A/N:Yep I'm revising this. My old version of this story (which I only got to two chapters) wasn't so good. This is MUCH better, trust me. I wrote the old one way before I came to Fan fiction. You will find this version much more intresting. If you liked the old chapters then too bad! New readers, forget this whole top part and read the story. I don't really know how to spell dremora though so watch out!

Disclaimer: I don't own Oblivion or the Shivering Isles. I only own Henry and my other OC's

Shivering Isles: Throne of a Hero

Chapter one: The Guide to Problem Solving

I only wished for three things. That I could live a normal life, in a normal house, and with a normal family. That someday I could live up to be someone instead of being born as someone. Instead, I am someone. I am Henry, son of the Duke of Mania, Nephew to the great ruler, Lord Sheogorath. My regrets were simple, why have I been born to a life of luxury and people who don't even know me, regard me higher then them? Their answer, "Because you are born to uphold it." No person is born to uphold anything only their minds and their sanity.

My father is good-natured, who is quite not as similar to the last Duke–who was clumsy, arrogant, and had died by the hands of Lord Sheogorath. The last Duke didn't even have blood relation to him, for one reason. Sheogorath was not who he seemed, he is not the immortal dremora, but a simple Breton man. My Uncle, never spoke of how he came to the throne, but told me that the old Sheogorath had been thrown into Oblivion, never to be seen again. I shivered at the thought of Oblivion's dark red waters. The stories told by the Dark Seducers and the Golden Saints told me of hideous monsters, scourging towers, and of the gates. The gates, they told me, was the only way to the mortal world. I asked them of how, if they were closed, could they be here?

"This is Sheogorath's world, so Dremora are allowed access," a Dark Seducer told me, "We could never go into the human world of Nirn." The world of Nirn. A place I've always wished to go. I asked my Uncle one day about Nirn. He told me of green trees, that were spread all over the land. Of tall mountains, where snow covered the tops. Of castles, where counts fiddled their thumbs. He then told me of a white tower, that shined like gold. The palace of dreams and misfortunes, Cyrodiil. I was amazed at how he described it so rapidly, as if it were imprinted in his memory. I knew he had to have been there before, but he never told me.

And he never will.

Good bye, Uncle John.

I placed my hand on my chin in thought. Maybe this wasn't the best speech I had written, after all. People might be offended. I started to crumple up the paper. This is useless, I thought, I will never get it right. I pounded my fist on the desk in frustration. I pulled out another sheet of paper and pointed the nib of the pen on my cheek. I should give up, I thought. I was wasting so much paper. I started writing hastily on the parchment, then crumpling it up and throwing it in the waste can. I put my hands on my head and strands of brown hair threaded from in between my fingers.

I had been through a lot, I realized. I hadn't had much sleep and I hadn't eaten much since the murder. I just couldn't believe he was gone, slipped away from existence. The funeral was coming up soon too, and I hadn't written my speech yet, but what was I suppose too say? I will miss you Uncle, I will kill your murder? Hey, that doesn't sound so bad. I pulled out another sheet, but then put it back. Who am I kidding? I got up from my chair and paced in my room, thinking of what I was to write.

At this rate, I thought, I would ruin the carpet. I looked down at the bright red rug. It already looked ruined by my trampling all over it. I went over to my bed, and laid down, looking up at the canopy roof. I almost fell asleep in that position, when someone knocked on the door. I got up from the bed, brushed my satin tunic, and hurried to the door. My father was there looking very urgent. I held the door open and gestured for him to come inside. He did so and rather instantly. I shut the door and turned around and saw him sit at one of the small tables. He stared at me constantly. I took a seat across from him and looked at him firmly.

"So what do you know? Who killed my Uncle?" I asked him searching his face for an answer. His face forever remained still, with no sign of emotion. I was worried. He was acting a bit odd.

"We don't know Henry. There were no witnesses so it's a mystery," my father said. I sighed. I got up from my chair and went for the desk again. Might as well write poems of regret on my speech. My father's eyes followed me as I went across the room. I looked back at him once, then went to the bookcase instead. Writing a speech would get me no where to help find the killer of my Uncle, so I decided that I could find a book that could teach me how to solve extremely difficult crimes. I brushed my hand on the books bindings, searching for such book.

I had no success, so I redid my search, looking from the bottom to the top. I found A Guide to Problem Solving and stopped there. I pulled it from the shelf, looking through the pages, and slammed the book shut. I put it back on the shelf. It was mostly about house cleaning, cooking, and anything that can be washed. I paused at the book again. Why was that book there, I wouldn't need a book about house cleaning? I took it from the shelf again and threw it on the desk with a slam and I continued my fruitless search.

I then felt my father's gaze and quickly turned around. He was staring at me with a sad grin and his fingers rattled the desk. I walked back over to the table and slumped back down. He frowned at me with a solemn gaze, "Henry, what were you doing?" I looked up from my staring contest with the table.

"Looking for a book," I answered simply. He took his gaze off me and looked at the bookshelf then the book I had set down on the desk.

"Is that the book you were looking for?" he asked me pointing at A Guide to Problem Solving. I shook my head as I looked over to the useless book.

"I put it aside to get ride of it. I was looking for a book on how to find my Uncle's murder," I said holding a sad smile, "couldn't find any though." My father stared at me and slowly nodded his almost bald head shifting his weight away from the book. I gave my father a side glance. He is probably morning more then me, I thought, he was his brother. I slumped my shoulders. I shouldn't be selfish, I thought looking sadly in my fathers direction. "I'm sorry father that we lost him." I paused, "you knew my Uncle more then I did." His shoulders shook a little and a single tear went down his face.

"It's noble of you to be trying to find the killer Henry, but what's done is done. People live and some are taken away, you can't help that. John had served his purpose for ruling the Shivering Isles, so the gods decided to bring him to a better place."

A single tear went down my cheek also. I wasn't ready to let him go. He was the only one who understood my need for adventure and excitement, then from this dreary life in the Palace. I wiped the tear and tried to hold back more, but it produced a sour taste in my mouth. I kept myself composed, my mouth wavering into a frown. No one deserves such a death, murder in the night, with no goodbyes. I couldn't believe I was smiling on the day of his death, not fully knowing what happened. I wanted to kill the man who did this, he deserved it–a knife in his ribs and a silent fare-well.

My father lost himself crying to his hearts content. A couple of more tears escaped my eyes and I pushed back my chair heading to the desk to cover my sobs. I didn't want to make it worse for him. My father then pushed back his chair and opened the wooden door, "See you at the dining hall, Henry." I nodded my head and he closed the door. I pound my fist on the desk again, causing A Guide to Problem Solving to come crashing to the floor. I picked it up and felt like ripping the pages from it. If only it could solve my problem.

Part of me wanted not to go to the dining room. I still had to work on my speech and I hadn't even worked on a first paragraph. Another part of me want to go to dinner, with a constant grumbling reminding me. I dropped my quill and headed out of my chambers. The hallways continued for a few meters then it turned to the right, to the door to the gardens. I walked down the hallway, looking both hungry and depressed. Some Golden Saints past by, the golden armor blinding me as I walked. The Saint did not turn in my direction, but continued down the hall. I rested my hand on a white pillar and paused. Maybe I should head back, I had to write the speech. I pressed on, the speech can wait, I was starving.

I opened the door to the gardens. Brilliant colors entered my eyes as I strolled down the walk ways. The sun was setting and an orange color was in the sky. I hadn't noticed that much time has gone by since I started working. I faintly remember lunch. I quickened my speed, the plants always gave me reverence. The trees had odd shades of orange and red with not a single trace of dark shades of any color. I glanced at the garden once more before entering the throne room.

The Duke of Mania's throne room was, of coarse, not as big as Sheogorath's. The room was dark around the edges but lighted up in the middle. The dining table was on the floor a couple of steps down. It was already filled with food, wine, and pastries. I never enjoyed eating at the dining table, it was either what was on your plate or on the table. They always offered too much food for only three people. I usually ate in my chambers. It was different this time, however. It was in the memory of my Uncle.

I made my way down the small steps to the long table. I sat myself next to my father, who sat on the throne at the end of the table. Wide-Eye, an argonian, sat across from me her lizard like face staring at me. I looked down at my food not looking in her eyes. Wide-Eye is my father's steward. She has been here for a long time, even before I was born sixteen years ago. She has also been a helpful adviser to my father at some times and a loyal friend to him. Father had another steward a couple years back. The Nord died unexpectedly in his apartments down the hall. He had stabbed himself, sending him to the Hill of Suicides, a place of the forever misery of torture.

My father stood up and everyone at the table, which was Wide-Eye, a couple of nobles, and me, sat in silence. He cleared his throat before making his announcement.

"As you all know, my brother, John died a week ago. Murdered. This feast is in his celebration, of a life that lead him to glory. I talked with my son a couple hours ago," he gestured towards me, "he decided he would hunt down the cold-blooded killer." I slid in my chair blushing slightly. I didn't expect him to tell everyone about our discussion. He smiled at me and continued, "I told him that revenge on his Uncle would be in vain. It is useless to throw your life away for someone who has died." I slid further into my chair ignoring everyone's gaze. "We are to celebrate his life. A life that had once..." he paused looking at me cautiously, "saved the Isles. Forever we remember Lord John." he sat down and started eating, followed by others.

I sat back up and looked at my plate. Grapes and cauliflower sat neatly in one corner of the plate along with venison smothered in gravy, a piece of bread, and onion soup. I picked up my fork and pricked it's two points on the venison. I never knew my Uncle saved the Isles. All that my Uncle had told me about how he got the throne was that he was appointed the job. That's why he cared about my adventuring spirit, to run away from the palace and live in a cave. I'd never be able to do that, only if I somehow get stuck in a situation that I might. I am the heir to the Duke's throne. I had responsibilities to take care of.

At least I won't become Sheogorath, I thought. I wasn't even close for the line. It was either my father or Aunt that would take the throne and after that is my only cousin William. He was older then me by ten years. I didn't like William to much, on the rare occasion he comes to visit the House of Mania he comes to laugh at my face or find a way to get meinto trouble. Luckily, it was on rare occasion. I hadn't seen him recently since the murder, probably as glum as the rest of the Palace.

I was the last heir to Sheogorath's throne. It would be a miracle if I'm to rule, though it's not much of a miracle to me. To have so much put on my shoulders, it would be more suited if someone older would be the next Lord. I don't care who it is, they would never replace my Uncle.

I finished off my venison and started picking at the grapes. Many people were already done with their meal and drunk happily at the wine. I noticed my father staring at me so I put another grape in my mouth after another, reassuring him I was all right. He didn't believe it, "Henry, you've been sitting here poking that venison for the last hour, what's on your mind?" I smiled at him, and put the stem of a grape on my plate.

"I'm fine. I'm tired, that's all," I said reassuringly. He eyed me curiously then got back to his meal. Wide-Eye had also noticed my weariness and flicked her tail.

"Are you sure Master Henry?" Wide-Eye asked me. I hated being called master by the servants all the time. I leaned closer to Wide-Eye so the other nobles couldn't hear.

"Please don't call me master," I whispered across the table. Wide-Eye came to realization and nodded her head. I sat down in my seat. I hoped my father didn't hear that, but he didn't and he continued to look about the room. I gave an inner sigh and took a sip disdainfully at the now cold onion soup.

Everyone left the room, going back to whatever they had to do to prepare for the funeral tomorrow. I and my father, however remained put on the table. I had just finished the wine before I was to head back to the thoughtless chair of my desk. Before I left my father motioned me to stay put. I waited long unrestful minutes, before he spoke up.

"Henry, are you done with your speech?" he asked. I frowned slightly. I held off writing until today, mostly with hope that this was a dream, but no. I have slept nights and awoke for the days, but I never woke up with a sense that this was a nightmare. Maybe I'll wake up now?

"No," I answered, "I hadn't finished." My father looked at me sternly then turned a sad smile.

"I understand," he said. I looked up from the floor and to my father.

"I was suppose to write one week ago, not today before the funeral. I should have done it, but now I don't have time," I said sadly. I bowed my head to not look at my possibly angry father. I awaited a scream or a shout, but instead received a kind voice.

"You don't need to write a speech Henry, only if you want to be a scholar. You say everything from here," he said pointing to his chest. I nodded my head in understanding. I didn't need a speech? This whole time I was worrying for nothing?

"Isn't everyone else going to recite a speech?" I asked. My father shook his head and smiled.

"They won't know you hadn't written a speech. They would think you memorized it. I'm not writing a speech. People with sense know that they can speak as freely as they write," my father concluded. I nodded my head again. He motioned to the door to the gardens. "You can leave now." I got up clumsily and headed toward the steps. I paused on the railing and looked back at my father who was smiling at me and waving at me to leave. I did so and I closed the door behind me.

The garden was as pretty in night time as it was in the day. The lamps on the top edge of the garden wall produced little lit as the garden produced it's own, reflecting off the white marble of the palace. Tomorrow was the day my uncle was to meet his final resting place, and I wished that day would never come.