Here sat the renowned Dovahkiin, all but stripped of what few fragments of sanity she still claimed. Sanity that she was positive would be as nonexistent as dust particles in the air before this night was adjourned.
She couldn't tell you how she found herself in her current predicament. Last she recalled, she had curled up among the covers of her bed beside her husband, intertwining her fingers his. With a smile on her face, she then slipped into a yearned slumber. It had been a composed evening, filled with a warm meal, comforting arms wrapped around her, and a heartbeat against her ear. There had been no telltale signs that she would wake to find herself in her current vicinity. Perhaps a bit more peaceful than typical, but nothing exceptionally out of the ordinary. That was why this unnerved her so much. To be here, the only plausible explanation would have to be that a portal or something other transported her. Like in the Pelagius Wing of the Blue Palace, when she was thrown into the mind of none other than Emperor Pelagius Septim III, in the presence of Daedric Prince of Madness, Lord Sheogorath. However, there hadn't been any signs that such a thing had occurred. And she'd like to think she could at least finger a hint when she was about to be dragged in the midst of the princes. She had been submerged in their plots enough times she ought to be. Then again, it wouldn't have been the first time she was proved wrong.
There was another possibility, but it frightened her and had to be impossible, so she didn't dare let her mind tread such a thing.
"CHEESE!" The exaggeratedly accented voice intruded, a meteorite slamming into the earth of her thoughts, not altogether welcome. She recognized the all-too familiar voice and glanced in his direction. Who other than the supernatural being of madness himself? If she was foolish enough to admit having a favorite among them, Sheogorath would be stated as her's. Attired in his rather snazzy, half red, half purple finery, and catching sight of his familiar white beard, she would have grinned at him had her mood not been so downcast. His words alone rarely ceased to earn an agreeable reaction from her. All things considered, he was quite lovable.
However, this was one of those rare times not even old Sheo could put her in a delighted mood.
She sighed in defeat and acceptance that she would not be permitted leave until somehow satisfying them. How? She hadn't a clue. She wasn't even aware of what it was they demanded of her, for they were too busy discussing completely irrelevant topics.
This was going to be a terribly long night.
She inwardly moaned.
"Shut up, Sheogorath," Nocturnal cut off his rambles on cheese abruptly, her customary stoicism threatening to be swayed by his maddening - oh how quaint - words. The revered deity was as one would imagine, yet at the same time so much more. The Dragonborn found her beautiful. Beautiful in the form of shrouded mystery that she wasn't meant to understand. Dark, in manners of both shadow and nighttime, in both appearance and character. Karliah once described her as a, "scolding mother who pushes her child to do better". Too true words. She was not wholly evil, like a good number other of princes the Dragonborn could name off the top of her head effortlessly. Nocturnal was one of only a handful of Daedric Princes she could truly say she held respect for. She wasn't quite sold on being her guardian in the afterlife, however. That wouldn't have been her first choice of where she went when she died, but it had been a necessary action to be taken at the time.
"But there should be cheese!" Sheogorath argued, unfazed at the reprimand. "How can we have a party without cheese?!"
"No one but you likes it," Came her biting reply.
"The Dragonborn likes it!" He wandered his gaze to her, tugging on an innocent expression that brought a distinct light to his golden cat eyes. She was quite fond of those eyes. "Right, little Dragonborn?" She could easily pick out the samples of desire to be indulged in his tone.
Dovahkiin brought her hands up, elbows to the table on either side of her plate and scooted the silverware out of the way. She lifted her hands and massaged her temples with fore and middle fingers, letting her eyes drift close, pretending she hadn't heard him. As much as he fascinated her, and as much as she adored him and his perplexing antics, she was in no mood for this. It was a well-known fact that she was irritable when she was tired. Besides that, she had been woken up. Waking her up was also a situation where her temper would ignite and flame mercilessly. She had a decent handle on her temper when it came to many things, but something about being tired disintegrated that control. The same could be said when she was hungry, or when she was hot, or when she was beyond the bounds of over-stimulation. Her husband knew it, her friends knew it, even the dragons knew it. Everyone here ought to have known it as well, since they were so well acquainted with her. She was sure they did...they just didn't care. Typical of them. Not that it surprised her, it just aggravated her more.
The fact that she hadn't snapped at anyone yet was something that amazed her.
" Don't you know it's bad manners to have your elbows on the table, love?" He asked. "And you're ignoring me! Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"
She opened one eye in a slit to look at him briefly, then closed it again. Her body was far too drained of energy to keep her eyes open for extended periods. The situation was, obviously, not aiding that in the least.
"I'm sorry, I'm just tired." She mumbled, not sure he could even hear the words. She had to strain her ears to catch them herself.
"You probably wouldn't be so exhausted if you gave into the beast blood more often," Hircine commented snidely. "It would strengthen you. Instead you be a goody-two-shoes. It's grueling to watch."
The Dragonborn cracked an eye open again and regarded him with clear, unhinged irritation. She acknowledged the expression his deer-face portrayed in the same manner, wrinkling her forehead at him. Those beady eyes were just mocking her, she could tell by their glint. His parted lips threatened a sneer at her expense. She fixed her jaw, sapped of the remainder of her patience.
"Would you prefer I cleanse my blood entirely of it instead?" There was no reigning the words. She regretted the challenging remark the moment it daringly leaped from her tongue. Her blood ran cold and her heart spluttered in its beat. Offending Hircine was a grand way to get yourself killed in a moment's notice. This was precisely why she steered clear of anything breathing when she was in a poor mood.
His eyes shifted to an abysmal glare that made her flinch and shrink in her seat simultaneously.
"How. Dare. You!" He snarled, spittle flying from his mouth in a spray. Her flinch deepened. "Puny, pathetic mortal!"
"Aww, leave her alone, Hircey," Sheogorath came to her rescue, coming between them before Hircine could tear her throat out. Relief flooded her veins like a cool breeze on a blistering hot day. Leave it to him. The corners of her mouth twitched in the start of a grateful smile, and she hoped by seeing her eyes he would identify her gratitude.
He winked at her and waved a flurry of fingers. "Can't you see your scaring my lovely little Champion? We did drag her here without warning. Fun as that was, you can't expect her to be the most chipper. Much like her mother, that one... Never did enjoy being woken up." He grinned from ear-to-ear, revealing the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. "Can't you think of something more enlightening than bringing up the beast blood? By strawberry tortes and Haskill's handkerchief - where is Haskill, anyway? I swear I invited him! - I think you bring it up every party! Malacath is more interesting. And you know, Mally is not interesting! All he ever does is blabber and blubber about trolls and Orcs and-"
"Stay out of this, you fool," He snapped, glare now trained on the madgod. If looks could murder...
"Fool?" Sheogorath's eyes bulged from his skull, pupils dilating. "FOOL?! I AM NO FOOL- Well, actually, I suppose I am. But there are different kinds of fools, you know. What kind of fool are we speaking of here? A funny fool or an idiotic fool? Or even a-"
"Will you shut up?"
"Oi!" Sheogorath tutted, folding his hands, elbows in his lap and not on the table. "Mind your manners, Hircey!"
A snort, followed by a chortle interrupted their exchange, bringing all sets of eyes onto the snorter, much to his observable delight. The bottle of alcoholic beverage he had in hand departed from his lips, showing a grin twisting his mouth sardonically. "Better not, Shey, 'less you want to infuriate Nel more," Sanguine gestured to Nocturnal with the hand that held the bottle, who was seething beneath her cowl. Rage billowed through her dark irises, able to curdle milk if there was any in the area. "She might just call up Azzy, and then we'll get a talking-to about how irresponsible we're being. She'll talk our ears off! You know I like my ears, Shey." 'Azzy', meaning Azura, the Dragonborn was almost positive. If Azura was involved, this would have been resolved much more rapidly. As a matter of fact, where was she? She may not share in her fellow princes escapades all the time, but she was usually present to keep certain ones out of trouble. Her not attending altogether was rather alarming, only proving to heighten her already over-stressed worries, conjuring up images that made her want to melt into a puddle.
Sheogorath nodded, regarding Sanguine's words gravely. A scarily serious look crossed his features, making the Dragonborn blink several times to verify that he was really maintaining such a thing. Her throat was suddenly quite parched.
"Weren't we all here about something specific?" Nocturnal indicated impatiently. The Dragonborn was glad that at least someone here wished the same thing as her.
"Yes, why did I get dragged here?" The Dragonborn wondered in a barely coherent mumble, attempting to stifle a yawn that coveted to make itself known.
"You died," Was the nonchalant response uttered by Hircine.
The words slid into her thoughts like a knife between her ribs, detrimental at the seams. Her whole body froze like she was submerged in paralysis, eyes widening in a mixture horror and shock that clenched her stomach with a iron-grip. Surely he must be kidding...? Did Hircine even kid? But there was no possible way...
Her hands trembled violently, and she slid them off the table to her lap, gaze dropping. She felt her mind swimming for something resolve to grasp, some form of proof that his words were nothing more than a falsehood.
She caught Meridia rolling her eyes in the edge of her vision. "Oh, my, Hircine. Was that really necessary?"
"He's scaring my Champion again!" Sheogorath bellowed.
Hircine stared at Meridia pointedly, sliding his tongue across his lips. "Quite necessary."
The Dragonborn's blood was roaring so loudly in her ears she scarcely processed their interchange.
"Azzy's gonna kill us," Sanguine asserted, leaning his head back to down a third of his bottle's contents. The Dragonborn grimaced.
"It's all right, love!" The Prince of Madness reassured her, patting the crown of her head. "Hircine's lying. You're not dead." His voice lowered several octaves so only she would be able to hear his next words. His patting stilled but his hand remained. "Hircey won't admit it, but he's jealous of my sense of style and sexy madness. He's trying to get to me through you because of it. Don't let him!"
She wasn't dead. Thank the Nine. She inhaled deeply and exhaled through her nose, relishing the respite that immersed her like the embrace of a loved one.
"T-then-" She paused, swallowing her stutters, and tried again. "Then why am I here?"
"We're here to..." Sheogorath scrunched his nose as he trailed off, staring off into space as he absentmindedly slid his hand down her face to tap her on the nose with his index finger. "What phrase should I use?! There's so many good ones!" He swiveled his gaze to her, positively beaming. "You have a soft nose."
She offered him a ghost of a smile.
"This is why I suggested we lock him out," Hircine grumbled furiously, glowering first at Sheogorath then at Sanguine. "You, too."
"Now, now, Hircey," Sanguine lifted his hand and wagged a finger at him. "There is no need to be such a grump. We promised Azzy we'd handle this maturely. Besides, if we don't come to a decision soon, he'll get involved."
Hircine visibly clenched his teeth. "He'll get involved in due time as it is."
"Herma!" Sheogorath suddenly blurted out, regarding the grotesque, slimy mass of tentacles and vile eyeballs. "You've been sanely quiet. It's enough to me get all weepy! Well, not really."
"Yeah," Sanguine piped up. "You also should have brought Meph along." An ornery grin slid across his features. The Dragonborn shut her eyes tightly again. This had to be the most hellish plane Oblivion had to offer. It just had to.
Each and every one of Hermaeus' eyes narrowed dangerously at Sanguine. Yet no form of sound came to indulge the Prince of Debauchery's insinuations. The Dragonborn felt a horrendous shudder thumb her spine, fingernails and all. Where she respected Nocturnal and esteemed Sheo, she feared Hermaeus Mora. She feared the knowledge he caressed in his appendages. She feared the words that had been said of him, haunting her memory without compassion. She feared the manner he stared at her, as if his eyes were not just undressing her, but peering into her soul and sliding his tentacles around it to strangle to death.
Perspiration made her palms slick and clammy. Silence engulfed the place as if there had never been a word uttered. Darkness threatened the corners of her gaze in tendrils.
As if tasting her terror, Mora's eyes snaked away from Sanguine to reside on her, a cruel, knowing glimmer saturating them. They seemed to say, No matter where you go, no matter what you do, you'll never escape my clutches, little girl.
She forgot her lungs needed oxygen.
Sheogorath grasped her wrist and squeezed it firmly, reminding her. She sucked in quivering breath, then gave him a grateful look that he replied to with a calm smile.
"I found no need to speak, Sheogorath," Hermaeus Mora answered.
Sound, oh glorious sound, once again existed.
"Back to the matter at hand..." Nocturnal interjected. "To answer your question, Dragonborn, we're here to decide who gets claims to when you do die."
Hardly aware, and hardly comprehending the words, she numbly nodded. At least that was explained. At least, also, she wasn't dead.
She noted Mora's glance on her again and bit her lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood. They can discuss and decide all they desire, Dragonborn, but you and I both know who you belong to in death.
"And I'm here representing Nel and myself!" The mad prince exclaimed energetically, the prospect thrilling. His eyes spoke volumes of it. She silently thanked the Nine for his constant, endearing interruptions that kept her from having a fit.
"I don't need represented," Nocturnal countered venomously.
"You think you don't, but you do!"
"Can't we muzzle him?" Hircine suggested hopefully.
"How rude, Hircey!" Huffed Sheo, folding his arms over his chest. "Muzzles. Blech! Terribly boring, terribly common, terribly orderly!"
"Terribly so, Shey," Sanguine agreed, nodding vigorously. Having long ago drained the original bottle, he now had fresh brandy that he chugged between words.
"I'm not against the proposition, Hircine," Meridia said.
Sheogorath sniffled. "Why are you all so foresee-ably mean?!" He whined.
"It's the only way to even-out your idiocy," Nocturnal hissed.
A tear slid out of his eye and down his cheek, proceeded by countless more tears and an embellished sob. "HASKILL! MY HANKY!"
With a snap of fingers and a cloud of lavender smoke, the Chamberlain was instantly materialized beside his lord. In his open, gloved hand was the yearned handkerchief, spotless and folded neatly, almost entirely white besides the cherry colored stitching that read, 'Lord Sheogorath'.
Haskill held his tolerant face as he set it in the demanding palm of his madgod. "Is there anything else you desire, my Lord?"
"Do you happen to have any cheese on you, my sweet little Haskill?" He over-emotionally requested, eyes becoming like that of a doe's. It was quite pitiful and tugged at the Dragonborn's heartstrings.
"Cheddar or Swiss, my Lord?"
"CHEDDAR!"
Retrieving it from a pocket of his intricate finery, he set a palm sized, paper wrapped block of said cheese on the plate in front of Sheogorath. "Is there anything else you require, my Lord?"
"Nope-idy nope!" Was the delighted response. In rapid display, Haskill was gone in the same cloud of smoke as quickly as he came.
The other princes observed the event in flabbergasted silence, through narrowed eyes and annoyed glares. As for the Dragonborn, she giggled.
"I have decided," Sheogorath began, unwrapping the cheese with nimble fingers. Once free, he nibbled happily at the sharp, creamy delicacy. "Your payment to me, Nel, will be one-million and one shells. Seashells. And not just any seashells, mind you, dear. They must be the color combination of peach and white. These seashells must be paid to Sir Haskill of the Shivering Isles by the fifteenth of Heartfire. Any later and an interest of two-point-five, pink conch-shells will be added to your bill a day."
Once again, the Dragonborn giggled.
Nocturnal spluttered, furious. "I said I didn't require your representation, you blabbering fool! You didn't even do anything!"
"Aha-ah!" Sheogorath wiggled his fingers in her direction. "It's no good arguing with your superior, Nel."
"Superior?!"
"Don'tya' know your word meanings, Nel?" Sanguine queried with mischievous smile.
"Shut up!" She snapped. "Of course I do! AND STOP CALLING ME NEL!" She fumed.
"You weren't bothered by it previously," Sanguine clucked his tongue, taking another swig. "Mind your temper, sweetheart. It's not becoming." He slurred, running his tongue along the rim of the bottle.
She looked at him disgustedly. "Why I ought to-"
"This is getting us nowhere," Meridia muttered.
"Perhaps we should reschedule?" Sheogorath proposed, finishing off the cheese and licking the residue off his fingers. "I'm available next week."
"That may be best," Mora approved.
"I don't even care anymore," Hircine grumbled. "Just get me away from him!" He pointed a finger at Sheogorath.
"It's settled then!" The madgod clapped, then pushed back his chair to rise triumphantly.
"What?!" Nocturnal hissed, venom spraying out of her tone. "No! WE SETTLE THIS NOW!"
"Sorry Nel," Sheogorath observed her innocently. "You've just caused quite a clamor. The mood is ruined."
"I'VE CAUSED A CLAMOR?!"
"This is precisely why we should have waited for Azura," Meridia commented. "This always happens when Azura isn't here to keep this from happening... Again."
"Which is exactly why next week is a much more substantial time to make this decision!" Sheogorath flapped a hand about the top of his head, and in an instant, a bright, rainbow print top-hat appeared, settled nicely in contrast to his snowy white tresses.
Hermaeus nodded, as only a blob of tentacles and eyeballs could nod. "Mmmh. Indeed."
Nocturnal looked as if she might explode into a mess of goop and shadow. The Dragonborn wasn't sure whether she desired to cringe or shake her head in bewildered amusement.
Taking the rim of his hat between idle fingers, Sheogorath crossed the arm over his chest and bowed respectably before the others. Behind him, a black portal surrounded by wisps of lavender smoke materialized. "I must bid you all adieu. May your days fare you madness, cheese, and strawberry tortes!" With that, he straightened, and grabbed the Dragonborn by wrist to drag her unceremoniously out of her seat. With a final grin, he tossed a very stunned Dovahkiin over his shoulder, earning a shriek of shock tearing from her lips, waved, and threw himself into the portal.
The portal closed behind him, and once again, the princes simply stared in silence. Not surprised, but rather, exhausted silence. The madgod wore aggravatingly on all their nerves. After a beat, sighs of relief, muttered thankfulness, and nods of approval took place.
"Who wants a round on me, eh?" Sanguine suggested.
Nocturnal connected her head with the table, earning a wince from Sanguine as a painful thump sounded through the dining room.
The End.
A/N: Welp, here it is! About time, I suppose, huh? I promised this re-write...three months ago? In my defense, not getting it up wasn't entirely my fault. My computer's hard drive began failing and I had to get it replaced. It was a family friend who was doing it - for free - and lots of family problems came up so he was put on a delay. However, just for you all, I crammed this out in the last twenty-four hours before my schedule gets five times more filled. (: It's horrible, I know. Probably worse than the original o3o. I decided to take it down. It would have been confusing had I kept them both up, and besides, I like this one better.
It's not meant to be taken seriously. I guarantee the characters are out of character, except for Sheo... I know it's written without class, it's, once again, sloppy, and without being edited. I'll have to go over it later x3. Maybe. However, I hope you all enjoyed it, despite it not being written very well!