But to cut in between, there is not one story occurring at the given time but rather several that led to an inevitable convergence in time that will all inevitably twist and shrink into a pile of mush. We shall now rewind to the day Irina and Sheogorath made their contract and take a look into the simple lives of the Prince, Duke, and Duchess of the Shivering Isles.

The Duke of Mania and Duchess of Dementia, Samael, and Verona, respectively, were, in all actuality, the 'true' rulers of the Isles. It was they who made laws, and it was they who compromised with those who disputed said laws. Whenever their Lord was out and about on vacation, which had to be approximately eight out of the twelve months that make up a year, the responsibilities of the kingdom fell upon them.

So at that point in time, Verona walked with great strides across the throne room over to her brother's section of the castle, Haskill at the toe of her long skirt. Talks of "good for nothing, sweet-talking bitch," spewed out of her mouth quicker than a cat on skooma. Haskill walked silently, but not without his own grievances swirling around in his mind. They all lead to quick glances at the small hourglass watch in his hand.

She yanked open the grand door that led to the Maina part of the castle and followed the sound of tunes to the painter's room, which held not a single painter, but a lethargic man who strummed at his cracked lyre with closed eyes on a small stump. Butterflies of all colors and shapes danced around him in rhythm.

Verona rushed up to him and happily smacked his eyes open with the bundle of paper she had in hand.

The man stumbled and rubbed his cheek gingerly. A flash of anger crossed his eyes, but he was too tired to hold onto it. "Did you know Verona," he drawls. "Hitting random people in the street will get you locked up in prison?"

"Good thing we have no such law," Verona replied. She handed him the paper, which he took. He looked over the contents and let out a small sigh.

"Okay, look. I had absolutely no idea that they called the performance off." He said. "I've been scouring the listing all night. We can still get a pretty good seat at the Arena, but the theater-."

"To which Samael am I speaking right now?"

"Sober."

"Good. So I won't feel bad saying this," Verona cleared her throat, closed her eyes, opened them, and then proceeded to scream like a vengeful ghost of a slaughtered bride-to-be. "What in mother's name do you fucking mean the theatre is fully booked?! Are you that much of a dullard?"

"Verona-"

"Three weeks, Samael! Three weeks, I tell you in advance, that perhaps we shouldn't try to grab a seat the night before. But what I say falls out of your ears like wine."

"That's a weird analogy, but yes, I suppose."

"Samael-"

"Verona, listen." He interrupted. "So, we won't be able to make it to the theater. Boo hoo. There are much more spirited performances at the Arena, and I'm certain that mother prefers bloodbaths more than a harpy excitedly screeching in her ear. So we'll go to the theater next time and-"

A howl of laughter left his sister's lungs like air. She looked at him with a pleased expression but not without fury. "You obviously did not read past the first page."

"There's more than one paper in the first place?"

"Do you wish me to smack you with them again so you can feel them all?"

He snatched the papers up before Verona could extend her arm. He flipped through them casually, half reading and half pretending until he saw the last page. His eyes widened in shock as his pupils scanned every single sentence on the paper, particularly zooming in upon the part that said "an epic love."

"Verona, please tell me this isn't what you booked?"

"It sure is."

"Oh, sweet uncle," Samael said, head in his hands. "We are so fucked."

"What?"

"You know what this is about, Verona. You know how loony she gets when she sees this stuff."

Verona scoffed. "At least I took steps to do something instead of sitting on a damn tree stump and watching the leaves fall."

"Watching leaves fall is far better than what you've done."

"Unlike you, Samael, I pay attention to mother's little habits." she snapped her fingers, and Haskill walked up from his stance next to the door rather quickly. He placed a flier in her hand, which she gladly shoved in her sibling's face. "Just yesterday, she was taking a small stroll around the city when this fell out of her pocket," the chamberlain handed her a paper, which she gave to her brother. "This is what it was."

Samael raised a brow. "Why were you tailing her?"

"I was going to the temple to settle a dispute between the priests. I know duty is like alchemy to you." she crossed her arms.

"Ugh, Verona, everyone knows that the priests simply complain; they don't actually do shit. It's like the fights in the Imperial city— all talk, no rumble," he said as he looked at the paper.

It was a flier written in big, intricately drawn letters that all connected and swirled from one to another. Right in the middle was a very detailed drawing of a young Imperial woman and another Imperial man, who stared at each other in such a lustful manner, it took Samael all he had not to set the paper alight right there. Towards the bottom were the words, "A love story for the ages. "

Samael sucked his teeth. "She could've just been having a laugh."

Verona snatched the paper from his hands. She looked at Samael with annoyance, which he returned equally in kind. "I highly doubt that. As you said, she gets crazy when she sees this stuff."

"Verona, Verona," said Samael. He put his head in his hands. The minor pains of a headache were begging to form in his skull. "Even if she wants to see it, we must ask, 'is it good for her?' 'Is it good for us?' To both those questions, the answer is a resounding 'no.'"

"Samael, it is one night. One night we have to sit through. And might I remind you, you brought this upon yourself?"

"And how in mother's name did I do that?"

"Remember the seats for the play you didn't reserve? We could've been seeing Talos's many feats."

Samael rolled his eyes. "Yes, because that story always gets better and better the more you hear it. Even after the thousandth time."

"Samael," she put her hands on his shoulders. He could feel her long nails dig into his flesh, even with his sweater on. "Don't mess this up."

He grabbed her wrist and shoved her hands off. He leaned in until he was just an inch from her face. "I am not messing anything up, Verona. That would be you—"

"Lord Sheogorath arrives," Haskill's monotone voice cut into them like knives. They both straightened up and dashed over to the throne room.

Samael arrived just before his sister could reach the dining room. He looked toward the grand doorway and saw his mother take her staff from one of the Aureals. His feet operated before his mind could catch up with him. He flew from one end of the room to the other, pulling his mother into a tight embrace and catching Sheogorath quite off guard. A loud boom of thunder made him jump back.

Sheogorath turned around in an instant. Her face snapped from anger to pure happiness. "Oh, I am quite sorry, dear. You know surprises make my soul shiver," she said. She waved away the Aureal, cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him on the cheek. "How has my boy been?"

Samael laughed. "Quite alright, mother. Some minor inconveniences, but nothing too serious."

"If that's how you wish to describe the pseudo-war that broke out in Passwall, then I suppose that is correct."

A small "tsk" escaped from Samael's mouth as he peered at the open door that led to the House of Mania. There stood Verona, Haskill at her side. She gave a slight bow.

"I greet you, mother. I do hope your journey went well."

Sheogorath sucked her teeth loudly. "Come now, Verona. That is no way to greet your loving mother," she crossed the room before Verona could react and pulled her into something that could only be called 'engulfing,' more than it could be hugging. Verona struggled violently, both out of a lack of air and her own dignity. Her fighting only escalated when she heard Samael's loud snicker in the background.

Sheogorath only hugged tighter, feeling as though the girl in her arms could slip. "Oh, my beloved little girl. How you've grown since I last seen you!"

"That was only two months ago, mother," she said. Her voice was muffled by the silk of Sheogorath's sleeve. "The only thing I've grown since then is a headache."

Verona was shoved out of her mother's embrace in the time it took for a cat to skitter. Her mother's brows were furrowed harshly, and her jaw was squarely set. "When did that start? Have you been feeling hot lately? Cold?" she put a hand to her forehead. "Verona, what did I tell you about playing with dremora rats? They are cute as cuddly bears, but they carry all sorts of nasty bugs—"

"Mother," Verona interrupted. "I mean, I'm tired, that is all."

"Oh. Oh! My poor, poor dear," Sheogorath said and pulled her right back in. Verona made eye contact with her brother from her suffocating position nestled in the crook of Sheogorath's arms. The fucker smiled back at her smugly. She had half a mind to flip him off before Sheogorath pushed her deeper into her arms. "Should I get a doctor? A nurse, perhaps?"

"Oh, mother, that isn't—"

"Haskill!" The chamberlain quickly walked up to his master.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Go get lady Aund out of the dungeon. Tell her that if she wants to keep those pretty little fingers, then she should make haste. Great haste, I say! Faster than even a rabid."

"Mother—"

"Shouldn't she move even quicker, though, mother?" Samael said. "Like a bee, not a mouse."

Verona glared at him. "Shut it, you annoying fu—"

"Oh, you are right, Samael. Such a smart boy I've raised! You heard that, Haskill?"

"Yes, my Lord. I will inform her immediately. Though, shall I tell the guards to unlock her chains?"

"Haskill, please don't—"

"Why, of course, Haskill! By me, common sense! Common sense!"

"I will try to have more of it, my lord, but last time you mentioned that all prisoners should be brought to the throne room cuffed."

"I did?"

"After that 'incident,' you insisted that all those 'floor scrapers in the dungeon' wear their binds for all eternity."

"Oh, yeah, I did, didn't I?" She said. It was a fleeting moment of clarity, as the next second, she was shouting her head off. Her grip on Verona was so tight that the girl saw colored dots float across her vision. "Well, whatever I said then, I override it now."

"As you wish, my lord." With that, Haskill quickly left the throne room in the direction of the Crucible part of the castle, leaving the happy family in the main hall to their own assorted devices.

Finally, Sheogorath yanked Verona out of her grip, who immediately began to topple over as she stood upright. Another clash of thunder and Sheogorath was damn near hysterical.

"Verona, speak to me, my dear!"

Verona blinked once, twice, and then another time for good measure. The world slowly gained clarity, at least as much as the Shivering Isles possessed, and she said with a slightly slurred tone. "I'm fine, mother."

"Really, Verona? You seem a bit out of it. Shall I go grab a bucket of water to clear your head?"

"Samael," Sheogorath warned, and the man immediately backed off. She then looked at the girl in her arms. "Can you stand up, dear?"

Verona nodded, slowly pushed herself away from the embrace of the Prince, and stood upright with all the grace she could muster. She smoothed out the skirt of her gown as she heard the snicker Samael gave off in the corner.

Sweet uncle, she really wanted to punch him.

"Anyway, mother, as I was saying, I don't need a nurse or healer. I am of perfect health."

"You're sure?" Sheogorath asked. Verona nodded.

"Mother, If I had come down with something, I would've told you," she said. "There is something I would like to speak with you about."

"The Gatekeeper giving you problems again, dear? Or is it the Grummites? Such nasty people, they are—"

"It is about tomorrow," Faintly, Verona heard the sigh Samael emitted from his spot in the room. She ignored him. "When are you free?"

"I'm always free, dear. Chains wouldn't look well on me."

"No, I don't mean it like that, mother. I mean, like time. What hours do you have to spare tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Sheogorath muttered and placed a pointed black fingernail on her chin as she began rambling to herself. "No one can predict the future, sweet Verona. But if I had to make a guess, between sordid Haskill's nagging and the stacks of paper on my desk," her yellow eyes found her daughter's. "Most likely, sometime at night. I'll find you."

Verona smiled. It was a rarity of her's that only came when she felt true joy, which was quite hard to find in Dementia and her family. "Just as I'd hoped. Thank you, mother."

"Is there something you need me for?"

"No, I just figured it would be nice to see Cyrodiil again. I heard it's changed." she cast a glance to Samael expectedly, which the man met with weary eyes. He grimaced for a moment but forced an easy face.

"I heard that the flower garden around the palace is still a sight to see."

"Oh, Samael, dear. If I wanted to see flowers, I'd get Haskill to plant some, not those smelly ones around Dementia. But that's too much for my dear chamberlain, so I'll settle for touring Mania," said Sheogorath. "Is that what you want to see, Verona? Some flowers?"

"Mother, what I've planned is sealed in my head until you see it with your own eyes tomorrow."

"Oh? A surprise! How I love them! Well, not all of them. Just the nice ones," she smiled at Verona. "And I'm sure yours will be wonderful, Verona."

Unconsciously her fingers clenched. "I'm sure it will," she said.

Haskill then came walking through with a nervous wreck of a woman with cuffs around her hands. She was sandwiched between two tall and imposing female Mazken guards. They stopped just short of the trio. A small synchronized curtsey and 'Greetings to Lord Sheogorath,' and then they were as silent as a mouse. Haskill was the next to speak.

"My Lord, I have retrieved the prisoner as you commanded."

For all she was worth, the lady forced an eager smile and tried a curtesy of her own. It was a mess. "I am happy to serve my Lord."

"Oh, that is all well and good, Haskill," Sheogorath said. "But I have no need for her anymore. Back to the dungeons you go, missy."

The lady's eyes widened in fear. "Wait, my Lord—"

But it was too late. The Mazken hooked their arms around Aund and dragged her back, kicking and screaming and all. Sheogorath sighed.

"I suppose I should get back to my regularly scheduled executions. What a bore."

"How sad, my Lord."

"Oh, Haskill, I don't need pity. I need help." She looked at the chamberlain. "Is there anything I should know before you drag me all over the kingdom, sweet Haskill?"

"Miss Verenim has requested your presence in Passwall. She claimed the Gatekeeper was acting rather strangely again."

Sheogorath arched up one long brow and turned to Samael. "I thought you said you'd taken care of that last month?"

Samael shrugged. "I said I tried. As soon as I walked into her dingy dungeon, she kicked me out the door. She said she needed you and not some phony copy."

"Sweet, poor, Relmyna. Never could get the hint. Or the answer. Or any of my rejections." She sighed once more. "Why do we keep her around again?"

"She and her son provide security," Haskill said.

"Yes, yes, security. Wouldn't want Jyggalag's minions barging through again. Or Dagon's." She turned on her heels and headed towards the door. "Well, c'mon, Haskill. The realm isn't going to keep itself."

The chamberlain nodded. "Yes, my Lord."

"Mother, you will remember, yes?" said Verona.

Sheogorath smiled. "Yes, sweet Verona. I am not the type to forget. Unless I want to."

The chamberlain held the door open for his mistress. Sheogorath walked out, followed by Haskill, and the twins were left alone in the throne room, with only their thoughts and each other's not-so-amiable company.

Samael looked to Verona. Verona, in turn, looked to Samael.

The Duchess sized him up. She met his eyes through a narrow glare. "Shall do this like gentlemen?"

Samael met her look with a hard one of his own. "We shall."

And like all good gentlemen, they took this squabble to drink.

Samael slammed his mug down on the table. Despite how heavily he'd been drinking in just the past hour, his face only showed the barest signs of flush. "You know, Verona, this is already sounding like a shit-show in the making."

"If you speak like that, you'll make it one," The Duchess replied, nibbling idly on the spoon in front of her. "I have planned this for weeks, Samael. Unless Dagon decides to invade Cyrodiil, I highly doubt that my plan can go wrong."

Samael shrugged. "It happened before. Who's to say it can't again?"

"The amulet of kings does," Verona retorted hotly. "If you'd bothered to pay attention to what you read you'd know that."

"I don't have to read a boorishly long book to know that anything the Divines hold in place is as sturdy as poor Berince's immunity to the common cold. Otherwise how would mother still slip unsuspecting mortals into her place?."

A retort stood proudly on the edge of Verona's tongue, but she swallowed it down like a bitter pill. If there was one thing the Isles had drilled into her, it was patience. And right now she desperately needed that.

Verona sighed. "Samael, I didn't bring you here to get into a debate with you. I came to make sure we're on the same page."

Samel took another sip of drink."You know, you would've had much more cooperation if you divulged this plan to Sanguine."

"And put my mother's chastity at risk? It would have to be a nice day in Coldharbour," she said.

"That's funny, considering we exist."

Verona ran a hand through her hair to resist the urge to strangle her brother. A pointless endeavor, the man couldn't die anyway. "Are you going to help or not?"

Silence overcame the two, as Samael put a hand to his chin and stroked it. "Well, a couple of bottles of Argoinian wine would certainly help convince me."

"Deal—"

"As well as full and complete immunity to any of your mindless complaints for a week."

"Oh, Samael. You ask too much."

"I'm asking the bare minimum actually. You know, it's quite—"

The doors to the dining hall burst open and stormed a most frantic looking Anya Herrick. Her usual pristinely braided hair was strewn into a red mop atop her head. The guards at the door, two very stern looking Aureals, pointed their long swords at the woman. Though she hardly paid them any mind.

"Oh, Lady Verona, there you are!" She sobbed. Samael gave the two Daedra a pointed look. The pair immediately withdrew their blades, allowing Anya to fly across the room and straight into the arms of a very put off looking Verona. She looked at Samael, and Samael shrugged. His lips once again found the edge of his mug.

Lightly, she pushed Anya off of her and placed her hands on the woman's shoulders. "Get yourself together, Lady Anya. This is no place to be wailing as though your pet rat died."

The woman snapped up in almost an instant. She sniffled and adjusted her clothes. A red tinge came to her cheeks. "You are right. Excuse my manners, Duchess."

"All is fine. Now tell me, what ails you so?"

Samael snorted at her fancy words. Verona ignored him.

"There has been a breach in the palace my lady. A most horrific one."

Verona straightened herself up in her chair. She could feel Samael come out of his lazing position and do the same. "Dagon?"

"No, much worse."

"Jyggalag?" asked Samael.

"No, no! Much worse."

"Sanguine?" said the two of them in unison. They quickly glanced at each other, but soon returned their gaze to the distressed looking Anya.

"No, its—"

Suddenly a loud boom came from just outside the dining room door. The Aureal tensed, instinctively drawing their weapons and facing the flimsy door. Verona's hand clutched a steak knife on the table. Samael did the same.

There was the sound of glass breaking. Laughter— loud and boisterous, as though a madman was wandering about and finding a sick pleasure in tormenting the innocent people of the palace. Verona's breath caught in her throat. She recognized that voice.

"Shit," Samael muttered. Verona thought the same.

"I thought mother banished him." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"She tried. He keeps finding holes."

"Do you think we can—"

Samael shook his head. "It's too late."

Finally, the door to the dining room burst open. The Aureals didn't even get a chance to react before the figure in the doorway dashed past them. Their sights set exclusively on the Duke and Duchess.

"My Lady!" Anya cried.

Verona ducked under the table as quickly as an enraged troll. Samael, ever the slow, was caught immediately. She heard his strangled cries clear for only a moment, before a much louder voice—boisterous and rowdy— yelled overtop him.

"Samael! My boy! I haven't seen you since you'd grown your first chest hair!" There was a clap that damn near shook the earth. Verona heard Samael groan. "How have you been!"

"Please, put me down."

A thud and Verona could once again see Samael's feet on the wooden floor. She didn't care much to peak up from under the table cloth to see his face. Lest she risk her own life.

"I've been fine," Samael said. "Mother's been well as well. As well as a Mad God can be."

"That's great, my boy! You been eating right? You barely have any meat on your bones." She heard Samael groan once more. "I doubt you can lift a pebble if you tried."

"Ha ha. Yeah, I'll… eat better in the future. Can I ask you why you're here, Tal—"

"Now, Samael. What did I say you should call me?"

There was a stark minute of silence, before Samael pushed out the words. "Grandpa."

"Good, my boy! Almost thought you'd forgotten. I should visit more."

"Yep."

"Speaking of visiting, where is your sister? I could've sworn she was somewhere around here."

Verona, with everything she had, tried to mentally plead with Samael. Her thoughts were filled with times of selfless acts and deeds she had done for him. She prayed, hoped, that he would get the message—

"Under the table."

There is no honor among Septims.

Before the man could pull up the tablecloth, Verona did so herself. She coughed lightly into her hand and forced a smile as she looked at the Divine before her, all smiles and red jolly cheeks. You could hardly tell that he was the patriarch of the Septim line.

Talos pulled her into a tight hug. Over his broad shoulders, Verona glared at Samael, who in turn looked away. She could feel the amusement radiate off of him.

She'd get that fucker later.

As Samael gave a quick word to the Aureal guards and a scared looking Anya to dismiss them, Verona was left at the mercy of the Divine.

"Well, look at you," said the man. He patted her shoulder. She bit back a wince. "You've grown into a fine woman." He mercilessly pinched her cheek. "You look just like Mori. Got her dimples too."

Internally, Verona rolled her eyes. He'd made that same comparison to the late Ariella. Of course, Verona wasn't going to voice this complaint.

"Thank you grandfather."

"No need for formality with me. It's grandpa."

She hesitated for a moment. Then the word rolled forcefully off her tongue.

"Grandpa."

"There you go dear. Now what were you doing, hiding under that table like a rabid skeever?"

"I dropped something." She gestured to the button up near the top of her gown. " A button off my dress."

A look of displeasure came upon his face. "Aye. Your mother is so off her rocker she can't afford to get someone to sew you a new one?"

Before Verona could speak in her mother's defense—yes mother had been quite neglectful these past few months, but Verona was a grown woman. She could handle her own basic necesites— Samael, ever the diligent son, spoke before her.

"Mom's been out these past couple of months because of business," he said, his voice slightly muffled by the cup that'd returned to his lips. "Lord Jyggalag's been coming round here a lot." There was a slight moment of hesitation before he added a further comment. "And Kyne."

A surprise flashed in Talos' eyes before he replaced the look with a pleasant one. "I suppose I'll just have to corner the old crow at her work and badger her about your clothes."

"I'm fine, grandfather."

"She owes me a talk and it's grandpa to you," said the god. "Where's the skooma cat anyway? I'm surprised I didn't see her stomping up to me when I first entered the realm."

"As Samael said, she's occupied right now. Realms do not govern themselves, after all."

"And her weirdly depressed chamberlain, Howard."

"His name is Haskill, and he's currently accompanying her."

"Hmph. Seems like I'll just have to make myself at home then."

She turned to stare intently at Samael, who met her eyes with equal force. Millions of words were exchanged between them, most of them curses or pleas. Finally, Samael broke eye-contact. He took another sip from his mug, and addressed his grandpa.

"If it's so important, I think mother went over to speak with Lady Relmyna over issues regarding the gatekeeper. If you hurry you may still be able to catch her."

Talos scrunched up his nose and ran a hand through his beard. "That's the dame who's unhealthily obsessed with your mother, ey?"

Samael shrugged. "Her and about half the shivering isles."

Tolas stood. "Where's she at?"

A lie was forming on the tip of Verona's tongue, but before she could speak Samael did it for her. "Sanctum of Vivisection, it's on Verona's side of the Isles."

Talos winked. "Thank you, my boy," he said and left through the doors he came in. Verona rounded on her brother, furious.

"You just gave up, mother like that?" she said. "I do not expect loyalty towards myself, but your own mother Samael."

"It was either that, or we'd have to listen to the story of how Tiber Septim conquered the Altmer and somehow managed to bang a Dunmeri queen," Samael said. "Is that what you wanted, Verona?"

The Duchess ran a hand through her hair. "See the issue with you is that you do not know how to properly tune people out."

"And you do?"

"Of course I do. You know how many times I've had to listen to Lady Anya cry about the most basic things."

"Sadly, some of us have competent staff."

Verona narrowed her eyes. "Anya is very competent, I will let you know," she said. "At least more so than your Felldew drinkers."

"Low-blow."

"A necessary one," she said as she picked up a fallen chair and sat down. "Now where were we?"