councilwoman Vaine began, but she was cut off by Mara, saying, “My son will be crowned Emperor on the morrow. He is more suited for the job, given that he has been training in the royal arts for his whole life.”

The Councilors were beginning to agree, nodding amongst themselves as the Empress Dowager spoke. Few stayed loyal to Fyra in that moment, giving the propensity of Mara Morgan for fits of rage that left some people very hurt, or worse.

Except for Councilwoman Vaine, who had long served the Emperor. “My lady, this is illegal, a blatant disregard of the Empire’s Line of Succession! I am afraid that it is my duty to inform the Princess of her father’s death.”

The Blades Captain, Will Redding, stepped forward. Although long ago he had been Fyra’s dearest friend, some falling out had caused them to be bitter enemies. Now, he was staunchly in Mara’s camp, and he drew his blade.

“Then you admit to attempted treason.” He said, coldly, his blonde hair and handsome features providing a sharp contrast to his cruel words.

“If that is what you call it.” Vaine remarked, holding the man’s gaze even as his blade tore out her throat.

“Fetch my son, Captain Red.” Mara ordered, as the councilors began to pledge their fealty to the new Emperor.

Red moved off to do so, coming back with an extremely disheveled Prince, as the boy had been in the midst of a tryst with his mistress. His black hair was ruffled and his clothes appeared to have been thrown on in a hurry, but otherwise he was as handsome and graceful as ever. His blue eyes stared questioningly at the assembled nobles as he rubbed his well-cut jaw.

“What is the meaning of this, mother?” He demanded, as she stood up from the Throne and moved to embrace him. She was not nearly as tall as him, and her grey hair barely met his chin.

“I’m afraid that your father passed away this morning, my son.” She said, taking note of the grief that registered on his face. “And his crown passes to you, Arik.”

Arik looked at her, alarmed. “Mother, you cannot do such a thing! The crown rightfully belongs to Fyra, and I will defend it for her.” Even though he and his sister had never had a very good relationship, he knew when something was morally wrong.

“My son, you know that it cannot be.” She whispered. “You know that Fyra is an ambitious woman, and will not suffer any rivals to her throne.”

“But I do not want her throne!” Arik protested, but his mother squeezed his arm to keep him from interrupting her again.

“You may not, Prince, but you know the rumors that swirl about her children. Jais, Luceis, and Kellais are all bastards. Do you think that Fyra would allow anyone to remain that might be more legitimate than them?” Mara hissed, playing up her fear and anger for Arik’s benefit. “The moment she has that crown upon her head, she will murder your children. Think of Jaehar, Jaehara, and Marin. She will wring their little necks!”

“The only way to save them is to take the throne yourself, my Prince.” Will Red put in. “Else Fyra hunts you to the ends of the earth.”

The pair both knew that Arik would do anything to protect his children, even if it meant causing the war that would surely happen after they announced his emperorship.

“I’ll do it.” He said, smoothing his ruffled clothes. “Crown me now, before word can get out of Father’s death.”

“Bring me the crown.” Mara ordered, before a servant handed it to her. The crown was not Cyrus’, but one Mara had had specially made. It was a beautiful work of craftsmanship, with twelve golden points studded with diamonds.

“Kneel.” She ordered, and Arik did so, before she placed the crown upon his head.

“Rise, Arik II, Emperor of All Tamriel, Lord of Dragons, Protector of the Mortal Realm, King of Cyrodiil, and Ruler of the Nine Provinces.”

Within a week, the repercussions of this act would be felt across the world.

Beginning with the death of a small child.