Uhther was careful to make no sudden moves. Sheogorath, by his very nature, was one of the most, if not the most, unpredictable of the Daedric princes. Gregor also seemed hesitant about moving. He had not been with Uhther when he had met the Daedra lord but he had heard the story, as had most of those nearest to the Dragonborn.

Quaranir, on the other hand showed no such hesitation. He approached the prince.

'Lord Sheogorath,' he began, 'you honour us with your presence.'

'Argh, spare me yer prattlin',' Sheogorath snorted, impatiently, 'I get enough of that from Haskill. I came here for a holiday. If all you're after is a rambling, I can fling you off to the Shivering Isles, to beautiful Mania, I have better things to do!'

'Like taking over the body of Jarl Balgruuf?' Uhther asked, civilly. Sheogorath seemed to examine him through narrowed eyes.

'Oh, you're back, are ye?' he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching, 'not sure if I should be worried or thrilled. Yes, I've taken up residence here. Not sure why, or am I? I have my reasons. Apparently.'

It was certainly the kind of authoritative nonsense Uhther had heard the last time he had been in the presence of the mad god. He appeared just as he had back then as well, dressed in smart doublet and britches of a kind likely seen in the imperial court, only divided vertically with red on one side and purple on the other. His grey hair and beard were well groomed and combed, yet tufts of it sprung out in odd patches. His golden, cat-like eyes were wide, and staring. And they seemed to be revolving in the god's head.

Uhther turned to Quaranir.

'Why have you brought me here?' he demanded of the Psijic, 'if you think I might be able to get Sheogorath to leave then-'

'No,' Quaranir cut him off, 'I have brought you here because I heard of what you did at the Thalmor embassy. You have incited a war, the Thalmor will jump at the chance to reach the Snow Throat Tower. You do not seem to truly understand the importance of what I told you at the college.'

Uhther scowled. Didn't the Psijic understand men at all? It was precisely because the Tower was so important that he wanted all the Thalmor here. In Skyrim, they would be on unfamiliar ground. And there would be no skulking in the shadows, no diplomatic meetings where the two enemies would smile at each other by day and perform the Black Sacrament at night. This would be two sides fighting an honest war for the fate of the world. That was what Uhther knew he had a chance of winning, so that was what he was going to make happen.

But how was coming to Sheogorath supposed to convince him of anything? The Daedric Prince seemed to know, however. At any rate, his eyes had perked up at the sorcerer's words.

'The Tower, you say?' there was a curious edge to his voice now, 'ooooh yer a sneaky one, you are. I see what you're thinking. Or I can take a guess, at least.' He wagged a finger at Quaranir, 'that was a long time ago, little elf. Well, not to me. Not anymore. It was but then it wasn't. And it was quite literally another life. I used to be me, not me, but then me became not me and so I became me, do you see?'

Uhther was completely baffled. Looking across to Gregor, he was at least glad to see he wasn't the only one totally mystified by the mad god's words. Quaranir turned and attempted to explain.

'Centuries ago,' he began, 'Sheogorath was one side of a coin. The other side was Jyggalag, the Prince of Order, who was cursed to live as the opposite of all he stood for except for once an era. It was during the last Greymarch that the curse was finally broken. Jyggalag left to wander Oblivion again, while the mantle of the Daedric Prince of Madness was passed to he who had broken the curse, the Hero of Kvatch.'

Uhther's eyes widened. Now there was a title he knew. He had been raised in a small village in Bruma and had grown up with the story of the Hero of Kvatch. He looked again at the Daedric Prince, who was giving Quaranir a rather nasty look, as if wondering if he would look better as a lump of mammoth cheese.

'Argh,' he spat, 'what of it? I was once called Marcus Pullo, Knight Brother of the Blades and Hero of Kvatch, but not anymore. I once fought against Dagon with Martin Septim, but that is in the past. I became Champion of the Shivering Isles, defeated Jyggalag and this is the now!' Despite his words, the Daedric Prince seemed to be getting more lucid with each word, true anger showing from behind his golden eyes. But then that anger seemed to fade.

'Oh, Martin,' he breathed, seeming now morose, 'now there would have been a worthy emperor.' He looked over at Uhther, 'you remind me of him a little bit, but then that's not surprising.' Uhther had no idea what that was supposed to mean and Sheogorath did not appear about to explain himself. His eyes had begun to spin more rapidly. He spat again. 'The blood of a god, indeed,' he muttered darkly.

'But you were there,' Quaranir prompted, not one to be deterred, 'when the White Gold Tower was deactivated, you were there.'

Sheogorath turned his golden gaze back to the Psijic. Whatever lucidity had come over the Daedric Prince had passed and the usual manic grin once again split his face. One of his eyes stopped still, fixed on Quaranir while the other continued to revolve.

'Oh yes I was there,' he said, 'when the Amulet of Kings was destroyed, the White Gold Tower shattered beneath the weight of the world. Didn't hear it at the time but I heard it when it happened. The sound echoed across all of Oblivion.'

'But the White Gold Tower didn't fall,' Uhther said, 'it's still there.'

Sheogorath tutted, impatiently.

'Mortals,' he said, 'so unwilling to see what's obvious. The tower's still there, yes, but the Tower is no more. The Amulet of Kings, the Tower's stone, was destroyed creating that ridiculous avatar of Akatosh to defeat Dagon. Without the stone, there can be no Tower. And Akatosh hasn't seen fit to create a new one yet so the White Gold Tower cannot yet be remade.' Sheogorath sighed and crossed his legs, sitting in mid-air, 'your world hangs by a thread now. Should the Snow Throat Tower fall, well…' he hissed in a breath through his teeth, 'that would be a very bad thing.'

That came as a surprise.

'You don't want the world to be unmade?' Uhther asked, 'to fade back into Aetherius?'

A dark look crossed Sheogorath's face.

'You ever seen Aetherius?' he demanded, hotly, 'I mean, I haven't. But I remember it! It's the most boring thing ever, a realm of spiritual peace and tranquillity. BORING!' he bellowed so loudly Uhther was afraid those waiting outside would come running. 'I ask you, how do you take a realm of total chaos and make it so boring? It boggles the mind. And there's no mortals there. What would I do with my time if I had none of you to play with? I'd go completely mad!' Then he started laughing heartily.

Uhther and Gregor exchanged a look. Quaranir looked satisfied.

'No,' Sheogorath said suddenly, making them all jump, 'Mundus must stand, the Towers must stand. There can be no madness in a realm with no law or mortality. And if there's no madness, there's no me and there has to be a me! So, you have to go put a stop to this plan to make everything boring. I hereby name you,' he pointed at Uhther, 'my champion, the Champion of Keeping Things Interesting!' He hesitated, 'I'll think of something better later. Here.' He stretched out a hand and the Wabbajack was pulled from Uhther's hand. It hit the hand of Sheogorath where it vanished with a pop and the sound of a chicken squawking. Then Sheogorath held out his other hand from which dangled a strange looking amulet. It looked like a single golden eye.

'What is this?' Uhther asked, taking the amulet.

Sheogorath seemed to think about his answer for some time.

'Not sure,' he said, finally, 'I'll let you know when I figure it out.'

Deciding it would be wiser not to ask any further questions, Uhther tucked the amulet into one of his belt pouches.

'Now I must ask that you leave,' Sheogorath said, 'I'm in the middle of an experiment. I want to see if nagging suspicion can lead to true madness.'

Suddenly the odd behaviour of Whiterun's citizens made a little more sense.

'You're trying to move the entire city to madness?' Uhther exclaimed.

Sheogorath scoffed. 'You say that like I've not done it before. But don't fret, I doubt it'll come to that. My power is centred on old Balgruuf here,' he bent down and ruffled the jarl's greying hair as Uhther would a favourite dog, 'and he's not long for his world. His mind weakens, which is how I got in, of course.'

Uhther gritted his teeth. He was thane of Whiterun, surely that meant he should do something. But what could he do?

Sheogorath was looking at him, a knowing expression on his face.

'You could kill him,' he said, matter-of-factly, 'put him out of his misery.'

Uhther had to resist the urge to spit a curse and instead forced himself to smile.

'If I did that,' he said, 'you could claim his soul.'

Sheogorath laughed again.

'So, you're not as stupid as you look,' he said, 'well that gives me some hope at least.'

Then there was another pop and the Prince of Madness was gone.

'Let's go,' Uhther said. Without a word, Gregor snapped to attention and followed him out of the room with Quaranir taking up the rear. Uhther looked back at the bed. Balgruuf still lay there, unmoving but he knew Sheogorath was back in his mind, using his art to drive the jarl to madness.

Though he had quite enough to deal with already, Uhther knew that if he could find a way to drive Sheogorath out then he would, no matter who the Daedric Prince had once been. Because if any Nord had ever deserved his seat in Sovngarde, it was Balgruuf the Greater.