Ok, this is my first fanfic, so let's make a few things clear:
-I do not own Oblivion.
-I do not own the Shivering Isles.
-This contains spoilers for SI mainquest.
-This contains some pretty disgusting stuff. About eyes.
-The word "now" is severely abused.
-Garik is mine. The … changes … are mine. The stuff about Haskill is mine.
-I am from Austria. Please tell me if I made any mistakes or used unnecessary complicated expressions or did anything else wrong.
Enjoy.
The iron dagger rushed very close past Haskill's face and hit a Dark Seducer in the upper arm where the armour didn't protect her. Her mouth curled itself in a snarl for a heartbeat, then returned to the usual expressionless mask. Haskill sighed and turned around to face his Prince.
Garik, Lord Sheogorath, stepped from the doors to the House of Dementia. He was still partly mortal; therefore he needed sleep and food and resided in the Duke's apartment since he'd killed he former occupant, Syl. The new Mad God also looked still partly mortal. One of his eyes shone like molten gold, the other was the old blue like the Abbecan sea, but held a pupil slitted like a cat's; his formerly black hair was now streaked with grey and white strands. A neat beard covered his chin, despite the ex-sell-swords dislike of facial hair. He walked and talked and was different. Haskill nearly shuddered at the memory of the morning when the first changes had appeared; Garik had tried to cut his right eye out of its socket but luckily failed and bore the scars ever since. From this day his ascent to madness had been rapid, and his old personality showed less and less.
"Haskill!" the Mad God boomed in a cheery voice. "Now here you are! I've been looking for you for ages. I'm your Lord, you can't let me wait, now can you?"
"No, my Lord." The chamberlain bowed. Deep. The new Sheogorath was a lot more violent than the former, thus probably showing the influence of Dementia.
"Anyway, now I've found you, you owe me an explanation. And a good one. Or a bad one. But then there will be consequences. And you don't want consequences, now do you?" Sheogorath didn't wait for an answer but poked with his cane at Haskill.
The chamberlain found himself eye in eye with Ciirta's, a prophet who had lived in the Shivering Isles during the last Grey March. Her eye met Haskill's gaze and held it for a few moments, then looked at the wounded Dark Seducer instead.
"Now would you please listen to me, I beg you! And I do not beg. I was sitting in my torture chamber, breaking a few bones, eating a few fresh eyes, wondering 'bout the ways of life…and why people are full of red, slimy thingies…and why you are still here!" The last words sounded like an accusation by a little child.
Haskill decided to answer the least dangerous question: "My Lord, people need these "thingies" to stay alive. They do various vital chores, such as digestion, breathing, pumping blood. I am sure I could find a few days in my Lord's schedule for a meeting with Relmyna Verenim, she's an expert on the field of anat-"
"Enough!" The Daedra's mood changed as fast as the weather on the Isles and the other way around. "Answer. My. Question. You are a human, but still you are here. Elves have died in the one and a half centuries of my reign, but still you are here. An Era has begun in the realms of the mortal, but still you are here. Daedra have withered and were reborn to wither again, but still you are here. Answer my question. NOW!"
Haskill decided to be careful with his enraged master. "My Lord, do you remember Dyus?"
The Prince's face softened. "I do. I remember so much…Haskill, you wouldn't believe it. Old friends, old deads, swords eating souls, souls eating swords, butterflies and Khajits, dragons dying and hearts burning and gods screaming…so much memories, all in nicely stored in my small brain."
"I am truly sorry, my Lord."
"Hah! But I'm not. Now tell me this little secret of yours." The shades of memory released Sheogorath as fast as they had come.
Haskill hesitated for a moment. "Dyus was a servant of Prince Jyggalagg, my Lord. So was I. Once Lord Sheogorath was created, I decided to follow him forever, for mad or sane, he still was my Prince."
The Prince seemed confused. "Now that doesn't make any sense at all, dearie."
"I did it because I understood the Secret, my Lord. I told this the late Sheogorath and he laughed and told me to stay. And when the first Grey Marsh came, he ordered me not to follow his sane orders. He left me alone, and I remained unharmed while Order took over the Isles and Jyggalagg ruled."
Grief had taken hold on Sheogorath's features and he was all Garik now. "This is a sad story, Haskill." He looked away, toyed with his cane. "I…I think I will retire for now. I do not feel well. Pray come with me, would you?"
They walked through the hall of Dementia, through the private gardens, in the duke's apartment. It was littered with bloody thongs, weapons of all shapes and sizes and cheese wheels. Somebody had stuffed a lifeless Order Knight in a corner and drawn a child's face on his helmet. A sheet of parchment sticked to its chest: "Out of Order".
"I will rest now", Sheogorath mumbled as he sank on the bed. The chamberlain felt strangely satisfied as the Daedra's eyes closed and left. On the doorframe he thought he'd hear a voice.
"Haskill? Please don't leave me."
The man smiled. "Never, my Lord. Never."