Chapter 45: Fond Enemies

Portia awoke with a start, heart pounding and body bathed in sweat, and rubbed the remaining sleep from her eyes. Something was wrong, very wrong, but what? She'd been having difficulty sleeping all night, either waking up at odd intervals with a headache or dreaming of being overwhelmed by frustration, but this, this was reaching her limit. Even when her scar had bled and she'd been chased from her dreams by Mehrunes himself, she'd never found resting this difficult. Every calming thought that she tried to focus on was corrupted and tossed to the wind, and right when the headache would abate, it'd come back in full force. She was certain that the prince was the source of her difficulties this night, but what could have him in such a foul, uncontrollable mood?

Mehrunes, she called, seeking his spirit, but she couldn't reach him. He was oblivious in his current state, and that meant no rest for her. So, with a sigh, she tossed the sheets away from her body and pushed aside the thin curtains encasing her bed. The bedroom was dark and warm, but not uncomfortably so, and she knew her way around well enough, her bare feet padding expertly across black stone toward the door. She was dressed only in a thin black tunic that fell to her knees, the material slinking over her curves and shimmering as if metallic threads were interwoven with the black. Smooth as silk and soft as velvet, she had asked where it'd come from only to be told that there were wardrobes befitting royalty should other princes visit.

You need to calm down, she attempted to tell the prince as she stepped into an empty hallway. Excluding the few braziers that still blazed, Mehrunes' personal wing of the palace was dark and completely bereft of activity so late in the night, for he did not keep guards stationed during such hours. And so, it was in utter silence that Portia moved down the now familiar corridors, the angular stonework of the palace looming over her like nightmares come to life, and her skin seemingly as red as Mehrunes' as she passed by windows like molten lava. She knew exactly where he was, and he likely didn't even notice her approach with the amount of mental and emotional activity surrounding him. Gods knew that she could barely think with him in such a state, damn daedra.

"Goblin's gall, Mehrunes," she hissed, holding a hand to her pounding head as she neared his chambers. Not bothering to knock, she entered his bedroom, sealing the way behind her and turning to regard him with an annoyed expression. He was pacing with a dagger twirling madly between his fingers, his jaw set firmly and two of his hands clenching and unclenching. She felt every ounce of the frustration that plagued him, and while part of her empathized given the intimate connection between their emotions, she was also tired and worn out from sharing his problems.

"Mehrunes," she interrupted him, watching his pacing grind to an abrupt halt as his head swung toward her, black eyes impenetrable as they met hers.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, neither angry nor friendly as the dagger continued to spin. The black sheets of his bed were perfectly made, and a platter of half-eaten food sat on the table amidst his artifacts, making Portia wonder when he had last slept—certainly not tonight. "It's late, Sherkyn, and you're wandering about my palace without a weapon."

"As if anyone would hurt me," Portia stated. "A churl ran into me the other day, and he actually bowed and asked me to pardon his clumsiness. Some of your subjects think that I hold some favor or position here, and some of them even call me Sherkyn. That last bit would be your fault for addressing me as such amidst your Valkynaz." Mehrunes grunted and continued to pace, making the throbbing in Portia's head intensify. "Mehrunes," she sighed, "Neither of us will ever sleep if you keep this up."

"Ask if I care," he taunted her.

"I know that you don't care," Portia asserted, "But I do, and a little calm wouldn't do you any harm either. Whatever the problem is, I'm sure that you'll deal with it much better if you don't pace all night." He ignored her, and Portia's own anger began to mount, mixing with his until her hands were also clenched. He was still pacing, and if he didn't stop... "Damn it, Mehrunes!" Portia wanted to hit something as his thoughts crowded her mind, or maybe he wanted to hit something. Hell, they could hit each other for all she cared at the moment. "If you can't sleep, get out of my head so that I can!"

Bang.

Portia blinked, surprised to see that Mehrunes had rammed his dagger into the nearby tabletop, burying the blade to the hilt and making the table shake violently.

"He got away," Mehrunes hissed, releasing the dagger and using two arms to lean against the table, his back to her. "The heir was within my grasp, and he got away. Now he's on his way to the Imperial City to relight the dragonfires." His pride would not let him say more, but Portia heard the thoughts anyway since his mind was particularly unguarded in his current state. She heard him confess to the ineptitude of his mortal servants, the loyalty and skill of the Blades, and his own doubts concerning his victory. She saw Gates of Oblivion being shutdown, mortal armies killing his troops, and then herself, as he saw her, standing on a bridge in the middle of a storm that seemed not to touch her. She reminded him of something...something troubling.

"If chaos was solely mine to command...No, I am as strong as ever, but she controls that small fraction. Does that have an effect? How can I kill that heir...if she stays, will she grow stronger...where..." Portia tried to shut her mind, overwhelmed by his powerful and unclear reflections, but she might as well have told the night to become day. So she stood and stared at the taut muscles of his tense back, marveling that such a being could sound and look so thwarted and doubtful, for such words seemed ill-suited to the prince that she knew. His drive to win was all too apparent to her, but so too was his currently torn mind, as if he were trying to tackle and solve several problems at once, and compared to that, being annoyed at a lack of sleep seemed fairly trivial.

Perhaps I should just leave him be.

"You must be happy," his steady voice halted her. "Your fetching world might again escape calamity." Bitterness? Portia had never heard bitterness in Mehrunes' voice before, but she heard it now, and suddenly his intentions were laid before her. Victory did not mean conquering Tamriel, but upsetting the tranquility that the Septims had brought in recent years, reminding mortals that they were not as high as they thought, but allowed to live in peace by greater forces. He was sick of mortals mocking the daedric princes and ignoring them, and it angered him that he'd been sealed away where his ever-present ambitions stewed without release. She saw blood run from ramparts, and he scorned the Nine for replacing what had once been largely daedric worship in Tamriel. Then she had stolen his sphere, and with startling clarity, one thought broke through the rest:

"The hunt for you was the best that I've ever tasted."

"Mortals don't ignore the princes," Portia stated, walking closer to Mehrunes' back. "Your names are often whispered with fear and uncertainty, and after this, I very much doubt that the empire will ever underestimate you." She laid a hand on his back, unsure of why she suddenly felt drawn to him again, but acknowledging that every calming breath and touch that she made eased his temper and bleakness, which in turn lessened the tension on her. "Neither of us is getting any sleep, I think," she commented, sounding weary and distant.

You used to be playful and baiting—a real bastard—but still playful; taunting me as if cornering me was all a game. I thought that Tamriel was partly a game too. Don't daedra love to use and play with mortals?

"We use mortals, yes," Mehrunes stated, back loosening as Portia ran a hand over his shoulder blades, "But we also have our own goals...Sherkyn, what are you doing in my chambers?"

"I told you. I couldn't sleep, and I came to tell you to shut up."

"Barging into a prince's room without permission is grounds for execution, but you've also just mouthed off to royalty on top of that, mortal. I dare say that you need to learn a lesson." However, the prince made no move to accost her, and she did not remove her hand from his back. His skin was so damn warm, and for a moment, she remembered what it had been like for that skin to brush against hers. What had ever possessed her to engage him like that? It had felt inevitable and right at the time, but he was a daedra and she a mortal, both vying to win this unspoken contest between them, and both stubborn by nature. Now she was here, and slipping in and out of Mehrunes' mind and presence was as simple as breathing, the feel of his skin beneath hers more than physical as the mood suffusing them mellowed.

"You are mine," Mehrunes stated with a slight purr, turning to ensnare her hips with two of his hands. The third hand remained at his side, and the other stroked her hair, his grip firm enough to warn against running, but gentle enough not to hurt her already tired body. Portia stared at his perfectly chiseled chest and the red designs swirling across it, one of her pointer fingers subconsciously tracing the circular patterns, and her eyes slowing moving up his neck and to the chaos sphere dangling from his ear. Feeling the power within, she physically reached for it while she mentally recoiled, but her hand never reached its target, for Mehrunes suddenly had her on the bed, his body dominating hers as he knelt over her.

"You belong here," the daedric prince muttered as he began kissing her neck, his hands making short work of tearing the tunic that she wore. Portia muttered something incoherent in reply, making Mehrunes chuckle as he extinguished the room's lighting with a single word. Rather than fight, Portia submitted, intrigued by the feeling of four hands handling her body at once, two beneath her and supporting her by lifting her body near the small of her back, one fondling her chest, and another in her hair. Mehrunes smelled of spice, and despite being larger than his human form, there was little difference between this body and Cassius in manner or feel. His body was still muscled but sleek, his skin red but smooth, and his teeth sharper, but the lips covering them exactly as she remembered.

"One day, you'll call me lord without sarcasm," he told her, taking his time in enjoying her body. Portia denied his claim, but he only laughed at her, congratulating her on bettering his mood as no one else could. She wondered how many females he'd used for pleasure before her, but he told her to be quiet, hushing her thoughts with well-planted touches, and Portia lost track of time as she wrapped arms around him. She felt like she was falling into the darkness of this world again, but she didn't mind as much as the first time, and when Mehrunes' had spent his body, he did not kick her out. No, he secured her at his side with one arm, and she was too tired to care that she was sleeping in his embrace once again.

"We're still enemies," she mumbled, pulling the sheets up over herself.

"But what fond enemies we are," Mehrunes responded, smiling into her hair. The bastard would take pleasure in such a twisted situation, and that was Portia's last coherent thought for the night.

*******************

Mehrunes departed early the next morning, having left in a last attempt to prevent Martin from relighting the dragonfires, and leaving Portia sitting in his bed, swathed in sheets and pondering the fate of her realm. Arelius would be there, fighting dremora and attempting to aid the heir, and Tamil would likely be at his side, or maybe she'd be sniping daedra from a distance.

If they're all still alive, she reminded herself, having been brought to Oblivion before knowing the fate of her companions. What had become of Horace, Lucretia, or the cloaked figure that stalked Tamil? Nothing was certain, and much might have changed since she'd been brought to the palace, especially considering that several weeks had passed. Now she was sitting in this bed, praying that Tamriel remained intact and that her friends survived while she awaited news. How odd, to be lounging in Mehrunes' bed while she hoped that he lost. She wasn't even entirely sure what to classify herself as, for did she count as a lover, a prisoner, a turncoat? She quickly dismissed the last one since her allegiance was still with the empire and mortals, and she didn't think that what was happening could be described or reduced to a concept as simple as prisoner.

She finally stood and dressed, using one of Mehrunes' rarely used tunics to fasten herself a makeshift dress tied about the middle with a belt. The outfit almost fell to her bare knees, and pulling her hair back into a loose braid, she braced herself to accept whatever outcome might greet her once she left this room. Of course, once Tamriel's fate had been determined, she could more seriously consider another attempt at releasing the sphere. Doing so might feel like dying, but staying here didn't seem like an option, and she could sense Mehrunes' discontent over the power in her system. She didn't understand it herself, but she had gleaned enough from his mind to know that he coveted controlling every ounce of chaos in this land, and over time, would that desire make him attempt something drastic?

You've damaged yourself enough as it is, Portia. She knew that her consciousness spoke the truth as she considered her fate, but she'd already failed to surrender the sphere twice. She'd originally kept the sphere from Mehrunes in order to thwart his plans, hoping that its absence would hinder his abilities, and maybe it did, for he seemed to think so, but if the dragonfires were relit, there would no longer be a point in retaining the sphere. The prince would again be sealed away, and that meant that she needed to face the full implications of letting go, of admitting that chaos had become a part of her that would only overtake her if she didn't forcefully divorce herself from it.

"He's back," she suddenly stated, head whipping toward the bedroom doors. He was marching into the throne room, where she also began to head, and judging by his stark demeanor, he was hardly victorious. Still, he was not frustrated and enraged like he'd been last night, but perhaps that was because he had somewhat succeeded in his plans, for Portia was sure that the damage he'd dealt was extensive. There was something about his demeanor that was deeply satisfied, and as an image of his larger-than-life form kicking and smashing imperial houses entered her mind, she could imagine why.

"Have all of the gates closed?"

Portia's step hitched as she entered the throne room, and she lingered in the shadows behind a pillar while Mehrunes spoke with several Valkynaz.

"Yes, my lord. They closed with many of our men still in Tamriel, but the kyn will continue to kill and take as many of the enemy with them as possible."

"I would expect nothing less," Mehrunes stated. "Damage?"

"The capitol is in shambles," another dremora said with a slight laugh. "Did you see the humans run in terror? We took many of their best fighters. The kyn will be recounting their tales of bloodshed tonight."

"We must thank you, master Dagon," another said, bowing his head. "Oblivion was growing restless with peace, and those reborn since the last great battles were hankering for a chance to avenge themselves. I've found cause to promote quite a few kyn thanks to these testing grounds." Mehrunes sat on his throne as the dremora continued discussing certain kyn who'd performed well, or the respect that the Hero of Kvatch had gained, for the hero had many dremora convinced that great challenges were to be had in fighting mortals. Mehrunes listened to it all, responding in kind and giving orders, but Portia felt his attention on her as she crept closer, her body remaining inconspicuously on the peripheral.

"You performed well," Mehrunes finally stated. "And your subordinates will be waiting for you below. Go to them, and see that the proper respect and rituals are shown for the fallen."

"And the trophies that we took...?" one dremora asked with a wickedly pleased expression.

"Whatever you like," Mehrunes dismissed. The Valkynaz filed out of the room, still proudly marching in their heavy armor and carrying bloodied weapons. For his part, Mehrunes looked untouched, and he sat upright and unfazed in his seat of power, waiting for Portia to speak.

"So Tamriel and the Septims prevailed," she voiced, striding from the shadows and into the light, stopping only once she stood directly before him. "Are you angry?"

"Yes," Mehrunes answered, leaning back against his throne with a stony face. "But for a few minutes, I stood in Tamriel in my true form—unrestricted by other powers and laws. I can barely remember the last time that I could indulge in such a pleasure, and I felt the Nine quack in the fear that I would undo their world." Here a wicked smile slid up his face, highlighted by the baring of his fanged teeth. "My men are sated, my power known far and wide...there was a recent time when all the days blended together, but you have no idea what that's like since you're a mere mortal. I have eternity to wait for my next opportunity, Portia."

"I thought that you would be furious," Portia mused.

"I was," Mehrunes discounted. "I hate losing."

"I never would have guessed." He laughed, and Portia was struck by how truly elated he was in thinking about the destruction that he had set in motion. "But last night..."

"Last night I was angry with the failure of my subordinates," the prince dismissed. "They failed me and have been punished accordingly. The fetchers almost destroyed my chance to go to Tamriel as I truly am, but I got what I wanted in the end. I always do. I'm sure that those idiots in the Mythic Dawn are denouncing me right now. They are if they're smart."

"That was not your only reason for being angry," Portia inserted, and Mehrunes' mood quickly sobered. His eyes honed onto her intent expression, and she steeled herself to attempt what she must, for backing out now might mean never being free again.

"The woman that I saw standing on the bridge during a storm was freer than she'd ever been," Mehrunes' thoughts undercut her, but she brushed them aside, difficult as it was.

"Mehrunes," she continued. "I know that you want the sphere back. I know that you're keeping me here because you're trying to figure out a way to retake it."

"You think that is the only reason, Sherkyn?" he probingly asked, making her uncomfortable.

"Regardless, you want it back, and I do not take kindly to being considered a possession. If I return the sphere, will you send me home?" Mehrunes' opinion immediately tore in two, one side rejoicing at the thought of plundering the chaos from Portia, and the other side recalling his tireless and methodical tenacity in chasing her down. Portia could catch the gist of his thoughts, but not the details, and so she stood silently awaiting his decision. He wanted the power more than anything.

"And you'll die anyway since you're mortal. Or you will die if..."

"If what?" Portia quickly asked.

"Make the decision now, before..."

"I will agree to this," he slowly stated, completely ignoring her question. "But don't you ever dare think that you've escaped me, Portia Augustine. I will never let that scar heal." He stood and forcefully seized her, pulling her against his chest as a burning sensation began to spread throughout her body. "This will not work unless you release the chaos," he warned. Portia felt her natural resistance against his attempts growing, although she fought it with every ounce of concentration that she could muster. "This is your last chance," Mehrunes baited her. "Before I change my mind."

Just let everything go.

Portia felt her resistance crumbling, painful as the result was. The world was becoming an empty void, bereft of the energy of creation and life that had come to suffuse her; bereft of Mehrunes' presence, which left her conspicuously alone. Already, she was losing her sense of him, but right when she almost returned to the defensive, she screamed and began urging the chaos out of her body. Blood was falling, and she wanted to die, but she did not. She felt the world being blasted into a million pieces, and she stood amidst the rubble, unable to join it.

"I haven't escaped, Mehrunes," she whispered into the nothingness. "But I never lost either."

"We'll call it even then," his mocking voice responded, the words barely reaching her as she felt her back hit cold stone. Then he was gone, and she couldn't even open her eyes for the pain piercing every inch of her body. There were voices in these dead surroundings, frantic voices that were calling for help, but she merely willed herself to forget everything for a few moments lest her recent experience overwhelm her.

"We've got another survivor over here!"

"Bring a stretcher."

"By the Nine, Portia? Quick. Get me a potion. She's very weak."

"Where should we take her, sir?"

"To my house. Lucretia will know what to do." Portia was carried away, but she didn't care about the destination. She couldn't bring herself to care about anything at the moment, reaching as she was for a spirit and energy that was no longer present. It was gone. Gods help her, but the chaos and Oblivion were really gone.


I know that some people are probably distressed by this turn of events, but you'll just have to wait and see what happens...