Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Oblivion or any characters, plots or other elements there within, and I gain no monetary profit from the writing of this story. I do claim responsibility for Elowyn Demark and one or two random characters scattered throughout the story.


Chapter 54

There was a disorienting jolt, a sudden fuzziness over his eyes, and then he was standing on solid ground once more. Shaking his head, Thedret gazed around the world on the other side of the mysterious doorway, half expecting to be greeted with all manner of monstrosity or oddity. Instead, the Asylums looked rather unimpressively similar to Cyrodiil. And it was raining – a cold, constant drizzle that made him shiver and give thanks that he had worn his thickest cloak.

Thedret glanced back at the swirling portal behind him, as if to reassure himself that there was indeed an exit, then pulled his cowl lower to block out the rain and started down the hill. Before he had taken more than a half dozen steps, the air before him swirled and a man materialized out of the mist. The knight stopped, his hand cautiously wrapped around the hilt of his mace, but the new arrival made no threatening moves and only regarded him with something between disinterest and disdain.

He was a Breton by the looks of him, though there was something off about him that made Thedret wonder if he was something completely other than what he appeared. He sternly reminded himself that this was the realm of a Daedric Prince and such things should not surprise him. The thin man wore strange but expensive clothing, a perfectly tailored jacket and polished shoes, but nothing to shield him from the interminable rain. This was probably due to the fact that the droplets never touched him, but just seemed to disappear if they came too close, leaving the Breton as dry as if he were indoors.

"It is about time you arrived," the man drawled curtly, giving Thedret's muddy and rain-soaked attire a disgusted perusal. "I was certain half the Isles would have washed away by the time you gave chase."

Cautiously, Thedret answered, "You've…been expecting me?"

"Certainly," the Breton replied. "Do you usually find yourself greeted thus when you are not expected?"

"Well, no, but," Thedret floundered, then scowled at the man. "Elowyn has mentioned me, then?"

With a dry, humorless smile, the man murmured, "You could put it that way, I suppose. My name is Haskill, and I am…"

"Ah, yes," Thedret interrupted as he finally relaxed a notch and let his hand slide away from his weapon, "Elowyn's nanny."

The look on the other man's face was the most bizarre tangle of disgruntled irritation and mild bemusement that Thedret could ever have imagined. "Quite," the thin man sniffed. "I am the Madgod's chamberlain. Welcome to the Shivering Isles."

"A fitting name," Thedret observed, pulling his cloak tighter.

"Yes, well, you can blame yourself for that." Before the knight could ask what Haskill meant, the Breton held out his hand toward him. "Here." A long, wicked-looking knife appeared in the chamberlain's hand, and after a brief hesitation, Thedret took it by the hilt. "You will need that."

The weapon was too short to be called a sword but too long to be called a dagger, the blade spanning the approximate length of Thedret's forearm. The hilt was simple, unadorned steel, but the edge itself was pure white and made of a smooth, lightweight substance that Thedret could not identify.

"What…" Thedret started to ask, but he glanced up to see Haskill had started to fade. "No, wait! What am I supposed to do with this? Where is Elowyn? I must speak with her!"

With an annoyed sigh, the chamberlain rematerialized and leveled a dry stare at him. "I cannot simply hand you all the answers," he snapped. "I suppose you will have to figure it out for yourself." As his body began to fade into the misty rain once more, he added, "The logical conclusion to your first question would be 'stab someone with it,' perhaps?"

"But," Thedret cried into the rain in frustration, "why can't you just take me to Elowyn?"

The air rumbled with a low, unpleasant laugh that made Thedret's skin crawl with gooseflesh. "You are an uninvited guest," Haskill's voice murmured somewhere near his ear, though the man could not be seen. "Even in the Madhouse there are rules. Follow the road, Redguard, and I wish you luck…for all our sakes, perhaps."

Thedret started to argue, but the rain picked up in earnest and he knew the strange Breton was gone. He was left with nothing else to do but swallow his frustration, tuck the strange blade into his belt and carry on along the road as Haskill had suggested.

He passed several buildings along the way, and some alien but oddly beautiful landscapes, but he saw no people or creatures or even movement aside from the driving rain. He supposed the weather was keeping everyone indoors – or at least he hoped that was the case. It made him feel very on edge to be in such a seemingly lifeless setting.

The Redguard was so absorbed on keeping his footing on the rain-slicked stones as they led him in a slow curve upward that he let out an audible gasp of surprise when he rounded the corner at the top of the hill. A magnificent gateway with two massive arches and thick, intricately carved doors barred the path. He took several strides closer then stood gawking at the awe-inspiring structure for a long moment, heedless of the rain dripping onto his face. He did not snap out of his daze until he heard a low growl and noticed two huge eyes watching him from the shadowy recess of one the doors.

Thedret took three quick steps backward, slipped, but maintained his footing as the enormous beast uncurled and rose to full height before his eyes. He quickly freed his mace, but judging by sheer size alone, Thedret sincerely doubted he stood a chance by himself against whatever the monstrosity turned out to be. He almost dropped his weapon in surprise as the creature lumbered out into the light.

"Honey?"

The fleshy beast cocked its mutilated head curiously to one side and studied him. Convinced that it was indeed the same creature Elowyn had summoned some weeks back, Thedret hastily hooked his mace back onto his belt and held his arms out in a show of surrender.

"You might not remember me," he said in a rush, taking one uncertain step closer to the gates and telling himself firmly that this was not a completely insane thing to be doing. "We only met that one time, back in Cyrodiil?" The monster narrowed its eyes and approached Thedret with just as much caution. "I-I was with Elowyn…uh…" he floundered for a moment, fighting back the completely rational fear that hammered through his veins as Honey leaned over him, hunching down to bring his massive head level with the wide-eyed Redguard. He sent a frantic prayer to Julianos, not allowing himself to wonder if the Nine Divines would listen to him while in this place, and stood firm.

"You friend of Mama?" The beast's low, rumbling voice washed over him, and Thedret choked back the need to gag at the putrid stench of its breath.

"Yes, don't you remember? At the Shrine of Sheogorath? She needed you to chase down a troublesome Dark Elf who…"

"Who needed hugs!" the monster suddenly gushed with a wide, terrifying smile. Honey reached out with one thick finger and tapped Thedret's chest twice in what he assumed was a friendly greeting, though it nearly sent him sprawling. "Honey remember you, little man."

Thedret sagged in relief and let out a sigh. "I'm very glad to hear that."

The beast let out a dopey laugh as it straightened up. "And Honey remember you smell funny, too."

Thedret could not help but let a nervous twitter of laughter slip out. "So I've been told."

"Little man should not stand in rain all day," Honey observed wisely. "Honey return to guarding gate now."

"No, no, wait!" Thedret called out as the monster turned away, moving quickly to stand in front of it to keep its attention. "I have to see Elowyn – Mama. Can you help me find her?"

"Mama live on other side of gate," the guardian informed him.

"Okay. How do I get through?"

Honey laughed again. "Silly little man! You no go through gate. You not on list."

"List?" Thedret blinked. "What list?"

The fleshy creature reached up and tapped the side of its head. "List in Honey's head, of course."

Thedret stared up the long distance at the beast for a moment. His first thought was, "This is insane," followed immediately by, "Of course it is, idiot." His mouth worked wordlessly for a moment before he managed, "But…I have to see her, Honey. It's very important."

The Atronach frowned, seeming saddened by Thedret's words. "Honey like you," it told him decisively, "but if little man tries to go through gates, Honey will break you in half."

The guardian lumbered off toward the shelter of the gate arches, leaving behind a scowling, frustrated Thedret. The man rubbed his temples for a moment, wracking his brain for any ideas, before dropping his hands back to his sides and turning resignedly away from the gates. His hand brushed the hilt of the strange weapon Haskill had handed him, and the Redguard paused.

The blade was bleached white, like bone…bone? Why did that spark a familiar chord with him? What was he forgetting? Something about Elowyn…something she had told him…a story, the story about how she ended up in the Shivering Isles. That was it – she had used arrows with bone tips to wear down the gate guardian.

Thedret drew the small sword and stared at it, then half-turned to watch the behemoth casually lounging against the frame of one the gates. If this weapon was what he suspected it was, did Haskill really expect him to attack the gatekeeper with this? The thing was little more than a splinter to the huge beast! And beyond that, was he really going to try to kill something Elowyn obviously held dear? Never mind how disgusting and terrible the beast appeared to him – she cared about it. Thedret had a hard time picturing her being open to anything he had to say if he cut down her pet guardian.

With a small growl of frustration, the knight turned the blade over in his hand a few times, and cast a pleading look toward the unsuspecting Flesh Atronach. "This will not end well…"