I find Emeric in his nightmare at the centre of his fallen city, drowning in a mire of self-indulgent pity; I fear he is aware that I am here and yet continues his prostration.
When the first Dark Anchors began to fall upon Cyrodiil and the Imperial City, none of us in the Legion were prepared for the horrors and savagery we were about to witness. Some of those men and women I stood shoulder to shoulder with would attempt to shield themselves behind stoicism and stiff jaws, whilst others wore their emotions like mirrors of their hearts, trembling when afraid, crying out when in pain, weeping when in terror; yet none, none of them ever showed weakness.
Perhaps I am still too much the soldier, but I can no longer trust, or respect any man who has shared with me his weaknesses. I do not believe Emeric can win this Three Banners War, for what is cracked will eventually shatter. Perhaps though he may yet broker a way for the Covenant not to lose; as he has done so before.
I will fight to save Emeric this day and slay his demon, and I will continue to work with him for now and aid his people where I may, but he is not my King, and this land is not my home. I do so because, should the old man and Lyris fail, he may yet prove to be my best route to Mannimarco.