The Gates of Madness

Martin and Esbern traveled through the night, reaching Bravil before daybreak. Martin made the unassisted decision to walk along the shore of Niben Bay, looking for any sign of Amelie himself. Esbern followed, keeping a careful eye out.

There was nothing out there. The rising sun illuminated nothing but water in the bay, the flat surface of the water betraying nothing.

"I don't know about this, Martin," Esbern said doubtfully. "Even if the map was accurate, it's been 200 years. Whatever we're looking for might have been destroyed, or flooded out, or gods know what."

"There must be something," Martin insisted.

Esbern frowned at him. "As the Archmage I'm sure she could have done some serious damage to a place if she wanted to. The Thalmor might have gotten to it if she didn't."

"You are wrong," Martin said absently, scanning the waters again. "There must be something out here."

A faint blue light caught Martin's eye, from beneath the still waters of the bay. It was difficult to see very far out, but it looked like something... very magical. Something special, unique, and that did not belong in Niben Bay.

"What are you doing?" Esbern asked.

Martin was staring into the water, his face an inch from the water's surface.

"It must be down there."

"It? It what?"

Taking a deep breath, Martin plunged his head into the water, trying to get a better look.

On an island in the middle of the bottom of the bay stood a strange door, a mysterious looking, otherworldly portal. A distinct blue light shone from the portal, reflecting in odd patterns around the misshapen bay. What appeared to be three conjoined stone heads framed the portal, overgrown with algae and seaweeds, each displaying drastically different expressions, joined at the eyes. The foliage was unlike anything Martin had ever seen in Cyrodiil's waters.

Martin came back up, soaking wet but with renewed determination.

"And what was that supposed to accomplish?" Esbern asked, looking all the time as though he thought Martin was becoming more and more insane by the minute.

"That must be it. Down there, on the bottom of the bay, there is an island with a door. A portal of some sort."

Esbern stared at him. "I'll find a boat."

They rowed towards the center of the bay, wondering what could possibly be there. As they approached the center of the bay, her final destination in Cyrodiil became clear. The image of the submerged island became clearer as they got closer.

"We're really going in there?" Esbern asked. "We have no idea where it goes."

"And we never will unless we do," Martin said. "If there is the remotest possibility that she is there..." He shook his head. "I must see for myself."

"I suppose it's possible," Esbern said. "She had to have done all that wild research in her notes somewhere, and it sure wasn't in Cyrodiil."

Balancing carefully, Martin stood up, taking another deep breath. He dove into the water, Esbern right behind him.

They swam deeper and deeper, the door getting closer, the light shining brighter. As Martin approached it, he thought he heard voices, laughter or screaming. Or both? A strange, turbulent presence was on the other side. With a nervous glance towards Esbern, he passed through it.

"UNWORTHY. UNWORTHY, UNWORTHY!"

The ominous ticking of a metronome greeted them on the other side. The room was dark, but clearly occupied. A man sat at a desk, reading, as the water of the bay mysteriously cut out. Martin and Esbern came crashing to the floor, soaked to the bone.

"Hm? Oh. Visitors."

Shockingly, Martin recognized the man in the room as the elderly Breton man Amelie had summoned the day he had died. The man closed his book, and stood up to greet them.

"Yes? How can I be of service?" he asked.

"You... I know you," Martin said, clambering to his feet.

"Ah, yes. Jean?" the man asked loftily. "We were all under the impression that you had died. Where have you been?"

"I... no, I am Martin Septim," Martin explained.

"As I understand, Martin is also dead," the stranger pointed out.

"That's what I told him," Esbern said, wringing out his clothes.

"My name is Haskill. What can I do for you?" Haskill magicked up two flasks of something warm, offering them to Martin and Esbern. They looked suspiciously at the steaming brown liquid inside.

"No thank you," Esbern said cautiously.

"For goodness sake, I will not have you in the Isles with chills or the shakes. For all I know, you could have rockjoint or something equally horrendous," Haskill snapped, forcing the drinks on them. "Now, will you tell me what you're after or shall I simply kick you both back out?"

"We are looking for Amelie Rose," Martin said, sipping the liquid. It was a pleasantly warm and calming tea, if a little bitter.

"I know her well," Haskill said.

"Is she here?"

"Not in this exact spot, no," Haskill said, sarcastically deadpan as ever. "She arrived back in the realm quite a long time ago."

"But she is around?" Esbern asked incredulously. "She's alive?"

"Of course she is," Haskill said, almost indignant enough to not sound perpetually bored. "We take very good care of her."

Martin ran a hand through his hair, questions spinning around his head that he didn't have the chance to ask.

"Can we see her?" Esbern asked.

"If you can reach her," Haskill said. "I do not believe that she knows you are here. Doubtless, she would have told me if she expected you. Although lately, it has been hard to tell with her."

"Where can we find her?" Martin asked desperately.

"You should first seek to pass the Gates of Madness, due east of here," Haskill said. "Get through Passwall and you will have no trouble finding it. If you can get past that nasty Gatekeeper, I will tell you more."

"Gatekeeper?" Martin asked, envisioning a bridge troll or more daedra.

"A truly vile creation of my lady's," Haskill said. "A sorceress created it after my lady slew the first. As I understand, it has quite the temper and rather dislikes strangers."

"Impossible," Martin said. "Amelie would never create such an evil thing."

Haskill sighed. "I agree. She is a terrible madgod, but a wonderful peacekeeper. Will the wonders never cease in her rule?"

"Madgod?" Esbern asked, alarms clearly raised in his mind.

"I advise you not to keep my lady waiting," Haskill said, vanishing.

A moment later, the darkness of the room evaporated, butterflies of every shape, size, and color flying away where walls had once been. As the butterflies dispersed, the room gave way to a cobblestone pathway, surrounded by strange plants and odd animals.

Esbern looked down the path. "East, then?"

The two of them headed down the path, searching for any sign of civilization. After a while, they encountered what appeared to be the remains of a city, overrun by crystalline structures.

"Where do you think we are?" Esbern asked.

"If I had to take a guess, I would say we have stumbled into the madhouse of Sheogorath," Martin said reflectively as they started down the path again.

Esbern tutted judgmentally, shaking his head. "I think it's interesting that Amelie should be here, but at the same time I'm not surprised," Esbern said.

"Amelie was vehemently against daedra worship," Martin informed him. "I see no reason for her to be here at all."

"Think about it," Esbern said. "If what I know is right, she lost everything. Her husband, her son, her family, you. Back then, another Master-Wizard could have ascended to Archmage and taken care of the Mages Guild and the Council of Mages, and the High Chancellor would handle the Empire in your absence. With Anna and Jean gone, then what's left?"

Martin frowned, guilty. Was that the sort of life Amelie had led?

"That must be the Gatekeeper."

They mounted a set of marble steps to find a bust of Sheogorath, two doors, and a frightening creature easily four times their size. It had a sword for a hand, and an angry expression on a head the size of Martin's torso.

"I don't like this," Esbern said, crouching on the stairs as he looked at the creature. "I DO NOT like this. There is no way this ends well."

"Lately, nothing has ended well," Martin pointed out.