Author's Note: This was my favorite chapter to write, mainly because of Haskill's 'lovely' demeanor. :D
Chapter 3: Stomach Full of Butterflies
Siena strode forward, removing her shaded spectacles as she came. Now she could see brighter, but not clearer. But the important thing was that she could see. She placed the arm of her glasses into the links of the chest of her cuirass, as her wet feet padded on smooth stone. She was still dripping wet. Once she approached the candle, she could see a little better.
It was a stone room, and sported only a stone table with two chairs. One was empty, the other occupied. Occupied by a bald Breton man wearing unusual clothing. It had a red collar-piece and black cloth, flared shoulders and skin tight waist. A medallion of a metal she was uncertain of hung around his neck. She couldn't see the color of his eyes –she could barely see his face minus the nose- but they were squinted anyways. The man moved, placing his fingers together in front of him.
"Please do sit down, and we can carry on. Just set the dagger on the table." He said absently, and Siena absently responded, finally releasing her vice grip on the dagger and dropping it to the table. It landed beside a tome, the Madness of Pelagius. Somehow, Siena felt that tome belonged there. Hesitantly, she sat down. For a moment there was silence, and it was then she could hear ticking.
On her left was a pyramid with a stick attached at the bottom; a metronome. That wrinkled-forehead-and-bearded face was carved into the metronome stone. Unconsciously, she was watching the metronome with her ruby eyes.
"What can I do for you?" The Breton finally asked, sounding almost forced. "I imagine you are here about the door?"
Siena broke her gaze from the metronome with difficulty, and looked at the man for a moment. Then his question registered as her mind caught up with the world. "Um, yes… that strange door I went through." She looked back to see the light blue portal was actually still there, too.
"Yes. You have entered and now you are here. Amazing." The Breton remarked, his fingers still held together in front of him. He had one leg propped on the knee of the other. "Truly."
Siena snapped her head back to the man, narrowing her eyes at him. That had to have been the driest sarcasm she had ever heard in all her life; and she heard plenty of sarcasm. "Who the hell are you, anyways?" She snapped.
The Breton man seemed unaffected by her outburst, as he simply placed one hand on his chest. "I am Haskill, Chamberlain to the Lord Sheogorath."
"Sheogorath?" Siena repeated, gulping.
"Did I stutter?" Haskill inquired, but Siena ignored it. Sheogorath…. One of the Four Corners of the House of Troubles.
"So this is?" Siena asked, motioning at the room.
Haskill nodded curtly. "Yes, you are approaching the Shivering Isles. Through the door behind me lies the realm of Sheogorath, Prince of Madness, Lord of the Never-There."
"Never-There?" Siena repeated, eyes moving back to the bright portal behind her. "Why is that door there? The island just… appeared out of nowhere… why?"
Haskill sighed, as if the answer was obvious. "Because my Lord wills it to be so. It poses no threat to Mundus." Siena's eyes narrowed.
"It destroyed a trade ship." Her words were smoothly cold and curt.
"Ah yes, well, that was an untimely accident." Haskill explained, putting his hands on his crossed knees. "I assure you that otherwise, the Door is harmless; no compact has been violated. It is merely a doorway, an invitation. Perhaps you will accept it for what it is."
An invitation into a realm of one of the Four Corners? "Why am I being invited?"
Haskill didn't skip a beat with his answer; it seemed like the man had an answer for everything. "You? I do not know. My Lord seeks a mortal to act as His Champion."
"Why would He need a mortal for a champion?" Siena interjected, the question coming from her mouth the moment she thought of it. Why would a Daedric Prince need a mortal for anything other than a plaything?
"To attempt to fathom His intent is a foolish endeavor." Haskill replied smoothly. "His will is His own; His reality follows suit. You are here because you chose to enter; you were not summoned."
Siena let out a 'hmph' at this, taking his words with a grain of salt. Maybe she was just crazy, but the voice certainly sounded like it was summoning her, beckoning her in. Beckoning her to find her comrades. Siena nearly leaped forward out of the chair as she hurriedly asked her next question, making Haskill move his head back in retreat.
"The people who came in here! The people out there! What of them?" Siena cried out her question. Haskill was silent, until Siena sat back down.
"They entered this realm, and were ill prepared." He replied as if nothing had happened. "Their minds are now the property of my Lord." His remark was so calm, so unemotional.
"Minds are not property; they cannot be bought or sold." Siena hissed between her teeth. Her eyes flickered briefly to the blurry form of the dagger on the table. She felt a desire within her to bury it in this man's chest. Cut open his rib cage and see just how black that heart truly was. But she held back. He had information. Maybe he knew how to help them, so more of her comrades did not end up like Belmyne.
"But property is not exclusive to product." Haskill replied, his mannerism only furthering Siena's anger.
"How can I cure them?" Siena demanded, her voice rising in pitch. That dagger was looking all the more inviting.
"Cure?" Haskill returned, raising one eyebrow quizzically. "You speak as if they are diseased. They live now in another state of being." Haskill tilted his head to the left just so, furthering that aristocratic stuck-up visage. "Perhaps it is you who needs a cure."
Siena grit her teeth, and held the sides of the chair with white knuckles, staring at the ticking metronome as she tried to garner control. Her ruby eyes followed the stick as it swayed left and right, wondering what that strange letter-like thing on the top was. It looked like a Daedric symbol, but one she was not familiar with. Watching it had an odd affect on her, as each time that metronome seemed to take longer to swing from left to right, and right to left. And each time, she felt her anger wane.
"Perhaps indeed." Haskill remarked with an undertone of disgust as he watched the Dunmeri girl, snapping her back to reality. Embarrassed, she brushed back a strand of her soaked dark-blue hair that had fallen into her face unnoticed. For a moment her mind was blank of all thought, but then she finally came up with something.
"What happens now?" Her voice was softer, a sharp contrast to her anger a moment ago.
Haskill shrugged. "You do as you will. You may leave the way you entered." He motioned towards the portal with his hand. A casual, can't-be-bothered wave. "You're life will be none the worse for your time spent here. Or-" Haskill pointed to the stone door behind him. "-you may continue onward, through the door behind me." He put his hands in his lap. "If you can pass the Gates of Madness, perhaps the Lord Sheogorath will find a use for you."
Siena did not find this pleasuring in the slightest, the idea of becoming some puppet to this Lord of Madness. "And if I go through the door?"
"Who is to say? There are always choices to be made. The Realm of Madness is no different in that regard." Haskill told her. "Your choices are your own. Enter or not, but make your decision." Haskill's voice became irritated, the third emotion she had so far heard from him alongside sarcasm and disgust. "I've other duties to which I must attend. Speak with me again when you made up your mind."
"The anticipation is almost too much to bear." His voice dripped of immense sarcasm, and she could imagine he had rolled his eyes. Sometimes these bad eyes are a pain.
She looked at the dagger on the table as she thought about her decision. Something about that dagger; it felt like a focal point of her goals, the reason she was even making this choice in her mind. Indeed it was. She did not know its origin, but it had once been held by Belmyne, and now it would be held by her.
Things had gone terribly wrong, spiraled out of control. If she had remained above decks, if she hadn't gone down to the dinner, she could have seen it coming, could have warned the crew beforehand. If she hadn't blacked out for twenty-four hours, she could have held them back, resisted and prevented Belmyne and the others from ever entering this hellish Realm of the Outer Worlds. If only…
No, Father always told me to not dwell in the past, but to thrive in the present and decipher the future. I can't fix what happened before, but I have to find a way to recover what was lost. Belmyne may never come back… But I may still be able to save the others.
And give this God a piece of my mind, even if it kills me. Siena looked back up to Haskill, her mouth taunt with determination. Haskill gave her a glance of faked interest. "Well? Have you made up your mind? The tension is almost palpable."
She shrugged off his cynical remark with remarkable ease. "I'll do it."
"Fine." Haskill replied simply, sounding almost… displeased? Maybe her lack of reaction to his taunt had gotten under his skin. Siena's lip curled with delight. She'd managed to best him. "I'm sure my Lord will be most pleased, assuming you ever manage to see Him. You'll want to pass through the Gates of Madness." Haskill rose from his seat, turned stiffly, and walked towards the stone door.
Siena expected him to open it up, but instead he turned to look at her, almost as if he had forgotten something. "Oh, and mind the Gatekeeper. He dislikes strangers to the Realm. Enjoy your stay." That single courteous statement sounded so bland, so insincere, that it failed to serve its welcoming purpose completely. Turning back to the door, Haskill continued to walk, and went right through it.
Almost as if it were never there. Siena caught her breath in surprise, fright gripping her. What was this? He never said-
The walls began to squirm, rippling and moving as if alive, and Siena screamed. Throwing her hands over her head she closed her eyes, but rather than hear something, she heard nothing. Opening them again, she found a swarm of butterflies fluttering around her, their wings a shade of blue not unlike her own skin. She watched them in wonder, before they began to leave, flying off on their own or in groups into the distance.
Leaving nothing but Siena; a stone desk with a book, metronome, and dagger; Haskill's empty seat; the candlestick, and the rug everything stood upon; atop a slab of marble. The walls were gone. The darkness was gone. And a blurry world of washed-out colors greeted her eyes.