Arillious was in darkness. He was no longer stiff from his long run, and he had no recollection of his current location. He could see nothing, he couldn't even taste the saliva in his mouth, nor smell the the cool air that the Skyrim tundra.
"Come in." said a voice. It was low, but demanding. There was no kindness in any part of the command.
Suddenly, a door appeared. A worn door, dark brown - with a bright golden knob. Arillious grasped the knob - freezing cold, almost numbing the boy's hand.
He twisted and pushed the door open.
Behind the door was no darkness - In fact, the room was quite bright - so bright it was nearly blinding him. There was long table, as worn-looking as the door, looked as if it were hovering on this light. Seated at it this table were 11 men. All of these men had a certain gloom and discoloration about them. Except for one - one very recognizable man. His father, sitting at the very end. He didn't get up, he didn't change the expression in his face, he didn't do anything a normal, loving father would do when he sees his son. He simply stared - he stared at Arillious as coldly, just as the 10 other men were.
"You called?" Arillious asked - to no man in particular, for he knew not which man invited him.
"Yes" replied the same man. He was the man at the head of the table, the furthest away from Arillious.
"These are all your ancestors, Arillious." his father began, "This table is full of successful Imperial Warriors - men who have served Cyrodill, and have died heroes. Everyone here in one way or another has done something of use with their lives as soldiers." He began to point, one by one, at each man sitting at the table, starting from the men nearest all the way to the back. His father sat across an empty chair, but next to him was his father - Arillious' Grandfather, and across from him was Arillious' Great-Grandfather, and so on. This moved all the way up to the head of the table - easily knew who this man was. The one who started the family legacy - Arilles. A soldier who had helped fend off the Daedra in the Imperial City the day Emperor Martin Septim had died.
"You have yet to prove your worth, Arillious - will you be able to do something of use to the Empire before you die? hunting Vampires and killing a few Dragons aren't going to help." said Arilles, ending with a slight pause, then continuing, "Just because you aren't pure doesn't mean you can excuse yourself from the line."
His mind was racing at these harsh words - he had ignored his other side since he left those mountains just a few short years ago. The Nords taught him how to be a Nord - how to fight like his other half. Arillious wanted to be an Imperial, he wanted to be like his father, and like all the men that were sitting before him. The gloom of death had hid his eyes from recognizing them before, but they became clear and alive once his father had pointed them out.
"That chair - the one across from your father, that chair is for you. But you must earn it. You must prove your worth, show us how you bear the Peleus name. Your father had you in training at the age of 6 - for 10 years you lived in seclusion in order to prepare yourself. Why have you abandoned what you have learned? Stop shutting half of yourself down Arillious, some may still consider you a young boy yet you have tasted more battle than most men do in their 30s - whether you are full Imperial or half does not matter, you are part of this family and you will continue on this legacy."
Arillious was staring back at the 11 staring at him - he could comprise no words, because the men immediately disappeared, followed by the long table and chairs - then the light turned to darkness.
Arillious shook his head out into reality, and watched as suddenly all of his comrades ran right past him and into the gates of Whiterun. He to lay his arm up against the gate, panting - he was tired. After giving himself a quick 10 second break, he ran back to the Hall of the Dead with the others.
He didn't know what it was - hallucination, day-dream, epiphany, or some sort of magic - but whatever it was, it scared him.
Arillious knew that making a name for himself was important to the family, but only until now did he really start to feel the pressure of fulfilling it. Arilles was correct - since leaving that mountain Arillious never picked up a battle-axe, the weapon that the Nords had him specialize in. He had donned a Sword and shield his entire time here in Skyrim, in order to fit with the Blades uniform. It was time for a change, time to use the skills he had so keenly enhanced.
He rushed into the Hall of the Dead and into the Armoury - He swung his shield off from his back and threw it across the room - it hit the wall with a bang. Arillious then ripped the sheathe from his waist, still bearing the sword, and dropped it on the ground. On the opposite side of his waist, he grabbed the hand-axe he had yet to use and casually tossed that as well. He stopped to fasten the bag that held Tullius' sword tighter on his back, and continued to the wall. The wall with the big rack of Great Swords, War Hammers, and Battle Axes. He grabbed a Steel Battle-Axe from the wall, it weighed virtually nothing to him - even after not touching one for 2 years, he still had a feel for it as if he just trained with one hours ago.
Without even taking a few swings, he quickly slung the Axe on his back and walked out of the Armoury - it was perfect timing too - for just as he walked back out to where the others were, he heard Simus yell, "Peleus!"
Without a word, he went to where his Commander, and friend was - he followed him back to the house with Alice. He didn't say a word the entire trip there, the entire time at Breezehome, and the entire time back. He didn't notice anything, because he was too busy thinking. When they returned from Breezehome, he found somewhere to sit, and continued to think about what transpired, and what he was going to do with his life.
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