I frowned, tensing at the threat, but Sheogorath just waved it off.
"But, perhaps now's not the time," he said ruefully. "You've made it this far. Take this trinket of mine. Perhaps it will serve you well. Or look lovely on your corpse."
He rummaged in his pocket for a moment and pulled out a small amulet. One side was gold and depicted half of a grinning face. The other was silver and the face was snarling. It swung back and forth slightly as he held it out to me by its chain.
"I didn't come here for… gifts," I told him, my frown deepening. "What do you want from me?"
He lowered the pendant slightly as he told me. "I've been waiting for you, or someone like you, or someone other than you for some time. Everyone saw how you took Dagon down a few pegs. Really quite impressive. I'd say he won't try any more schemes for a few millennia, at least. In any case, I need a Champion, and you've got the job. Time to save the Realm! Rescue the damsel! Slay the Beast!" His eyes, bright gold with cat-like slits for pupils, flashed as he added, "Or die trying. Your help is required."
"Forget it," I snapped. "I won't help you."
His eyes narrowed and he asked, "Is that so?"
"Yes. I don't owe you anything."
"Oh, but I think you'll find it's not quite that simple, my dear. You see, I have something in my possession that I think you'll find… most interesting."
"And what would that be?" I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest.
The corner of his mouth curled into a cold sneer. "No, no, no. I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. Leave if you wish, but I would stop in Fellmore on your way out of the Isles if I were you."
I gave the Daedric Prince a glare as I turned away and marched right out of the palace.
I'd intended to leave, to just go back through the town of Passwall and out the portal that would return me to Nirn. But, damn it, what Sheogorath had said twisted itself so tightly around my mind that I couldn't help but wonder what he'd meant. Something I'd find interesting. What in Talos's name did he have hidden away in that town that would interest me?
My curiosity was too much for me to resist in the end. When I reached the road that led to the village he had mentioned, winding through those gnarled and shadowed roots, I took it against my better judgment.
Fellmore was built at the edge of a swamp. It was a tiny village, not much more than a handful of old houses with small gardens beside them. The clearing it was nestled into was surrounded by giant mushrooms that towered over the buildings. Just seeing them gave me an unsettling sense of familiarity. Even though I hadn't seen Vvardenfell in seven years, it was still so much like going back home. The feeling sent shivers down my spine.
That was when I saw it.
It was a small house, with a simple thatched roof and pale plastered walls. The doors and shutters were painted a faded shade of brownish-green. I knew that house. I didn't realize that I'd stopped walking until suddenly I was running toward it. My heart pounded so hard that I vaguely wondered if it would burst. My head spun. How was that even possible? It was a trick. A dream. Anything. It couldn't be real.
Grabbing the worn iron handle, I shoved the front door open. I barely saw the frayed yellow and red rug that sat in the middle of the room or the Nordic, knotted designs on the beams overhead. All I could focus on was the woman by the fire. Long dark brown hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders and down her back. She brushed off her olive-toned hands on her light blue skirt, humming lightly to herself. I slumped heavily against the door, too shocked to even breathe.
She turned quickly at the sound and her gray eyes fixed on mine. That was when I knew that it was no trick. That gaze was too real, too familiar. Never mind that she was no different than she had been the last time I'd seen her, and that had been fifteen years earlier.
But, unlike last time, the corners of her gentle mouth turned up in a quiet sort of smile.
"Hello my dear," she said in her soft, smooth voice, "can I help you?"
"Don't… don't you recognize me?" I asked in a strangled voice.
Her dark brows lowered in confusion. Then she shook her head. I let go of the door and slowly walked toward her. Surely she should still know it was me. Surely she wouldn't forget…
I stopped in front of her. Why was she like this? The last time I'd seen my mother, she'd barely had the will to stand, let alone smile. Something was very, very wrong.
"Ma," I said, "it's me. It's Mara."
There was flicker of something in her eyes, maybe recognition, which quickly vanished. She shook her head again.
"I don't–"
"Mara, your daughter!" I shouted at her as anguished tears stung my cheeks. "The girl who ran away from home when you needed her most! Me! How could you forget me?"
She blinked several times, startled, and the flicker of recognition, yes recognition, returned. That time it stayed, settling into her eyes as a look of horror dawned on her face.
"Mara?" She gasped. "Oh, my baby. My little girl."
I let out a choked sob and stumbled forward a few steps to hug her. Every inch of my body was shaking as I leaned against her. She stroked my hair and I buried my face in her shoulder.
It wasn't long before she pulled away, holding onto my shoulders and looking right into my eyes. A profound and terrible kind of fear was etched into her features and she looked far older in that moment than I'd ever seen her to be before.
"You have to get out of this place," she said in a rush. "It will kill you."
"I can't just leave you here!" I insisted.
"It's too late for me. He has me and he'll never let me go. Please, sweetheart, you have to leave while you still can. Promise me you will."
I shook my head frantically. "Ma, I can't!"
"Promise me, Mara!" She cried.
I gasped and recoiled, shocked at the force of the desperation in her words. Her grip abruptly loosened on my shoulders, her arms falling back to rest by her sides. Her expression faded. She blinked and confusion once again appeared in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, did you need something?" She asked in a level tone.
I staggered backward, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. She was gone again. Just like that.
I turned and ran out of the house, away from the woman who was my mother. My hand still clenched tightly onto the door handle when I slammed it behind me, the cold metal digging into my palm. I couldn't just leave her there. Not again. Not when she clearly still needed me so badly. I leaned my head back against the door and tried to blink away the tears that welled up once more in my eyes. It didn't work. I sank to the ground and clutched my face in my hands.
That was what he'd wanted. That was what he'd had planned all along. He knew I wouldn't be able to just abandon her to her fate, not even to escape the Isles. Damn him. Damn him!
Sheogorath was wearing a thoroughly satisfied smirk when I returned to his palace. He sat on his throne, leaning forward against a black and gold cane as he watched me approach.
"You found the distressing damsel, I see," he said in a smug voice.
I stood before the throne, glaring at him. My hands clenched into fists and I snarled, "Let my mother go."
"That's not how this game works," he said, making an impatient sound. "You give me what I want, and I'll give you want you want. Fair's fair."
When he held out that gods-forsaken pendant again, I hesitated for a moment before snatching it from his grip and putting it around my neck. Just wearing it gave me a sickening feeling, but I managed to resist the urge to rip it off and throw it as far away as I could. Barely.
"How did you even get her?" I asked, my words hissing out through clenched teeth.
"She was already enough in my domain that it was quite easy, actually. You, my dear Fides, were the subject of interest for some time before good old Dagon decided to make his move. What you would do was never quite clear. However, I thought it best to have something of yours to bargain with in case I had need of you. And here we are."
I forced myself to take a deep breath.
"Now, onto business." He stood and started pacing around the throne room as he spoke. "A change is coming. Everything changes. Even Daedric Princes. Especially Daedric Princes. Daedra are the embodiment of change. Change and permanency. I'm no different, except in the ways that I am."
He banged his cane against the floor and I jumped.
"The Greymarch is coming," he said, "and you're going to stop it."
"Well, I can't stop it if I don't know what "it" is," I snapped.
He waved it off. "The details aren't important, at least not right now. Eternity is on a rather right deadline. We'll get back to that later."
"So what now?"
"Now? You run an errand for me. An important one. Of course, anything I tell you to do is important. My realm, my rules." He drummed his fingers against his cane and went on, "You're going to Xedilian, one of my favorite spots in the Isles. It's a little place I use to take care of… unwanted visitors. And some are more unwanted than others. The Gatekeeper takes care of most of the unwanted, but he's dead. We'll have to remedy that soon, as well."
I didn't particularly like the sound of that.
"Anyway, there are those that have other ways into my Realm, and they're on the move. We don't want them here. Trust me. So you're going to get Xedilian up and running. Here's a little book to tell you how, and the Attenuator of Judgment. You'll need that too." He shoved a book and a strange, pronged, metal instrument into my hands. "Of course, you can always get more details from Haskill. He's a detail-oriented type of person. A big help. And a snappy dresser! Now, get going before I change my mind. Or my mind changes me."
