A/N: I just couldn't resist. The Shivering Isles are too much fun, and Haskill is a piece of work. xD Playing around as Sheogorath is ridiculously gratifying; thus, we have a multi-chaptered adventure as our Breton stumbles through the life of a Daedra Prince.

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

Chapter One: Languid

"Lord Sheogorath..." Haskill trailed off, staring at his lord blankly.

The newly appointed Madgod blinked up at him blearily from her perch on the throne, legs throne over an arm, head dangling off the other side. Regarding her chamberlain upside down, the sleepy Breton yawned widely and sat up slowly.

"What is it, Haskill? I was napping, and having a very pleasant dream about...I don't remember what about, but I remember it was pleasant."

"Indeed, milord. I was simply about to suggest that you relocate to your quarters in the House of Dementia. No doubt it would be far more comfortable than the throne, milord." Ever the polite chamberlain, Haskill refrained from commenting on the bruised state of the Madgod's eyes.

Blue eyes studied him for a moment before she nodded and stood, stumbling a little in her haste to get to her comfortable bed. Reaching out a golden hand, the Aureal escort to her right steadied the Breton as she collected herself, eyes closed against the dizziness that drifted around her skull.

"Are you quite alright, Lord?" The Healer piped up from the bottom of the stairs, her face pinched in worry.

The sleepy Daedra Prince nodded absently and patted the Aureal on the hand before tripping down the steps and making her way to the House of Dementia. Half way there, she turned and regarded Haskill, weariness making way for a twisted alertness.

"Doesn't it seem odd to you, Haskill, that inspite of all the space there is in this palace, with the chamber housing the pools, and each of the houses, there is no private quarters for the Madgod? Surely he..." Here she trailed off, eyes downcast and unfocused as she stared at the regal outfit her chamberlain has gently suggested she wear, gripping the staff at her side tightly. Despite how comfortable it was, it brought many memories of...him.

Some of the frostiness fell from Haskill's posture, and his bored features softened somewhat. "Your predecessor did not require personal lodgings, milord. He did not sleep."

Haskill watched as his lord looked up slowly at him from her inspection of her outfit, her shoulder's sagging somewhat. Understanding crept upon him; Mabery (Sheogorath, he corrected himself fiercely) was lost without the jovial former Madgod to guide her along and needed another connection to the man (Daedra) to ground herself. In the weeks following Jyggalag's appointing her to the throne, the Madgod had been lethargic, almost zombie-like as she tended to the affairs of the Isles.

Deeply buried was the snarky Breton girl (woman) who had taken the Shivering Isles by storm with her strongly instilled sense of justice and playful, almost wickedly so, nature. As she spend more time among the mad folk of the realm, that playfulness had been tainted slightly, evolving into something just a little more vicious, a little more bloodthirsty. Sighing inwardly, Haskill quickly made his decision.

Straightening his collar, the chamberlain composed himself before continuing. "However, the matter of appointing the new rulers of Mania and Dementia still remains. Such a ruler will surely be in need of their quarters, as such, the creation of milord's own quarters would not be remiss. Would tommorrow be better suited for this venture, Milord?" Keeping his tone even, Haskill repressed a smile at the sight of his Lord brightening as she did.

A bit of fire returned (finally) to the young Madgod's eyes and she smiled at her chamberlain appreciatively, making her way up the stairs to plant a small kiss on his cheek before leaning back. "Thank you, Haskill. Tomorrow would be...perfect. " She grinned widely, all teeth and incisors before trotting to the door to Dementia.

"Oh, and do me a favor, Haskill? Scrounge up the Wabbajack."

With that, Mabery Litisette dissappeared behind the heavy oak door of Dementia, leaving behind a bewildered chamberlain, a giggling Healer, and two very amused Escorts.

Next Chapter: Our Madgod receives a crash course on interior design, Haskill's feathers are ruffled (again), and Sanguine is a bit nosy.