As with everything else here... I don't own the Elder Scrolls or anything related. I just like playing in their world.

Prologue:

My Favorite Drinking Buddy!

"...I must say, you were one of the last ones I expected to come knocking on my little piece of Oblivion. Or maybe I've suspected you all along. I'm not sure. Either way, I LOVE PARTIES! But I don't normally take to hosting Daedra. It's mostly just dancers and that Altmer who thinks she can juggle."

Hircine sat at the table rubbing his oddly back-lit eyes and idly swishing the wine presented to him, seeing through it as someone trying to forget their troubles. His almost albino complexion provided a stark contrast to the reds and purples of the swirling noonday sky that framed their two figures on the balcony.

"Thank you for seeing me, Sheogorath."

Sheogorath carefully stepped over the infamous buck-skull helm Hircine had simply discarded to take his seat. The small, twisting village Passwall lay bustling below them, with its arguing rabble and vending calls rising in the air. The Madman sneezed. The air in the Fringe smelled slightly of sandalwood, instead of rich aroma of moth balls that defined the capital. The town below was a little too dull for the Demented Daedra's taste, and he gave a sigh of discontentment as he joined his guest on the generous balcony.

"Well, it's not every day a sane guest comes to the Shivering Isles. Not of their own accord, anyway. The last one who did became... well... ME! But you didn't come here to be me, did you, Hircine? Because if this is about what I said to you at Sanguine's party last Era... I have to tell you I was too drunk to remember it."

Hircine smirked at that. "Yeah... so was I."

"WELL! NOW THAT THAT'S OUT OF THE WAY... what can I do for you?"

Hircine leaned his upper body on the balcony railing and glanced idly around at Passwall beneath him. "I... came to get a question answered, Sheogorath. I need to know what the boundaries of madness are."

"You mean you want to know whether or not you qualify." the Madman answered simply.

Sheogorath stood straighter, a smug smile appearing on his features. Hircine turned his glowing eyes to his host, the lesser shades of white in his irises belying the movement of his gaze and the small twitch of his lower lid. The madman cocked his right eyebrow expectantly over the yellow Khajiit eyes set into his irrevocably Cyrodillic features. Hircine grinned slightly. No matter how many different bodies he took on, after a few centuries Sheogorath's eyes always reverted back. It was the only thing he could not change. Perhaps this standing permanence was Jyggalag's last defiance. Hircine looked away from the Madman's uncomfortably knowing stare, running his fingers through his white-blonde hair.

Sheogorath leaned in slightly. "You're stalling, oh mighty hunter."

"Apologies. I... am not sure where to begin."

"OOH! Begin at the Middle! This whole 'Begin at the Beginning' thing is SOOOO boring!"

Hircine sighed resolutely, clearing his throat. "I... I've encountered something. Something new and strange that... defies all I am, but sort of defines it as well. A new aspect to the nature of the Hunt, only comparable to the rush of adrenaline that takes the soul when the prey is first spotted." Hircine's smile grew larger, and he closed his eyes, remembering. "Exciting, unpredictable, and so..." he clicked his tongue against his lycanthropic canines, "...raw." Suddenly the Hunter cleared his throat and brushed off his immortal deerskin armor, hiding the faint blush of his rather Nordic features. " I can't understand it. The whole thing borders on... well..."

"Madness." Sheogorath finished with a grin. Hircine didn't respond, the hair on the back of his neck starting to prickle like a rabbit sensing the presence of a predator. Very slowly, almost imperceptibly, dark traces of maroon crept into the violets in the sky.

"Yes." Hircine breathed. "Madness. I have come, Madman, that you might help me to understand and cure this possible insanity."

Instantly, the sky translated into a blanket of bright yellows and oranges, mimicking the confusion is Sheogorath's eyes as he cocked his head at the Hunter. "Why would you want to cure that?"

"I will not lose control." Hircine answered evenly. "Not of my hunts, not of my Hunting Grounds, and not of myself."

The Madman twirled his cane, calculating for a moment, before cracking it against the old wood of the inn's walls. "Daedra make deals. That's our way. So what's in it for me, Hircine? I give you advice, pretend to be your friend? Wait... What is it you really want from me?"

"A cure for this insanity. To be available to me, should this get beyond my control..."

Sheogorath scoffed. "Why? Nothing gets out of your control, unless... You're not going to deform into a great beast of Order, are you?" The Madman's brow furrowed accusingly.

"No. Of course not..." The Hunter ran his hands through his hair again, a nervous habit. "I just need some sort of direction for myself. I've never NOT known what to do. My hunts always stay within the realm of that: a hunt. They are so simple, so beautiful. Predator and prey! The struggle as old as time itself... I need an ally who won't hold my, uhm, current state of mind-"

"You mean your madness." Sheogorath interrupted.

Hircine glared. "Who won't hold my state of mind against me."

Sheogorath took a classic stance, leaning against the balcony railing, his arms stretched in front of him to his gnarled cane. "So tell me: you seek a Madman for an ally. Why should I help? Why should I care?"

The off-white of Hircine's gaze quietly clouded into a dark shade of violet. "...I'm prepared to offer you some of my best pets... up to 1,000 strong to help fight the Knights of Order in the next Greymarch. You'll find them unmatched in strength and speed."

Sheogorath narrowed his eyes. "I have the Greymarches under control." he grated out in a low, threatening baritone.

Hircine's lips pulled up to bare his teeth again in a feral snarl. "Is that why they still happen? You're just lucky your most recent body was so capable. You've passed your mantle on to yourself since the first Greymarch. Era after Era you either succumb to or banish Jyggalag, and Era after Era, he slowly integrates back into your body. That's why your eyes have turned again, isn't it?"

The noonday took a rapid dip to black, as though the deepest ink had been spilled into the sky. The table and chairs groaned, splintering and shivering under their lord's fury. The electrically sweet smell of ozone played at Hircine's wolfish senses. "Be careful how you speak Hunter. This is not your realm."

Hircine huffed his prominent, nordic nose in a wolf-like snort. "I have not threatened you, Sheogorath." The Hunter spoke softly, clearly, his voice not matching the expression and the burning crimson of his eyes - eerie in the spreading darkness. "I'm just speaking the truth. The Order is and always will be part of you, Madman. Extreme order is another form of Madness itself. Otherwise you wouldn't suffer the Greymarches as you have. Would it hurt to bolster your next body's inhabitant for victory? If need be, I am prepared to come to aid in defeating Jyggalag by my own hand."

The skies over the Fringe backed into a darker shade of greenish-gray. "And if I refuse my aid?"

Sheogorath shifted uncomfortably under Hircine's immediately hungry expression in response. "You're one of the only Daedra who care about the inhabitants of your realm. Tell me, Sheogorath... can your beloved lunatics survive my Bloodmoon Hunt?"

As though it were the mere flip of a coin, the Madman doubled over in a full-bodied laughter. "The Hunter fears madness so badly HE'LL GO MAD!" After a moment, Sheogorath wiped a latent tear from his eye and held a comforting hand to his side before reaching over and patting the other Daedra on the shoulder. "Sure, sure. I'll help you if I can. Just remember, Madness isn't always treatable. At least in mortals it's not. I've never tried with a Daedroth. We tend to be far more volatile than they."

With the birds singing as though nothing was wrong and the twirling sky once again a happy purple, Hircine breathed a sigh of relief and settled down into the chair, eying the long-forgotten bottle of Sujamma on the end table. It had been given to him by the innkeeper as a man called "Haskill" had said he'd announce Hircine's arrival to the master.

Sheogorath plopped himself down in the wooden chair across from him and produced a small metal flask of skooma from his regalia. "So, you have a problem you fear will lead to madness, but you won't give in to it. Well, Hunter... that explains why we're here meeting in the Fringes instead of having tea in New Sheoth."

Hircine shifted uncomfortably. "It's commonly thought that we Daedra do not have a real range of emotion, as the mortals do... I'm not sure I can believe this anymore..."

Sheogorath coughed slightly at the skooma's burn down his throat. "By Dementia, Hircine! OF COURSE WE DO! You bastards just gave most of that part of yourselves to me. It's like you didn't want it anymore. It's why I can change my mind so easily. And why you can't. If Daedra weren't so emotional, perhaps you all wouldn't be so petty. Or start your wars. MAYBE... if Mehrunes got a hug now and again, he wouldn't have tried to destroy Nirn. Pity, really. I liked that Martin kid."

Hircine cleared his throat. "The point at hand..."

"YES! THE POINT AT HAND! You know I can't really remember it."

Hircine heaved a frustrated sigh before once again rubbing his reddening eyes into his pale hands.

"And you... you don't have any color on you. Perhaps you should get that looked at, Hircine. It can't be healthy."

Slowly the Hunter's hand pulled down his face enough to glare at the stupidly grinning maniac. "Can you keep it together long enough to hear me out?"

Sheogorath's small pink tongue poked out from his lips as he made a face. "Of course I can."

The guest stood, taking to a small pace as he squared himself to talk. "Then I think you're the only one who will understand my position. I have a story to tell you..."

A/N

For the record, Sheogorath is Cyrodillic because the default character for Oblivion is supposed to be an Imperial. Google it.

Secondly, any flames thrown at me will just add to my BBQ. I'll bring the bratwurst. In truth, I LOVE a good, gritty review. I'm here to practice my writing, and my work ends up either completely "purple" or just bare-bones, so I want to learn to find a happy middle. Constructive critique, both positive and negative is always welcomed, and for the sincere reviewer: I will make it a point to answer somehow.

Thirdly, EPIC THANKS to skyspireskit3, who provided my proof-reading. If you aren't familiar with that one's work... You should be. You have no excuses. o.0

Fourthly, I'm not a stranger to fanfiction, but I am a stranger to sharing it. This is the start of my first public one, so hate on me only if you have to. (If you have to, bring it. I can take it. Or I'll ignore you. Muwahaha!)

On a last note, if you're reading this AND I have some idea of who you are... And you are versed in the ES worlds... well, I'm not opposed to a beta who knows the world as well as I do. In fact, my stuff goes through multiple proofers.