Chapter Thirteen: "I'm Doing the Fishstick." (Part Two)

Borgakh

"What in Mundus made you agree with that madman?" I hiss as we walk down the first of the paths leading out of the clearing. "Why did you accept his staff?"

"What else was I supposed to do?" Brand asks. "It didn't look to me like we had much choice."

My hastily rehearsed barrage of complaints crumbles into a mumble. After all, Brand is right. What else are we supposed to do? It is not like we can fight the Prince of Madness on his home ground without any of our equipment or weapons. Besides, fighting Daedra is something I like to avoid on a good day. And Brand really is not at fault for this one. We were only trying to help a crazy guy in the middle of Solitude. I sigh. "I just don't like playing into daedric schemes, that's all."

"Hey, me neither, but maybe this won't be so bad. After all, we just have to cure Pelagius of his madness, right?"

"Pelagius the Mad, Brand. There is a reason he got that name."

"Yeah, well, with a woman like Potema in his family tree, who wouldn't be mad?"

"Oh, very good guess, Dragonborn!" Sheogorath's voice bounces down the path around us. Brand and I look around, but the old man is nowhere to be seen. It figures that he can talk to us without being physically present. I put my hands on my hips and glare at the sky. If we can hear Sheogorath, I am sure he can see us.

His voice continues blithely. "Even Pelagius' own mother was a terror all in her own right, wielding fear like a cleaver! Or did she wield a cleaver and make people afraid? I never can get that part right." He giggles.

Brand and I approach a set of stone stairs that lead up to the top of what looks like a castle wall. I hear fighting on the other side. We come out on top of the wall, in a seating area overlooking an arena. Two atronachs fight below us. Across the arena is a throne flanked by two smaller chairs. A man sits in the throne and the chairs are occupied by muscular types who appear to be bodyguards.

"What do we have here?" Brand asks softly. He holds the Wabbajack in his right hand, but he doesn't look at all sure what to do with it.

I leave it to him. After all, I am not as familiar with magic as he is. I will sling a spell or two in combat, but I limit myself to rudimentary Destruction magic. Brand, while no mage, is more attuned to magic than I am and can work basic spells from most of the schools.

Plus, he is the Dragonborn. I figure if either of us can make the stupid staff work, it is him.

"Looks like a fight to me," I say.

Brand gives me a dead-pan look.

"She's absolutely right, you know!" Sheogorath's voice rings out again. "It is indeed a fight! You see, the one thing Pelagius' mother taught him was that danger could come from anywhere. At any time. From anyone. Including her fear and cleaver-wielding self! Oh, Pelagius was paranoid alright! Your objective here is simple. All you've got to do is beat your opponent. Teach Pelagius that danger doesn't always have to be feared. Or maybe it does."

"Beat him? How?" Brand looks around. There's no way to get across the arena to our opponent without dropping directly into the pit with the fighting atronachs.

"That's your prerogative, Dragonborn." Sheogorath laughs. "But don't forget, I did give you a tool."

Brand looks down at the staff in his hand. "Ok, so which one of these atronachs is ours, do you think?"

"No idea," I say. One of the atronachs is a frost atronach, and the other is a storm atronach, but there's no identifying mark on either one. And there's nothing hanging in the arena to indicate which one might belong to who.

Brand looks down into the arena. Then he looks across the way. Our opponent is far enough away that it is hard to read his expression, but he looks angry. He does not watch the fight below but instead stares straight across the arena at us.

"Ok, let's see what this thing does," Brand mutters. He raises the Wabbajack and the tip glows red and sparks, like tiny tongues of lightning are dancing around the edge. He aims it at one of the atronachs and lets the lightning bolt fly. It hits the storm atronach in a burst of red fire and smoke. When the smoke clears, the storm atronach is now a fire atronach.

"Hey, fire beats frost!" Brand looks over at me with a grin.

"Uh, Brand, you might want to rethink that…" I point. The frost atronach changes too, although nothing seems to have triggered it, and morphs into a storm atronach.

"Well, damn." Brand looks down at the staff. "Everything. Anything. Nothing at all." He mutters thoughtfully.

I watch the man across the way. "Sheogorath said we have to defeat our opponent, right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"The atronachs are not our opponents, are they?"

"I guess not."

"What if they are just a distraction?"

Brand's eyes light up. "Oh, you mean, like this?" He points the Wabbajack at the man across the arena and shoots. But the red fire and smoke dissipate around the man as if they are no more harmless than a raindrop. He does not even flinch, just keeps staring at us. Brand looks more than a little put out. "Well that didn't work, either."

Something that Sheogorath said earlier bugs me. Danger can come from anywhere. At any time. From anyone.

From anyone.

If I were trying to take down the Dragonborn, I would do it with someone close to him. With me. I am the last person Brand would expect to attack him. Because I always watch his back. I look across the arena. Our opponent has two bodyguards.

Bodyguards who are supposed to protect him.

The last people he would expect to attack him.

"Brand, hit the bodyguards."

"Huh?"

"Hit the bodyguards. Not our opponent. Danger can come from anywhere."

"Ohhh." Brand grins. "From anyone!" The Wabbajack glows again and Brand points it at the bodyguard on the right.

I think I see a moment of fear on our opponent's face before the red lightning strikes his bodyguard. The bodyguard instantly turns into a wolf, who lunges straight for our opponent. The second bodyguard morphs a second later and the man on the throne goes down in a pile of fur and blood, his frightened shriek ringing out over the arena.

"Good work!" Sheogorath says. "Perhaps you are more mad than I gave you credit for, Orc."

"My name is Borgakh!"

"I know. Now, on to your next challenge! I wonder which one you'll choose, hmm? And if you'll survive?" His laugh follows us back into the clearing and down the next path.


The second path leads straight through the woods. No stone stairs or arena, just stone arches over a foggy dirt road.

"Ah, now this is a rather sad path, if I do say so myself," Sheogorath begins.

"You know, I'm almost starting to get used to his running monologue." Brand sticks a finger in one ear and twists it around as if trying to clean it out.

"It's not a monologue, you simpleton!" Sheogorath sounds put out. "It's a conversation. I can hear everything you say, you know."

"We know," I mutter.

I can almost feel Sheogorath roll his eyes. "The both of you are more trouble than you're worth, you know that? I'm almost tempted to renege on my offer."

Brand looks like he's about to argue with that, but Sheogorath interrupts him. "I won't, of course. I am a daedra of my word, after all. More than can be said for you mortals. We immortals might twist words, but we always keep our promises. Just ask Clavicus Vile."

Brand and I give each other a look, but we do not answer. We keep walking down the path.

"Now, where was I?" Sheogorath mutters. "Oh, yes! The sad path. You see, I'm sure you noticed at dinner, but Pelagius likes to beat himself up. He's got a very fragile ego. Like a butterfly's wings. Or a sweetroll in the hands of a small child! And unfortunately for you, Pelagius is always attacking his own fragile ego. You have to find a way to balance his self-loathing with his self-confidence!"

We come out into a bare clearing. Two men grapple in the middle. One of them is a giant of a man, almost twice my size and the other is a dwarf by comparison, being only about half Brand's size.

The large man is clearly winning the fight as the smaller one scrambles around the clearing to get out of the way of the giant's blows.

"Hey, now, that's not fair!" Brand runs forward as if to intervene.

"Of course it's not fair!" Sheogorath interrupts. "You see, Pelagius harbors a large amount of anger in his mind, which does nothing at all for his measly confidence. Pelagius is always his own underdog. But I'm sure you can identify with that, Dragonborn!"

Brand grits his teeth. "We'll just see about that!" With a shout, he jumps into the fight, swinging the Wabbajack like a club at the knees of the big guy.

"Brand!" I shout.

Without breaking stride, the large man swings a fist at Brand. Brand tries to roll, but he is already committed to his swing and he cannot change direction that fast. The big man's fist catches him in the stomach and throws him up and back. With a surprised shout, Brand tumbles across the clearing and hits the dirt hard, knocking the breath out of him. He loses his grip on the Wabbajack and it goes spinning across the ground to land a few feet away. He groans, but he doesn't try to get up.

"Now what did I tell you about using the Wabbajack?" Sheogorath laughs.

I ignore him and run over to Brand.

Brand waves a hand weakly at me.

"Are you alright?" I ask when he finally looks like he can breathe again.

"Yeah…" he winces. His words come slow, careful. "Fine. By the Eight...that man hits like-"

"A giant?" I interrupt wryly.

Brand nods.

The two fighters ignore us, focused only on each other. I help Brand sit up. He keeps one arm pressed to his abdomen. I make a mental note to check that out when we are out of here. Brand tilts his head back and closes his eyes for a minute. "You take this one, Borgakh."

"Are you sure you are alright?"

He opens his eyes and looks over at me. "I'm sure. I just need a minute...to catch my breath."

I frown at him, but I retrieve the Wabbajack. "Alright, how do I use this blasted thing?"

"Point and shoot." He grins.

"I couldn't have said it better myself." Sheogorath sounds amused.

I stand up and walk back over to the fight, watching for a moment. Now that I pay attention, I realize that the little fellow looks like Pelagius. The larger fellow looks like an Imperial soldier.

Balance the two.

Brand's instinct was to hit the big man, the threat, the aggressor. Which, ordinarily, is fine, but tends to trigger more aggression. I don't want the aggressor to get more aggressive. I want the little guy to realize he can fight back and quit running. So...I raise the Wabbajack. Without any conscious effort on my part, lightning wreathes the tip. I toss it at tiny Pelagius. The lightning flickers over him and he grows a little bigger. Now he's about Brand's size. But still too small to fight his anger properly. I hit Pelagius again. He grows to the size that we saw him at dinner.

Anger is still bigger.

I hit Pelagius a third time. He doesn't grow anymore.

Anger comes bearing down on Pelagius again and takes a swing that connects. Pelagius grunts and shrinks down a size.

I hit him with another blast from the Wabbajack and grow him back to normal size. But he still won't fight back.

"Having a little trouble there?" Sheogorath asks. He sounds like he's enjoying it.

"Shut up," I mutter as Anger chases Pelagius around.

"Borgakh, hit the big guy. You've got to bring him down a notch," Brand says from behind me.

I raise the Wabbajack and summon the lightning and ping Anger right between the eyes. He shrinks suddenly, looking surprised and stunned. Pelagius is now the same size as his anger and he brings his fists up, but they're shaky, his stance all wrong for a real fight.

"Hit him again!" Brand says.

I look back at him. He's standing up now, grinning, but not quite standing straight.

I hit Anger with one more blast of red lightning. He shrinks down to being a dwarf. He rushes at Pelagius, screaming in a strangely diminished voice, swinging his fists and raging, but Pelagius just laughs at him and walks away. Anger stomps his foot, but he looks more like a pouting toddler than a real threat now.

"Well done!" Sheogorath laughs. "You've taught Pelagius to love himself again. Or, at least not to hate himself so much. Can't say you did anything to repair his relationship with the rest of humanity, but you amused me, at least, so, I say again, well done!"

Brand walks up and sighs. "It could hurt a little less, old man."

"I never promised it would be easy." Sheogorath sounds like he's grinning maniacally.

We head back and go down the last path.


Brand's walking a little stiffly, but he swears he's fine as we exit the third path into a clearing that contains a bed. There's a man lying on it, who looks like Pelagius, even though Pelagius has been sitting at the table with Sheogorath every time we've walked back to the feast. Are these perhaps the different versions of Pelagius? Younger versions? Older versions? Does the inside of someone's head really look like this?

"Ah, the path of dreams." Sheogorath's voice is right on time. "Pelagius has, since a very young age, suffered from night terrors. Of a very persistent sort. They aren't all that hard to fight, but you'll find them very...tenacious."

I don't like the way Sherogorath sounds like he's licking his chops at those last words.

"All you have to do is get Pelagius to wake up."

"That's it?" Brand looks down at Pelagius on the bed.

Sheogorath doesn't answer.

"This seems suspiciously easy," Brand says.

I shrug, but I agree.

Brand reaches out and shakes Pelagius' shoulder. There's no response from the sleeping man. Brand looks back at me and raises the Wabbajack uncertainly.

"It is worth a shot," I say.

Somewhat half-heartedly, he points the Wabbajack at the sleeping Pelagius and shoots him with a blast of lightning. There's a sudden flash and loud noise from the side of a clearing and a wolf comes charging out of the shadows at us, fangs glistening. On the bed, Pelagius turns restlessly, but doesn't wake up.

Brand dodges the animal and it lunges for me. I meet it head on with a fist to the snout. The wolf yelps, but doesn't seem much deterred and jumps again. Brand hits it with a bolt mid-jump and I find myself entangled with a very startled goat. I push the animal off and the goat wanders over to crop some grass at the edge of the clearing.

But Pelagius still isn't awake.

"Again?" I ask.

"Again." Brand sighs.

In the end, we go through a bandit, hagraven, flame atronach, and dragon priest, and end up with a boy who looks like a young Pelagius, a woman in tavern clothes, a campfire, and a treasure chest (that doesn't open, despite Brand's best efforts). After the last enemy is turned into something harmless, Pelagius simply opens his eyes and sits up, getting out of bed as if Brand and I aren't even there.

"Well, I guess that's got his dream problem solved," Brand says.

"Well done, Dragonborn!" Sheogorath's voice follows us down the path. "You're that much closer to getting home, just come back to the clearing so we can clear a few matters up!"


When we walk back into the clearing Pelagius is not at the table with Sheogorath anymore. Instead, another man stands on the other side of the table. A suspiciously familiar man who handed Brand a hip bone this morning.

"Master! Does this mean you've taken me back?" he cheers. "Can we go home now?"

Sheogorath sighs like he is a parent dealing with a particularly errant toddler.

"Yes, Dervenin. We can go home now. Say thank you to the nice man and his orc."

Dervenin turns to us as we walk into the clearing. His face lights up when he recognizes us. "Oh, I knew you could do it, Dragonborn! Thank you, thank you! This is the happiest day of-"

Sheogorath snaps his fingers and Dervenin disappears in a puff of smoke. "That's quite enough of that." He leans against one arm on his throne-like chair, looking bored. "They can be quite amusing, madmen," he says to us. "But every once in a while I'd like a little company that borders on something like sane, you know?"

Neither of us answer. I think because we're not quite sure how to answer that.

Then Sheogorath grins and any traces of his melancholy disappear as that now-familiar light of madness sparks his golden eyes. "But now I'm off to the shivering isles. Got to keep an eye on Haskill after all. The trouble he can get up to when not supervised." Sheogorath rolls his eyes like he's sharing a private joke with us. "But! You can take solace in knowing that you both single - or is that double? - handedly cured Pelagius the Mad of his madness. And turned him into a boringly sane old king, you know that? Now, I'm off."

Sheogorath stands up.

"Wait, just a minute -" Brand begins.

"Oh, right, I'm guessing you'll be wanting some kind of reward for helping me, right? You creatures of Mundus, always so selfish. Right, well, keep the Wabbajack! As a symbol of my magnanimous, oh, who am I fooling?" Sheogorath grins. "Just keep it. And use it fondly in remembrance of me, won't you? You might find it's effects come in handy one day. After all, you can't live in too sane of a world. Otherwise, you might go mad!"

Sheogorath waves cherrily. "Look me up next time you come my way, Dragonborn. And yes, even you, Orc. We can share a strawberry tart!"

Sheogorath disappears before Brand or I can interject with anything else. The world grows suddenly misty around us. I feel that same feeling I felt in the Pelagius wing - the feeling of being suddenly whisked off my feet and flung a very great distance.

The world grows dark.


We wake up in the Pelagius wing, lying on the floor in the same place we left, back in our normal clothes and equipment. The only difference is that Brand is now holding onto the Wabbajack and the hip bone is nowhere to be found.

Brand sits up, rubbing his head as if trying to dispel a lingering headache. "Well, I guess that's how the hip bone works. Remind me never to accept bones from strangers again."

I chuckle. "Noted."

Then I remember the hit Brand took. "Your ribs, are they alright?" I ask him.

"Huh?" He absently runs a hand across his torso. "Oh, yeah. I guess they are. I can't feel anything. Probably just an effect of Sheogorath's world."

"Are you sure?" I needle him.

"Yeah."

"Brand -"

"Oh, come on, Borgakh." He stands up and shrugs out of his cuirass. "Don't believe me? Here's proof -" he lifts his shirt up, showing me perfectly smooth, unbroken, unbruised skin across his well-muscled abdomen. I stare perhaps a moment longer than necessary.

He gives me a wicked grin. "Do you need to touch it to make sure?"

I realize that I have one hand half-lifted toward him. My cheeks feel suddenly hot and I am glad that orcs aren't really given to blushing with our green hue. "No," I deny.

He drops his shirt and puts his cuirass back on, though he wears it loose like a vest, and doesn't lace the armor up properly. He laughs and gives me a hand.

I let him pull me to my feet.

"C'mon then, let's see what else is in this dusty old wing, yeah? Might as well see if we can make this journey worth it."

"Just so long as we do not run into any vases," I say, mock severity in my tone.

Brand rolls his eyes, but I think I see a grin as he turns to head further into the Pelagius wing.