A second chance

The dragon awoke.

Perched on the ground curiously close to his face, a young woman sat crying.

The dragon noted that the sun was shining and that it was striking gold from

her hair. Birds were singing and the sky was blue. The dragon could find no

reason why anyone should be unhappy on such a beautiful day.

"Why are you crying?" the dragon asked quietly.

The girl appeared not to hear him, but she got up from where she sat and

stroked his frozen features. "You poor creature," she sighed. "To

be trapped like this for so long."

The dragon felt confused. He reassessed his surroundings and realized that

the ground seemed so close because he was buried right up to his head in soil.

Nothing looked as it should, he noticed. There should have been walls and

a city around him, and yet there was nothing but trees, grass and some scattered

boulders to be seen. He couldn’t move his head around to see what was behind

him.

He began to panic. "What has happened to me?" he cried, and the

girl looked around in confusion. "Yes, I am talking to you!" he

tried again. She was looking around wildly, al the while retreating from him,

starting to become afraid. "I’m the dragon!" he cried desperately.

"Please stay and talk to me!"

She approached him slowly, cautiously. "I can hear you in my mind,"

she whispered. "But that’s impossible. You’re nothing but an old statue

and I must have lost my mind, hearing voices."

"No!" he exclaimed. "I’m real, I’m here. I’m not a statue…

how can I be a statue?"

She considered the question for a moment. "I’d imagine someone carved

you," she observed, deciding to play along. "Do you have a name?"

"I don’t remember," he groaned. "But I’m not supposed to be

a statue. I’m not even a dragon, I think."

"One way to find out," she said, getting a strange device from

her pack and turning a knob. "Let’s see if I can find a plaque."

She walked around holding the device and finally it let out a beep. She manipulated

some more controls and the device shot a beam of purple energy into the ground.

After a few moments a metal plaque appeared in the beam and she caught it

expertly before switching off the device. She studied her find for a while.

"Martin Septim," she read. "Who sacrificed himself to defeat

Mehrunes Dagon by assuming the semblance of Akatosh." She turned to look

at him. "Was that you? Martin Septim?"

As she said the name he was drawn into a riot of memories: Legions of demon-spawned

Daedra attacking defenceless people; soldiers in armour fighting to the last

in front of a fiery portal; a stranger warrior who became a friend… and

a final confrontation with Dagon in the Temple of the One. A moment of clarity

where destiny and responsibility united and where the dragon claimed him.

After that, nothing… until now.

"I was Martin Septim," he replied slowly. "I remember now.

But this is all wrong. What happened to the Imperial City? Where am I?"

She was shaking her head again, denying what she heard. "The Imperial

City? This is it, what’s left of it. There hasn’t been a city here for over

five hundred years!"

The world spun around him. "Five hundred… has it all been for nought

then? Did we lose after all?" The ruins of his city were mute testament

to the fact that he had failed in his responsibility.

"No, you won a great victory," she was quick to console him. "But

without an Emperor the provinces rebelled and Cyrodiil was overrun. The Imperial

City was sacked and abandoned but your people survived to build a new civilization."

"That is good," he said although he ached for his lost legacy.

"Do you believe I am real now?"

"I’m not sure," she said. "I’m supposed to be an objective

archaeologist, and that means not having conversations with old stone statues."

"I suppose not," he agreed. "Why were you crying earlier?"

"It was silly, really," she said. "I was just thinking how

sad it was that such a magnificent creature as a dragon – even a stone one

– should be trapped in the ground like that…" Her eyes widened in horror.

"But now I know… you’re awake and aware and trapped in stone? For all

time? That’s just horrible!"

He watched in fascination as her eyes filled with tears at the thought. She

was certainly not a very objective archaeologist, he reflected. She made no

effort to wipe away her tears as she came and embraced his large stony head.

"You sacrificed everything for your people," she sniffed. "And

your reward is eternal imprisonment in stone."

Her tears dripped on his cold stone skin and where they struck he could suddenly

feel the sunlight. The sensation spread from his face down his neck and into

his shoulder blades. He became aware of his outstretched wings, pressed down

by the weight of the ground. His chest muscles contracted and his legs spasmed.

"Something’s happening!" he shouted exultantly. "Stand back,

lest I hurt you."

She finally looked at him and prudently moved back a few paces, then turned

and ran for safety as he erupted from the ground: a fiery dragon, shining

more brightly than the sun, swooping out and upwards with spread wings, streaking

across the sky like a brilliant comet before settling on the ground before

her. His glow intensified until she could no longer look at him and she closed

her eyes against the light.

A voice spoke to her. A deep voice, soft as velvet but tinged with sorrow

and remembered pain. "It is over now," he said, and she looked at

him.

He stood before her, dressed in a fur-lined robe like that of a king. Young,

tall and well-built, she saw, and his long hair showed no trace of grey. But

his eyes reflected past sorrows and cares more clearly than words could express.

Without understanding her actions, she sank to her knees and acknowledged

her Emperor, as people in generations past had done. "Martin Septim,"

she murmured, awestruck as he reached out a hand and pulled her to her feet.

"You released me from that prison," he said. "You of all people

should never bow to me. Your gift of compassion is something I can never repay."

"What did I do?" she asked. "I didn’t even believe you were

real."

He smiled. "You cried for me," he said simply. "It is a sad

comment on people, but after my great ‘sacrifice’, no-one shed a tear for

Martin, who went from orphan boy to humble priest to bitter warrior and last-hope

Emperor in the blink of an eye." He laughed. "Not that I wanted

sympathy, or that I want to wallow in self-pity now. But simply put, your

tears unlocked my stone prison. You set me free."

"Oh," she mumbled. "Well, I’m glad I could help. But what

will you do now? We’re a democracy now. We’ve not had an Emperor since you…"

"Died?" he asked. "I suppose I did. I never wanted to be Emperor,

you know. But I found that a man cannot hide from his destiny. It has a tendency

to drag him kicking and screaming to his meetings with fate. I don’t know

what I am to do now, but I am sure I will be shown the way." He looked

out over the ruins of his once-great city. "If Tamriel needs me, I will

be ready to serve her."

"That’s beautiful," she sighed. "But perhaps I should show

you Tamriel before you decide."

He nodded and she led the way through the ruins to the parking lot where

she’d left her car. "Welcome to my world, your Majesty," she said

as he turned wondering eyes to gaze on the skyscrapers and neon lights that

surrounded the nature reserve where the ruins lay. She helped him into the

car. "Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you," she said as she started

the engine. "Did you know, apparently one of my far distant ancestors

helped you to defeat Dagon. I suppose it is in my genes to help you."

Martin felt like he was being born into a new world, a new life… a second

chance. Perhaps this time, he thought, he could live a normal life, but the

Septim blood burned in his veins and he knew that even now, he could not escape

his destiny. He could only do what he must do. Martin Septim, the last Emperor

of Tamriel.

(c) Leoni Venter 2006